As he stepped into the hall, there came a growl from the direction of his office, a heavy grunt, and the biggest humanoid he’d seen yet exploded at him out of the shadows.
Towers squeezed the trigger, whipped back against the wall, and fired again as the humanoid veered toward him, gripped him around the waist, and threw him down the hallway. Towers lost his footing, slammed down on his back, the humanoid landed on top of him, and with a heavy smash a lion landed on the humanoid. There was one chaotic instant full of claws, teeth, and noise, then Towers was on his feet, the badly-wounded humanoid was in a corner, and the lion was mauling the humanoid with terrific blows from his paws.
There was a sound of running feet, and a strongly-built private with a guard detail armband, a thick smear of dirt across his face, and a bloody nose, ran up and shouted, “Back! Sit!”
The lion, growling, backed from the shambles of the humanoid, and with his right forepaw raised and the claws out, the paw making tentative motions in the air, sat, crouched forward on his haunches.
The guard shone a powerful light in the corner, murmured fervently to himself, and said in a clear steady voice, “Good boy. Good. All right, now.”
The lion abruptly sat back, gave a final growl, and began to clean himself.
“Sir,” said the guard, “do you know where that thing was?”
“Where?”
“In your office, sir!”
Towers limped down the hall, took a look in his office, which was a shambles, and waited while the guard detail checked, and reported that no new captives had gotten loose, so this latest humanoid must be prisoner number four, missing since last night.
Towers went back to sleep, and after what seemed only a few minutes, woke up exhausted and aching from head to foot, with someone gently but insistently shaking him by the shoulder.
Logan was saying, “Sir, I’m sorry. The situation’s gotten worse.”
Towers opened his eyes. The room was light, and from outside came an almost continuous firing.
Towers sat up. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
Towers swung out of bed, winced at a sharp pain in his side, splashed cold water on his face, and dressed rapidly. “What’s happened?”
“A searchlight on the wall burned out late last night, and in trying to light that section of wall, the soldiers on duty stepped up the current at the two neighboring searchlights, and burnt them out, too. Before they got them back in operation, some humanoids climbed over the wall. They killed about a dozen Centrans in their sleep, and there was a reign of terror in the camp till sun-up. Now,” Logan stepped to the window and raised it, “listen out there.”
Towers stepped to the window and listened.
Clear and distinct, a chant came through the window: “Home . . . We want to go home. Home . . . We want to go home.”
“That’s the Centrans?” said Towers.
“About half of them, sir. Klossig’s deputy was just on the phone, and says General Klossig is out there with the Headquarters Guard, trying to break up the mob. Anything we can do to support the general, to distract, to—”
The crash of a volley of gunfire came through the window, followed by another crash, and another. Then the chant rose up again, “Home! Home! We want to go—”
Towers shut his eyes and tried to think. Again there was a crash of guns, this time followed by screams and yells.
Towers said, “Where are the bugs we were using to test the humanoids?”
“There are whole cases of them in the Special Devices barracks next to the blockhouse.”
“Break out the all-purpose bug spray, and be sure everybody—and all the animals—gets a good dose. Then turn loose the Jersey Special mosquitoes, the yellow jackets, the hornets, and all the other flying pests on hand except the giant bumblebees. We’ll make this the shortest rebellion in Centran history.”
Logan left the room at a run.
Towers strapped on his gun, went down the hall to his office, and looked around. All the stacks of Centran reports were out flat on the floor. Logan’s desk was knocked over on its side, and Towers’ desk was slewed around five feet from where he had left it. The door of the storage closet was open, with half-a-dozen empty cans and a brass belt buckle lying on the floor. Over the door, smashed flat on the doorframe, was the bug that had been flying around the room the day before. Towers went into the closet, and looked around. Bottles were empty, cans were licked clean, a large section of wallboard was eaten away from the floor halfway to the ceiling, exposing the studs. Towers stepped back and looked up at the bug. He gave a low exclamation, and turned at the sound of the door opening.
One of his men burst in, carrying a formidable gun with a number of outthrust nozzles.
“Bug spray, sir! Don’t move!”
Towers shut his eyes. He was enveloped in a cloud of fine stinging spray that seemed to hit him from all directions at once. From somewhere, he could hear the clanging of an alarm bell, and the booming of loudspeakers warning that there was just ninety seconds left to get sprayed with repellent.
“Done, sir!”
The door opened and slammed shut. There was the pound of feet hurrying down the hall, and the bang of doors being thrown open and shut again as the hunt went on for anybody who needed bug repellent.
“Sixty seconds!” roared an amplified voice.
Logan came in as Towers was choking in a breath of air that stank of repellent. Right behind Logan came Cartwright. Clouds of vapor rose from both men.
“We’re about set,” said Logan, stepping around the fallen stacks of Centran reports. “The bugs are ready, and we’ve got plenty of them.”
“O.K.,” said Towers. “Now—”
“Thirty seconds!” roared the loudspeaker.
“Sir,” said Cartwright hopefully, “is there anything I can do?”
Towers said to Logan, “Listen—”
The phone rang, and Logan, still facing Towers, scooped it up. “Yes, sir . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . In about half-a-minute, sir.” He hung up, and said to Towers, “General Klossig’s deputy, sir.”
“O.K.,” said Towers. “Now—”
“Fifteen seconds!” roared the voice from the loud- speaker.
The door flew open. A set of nozzles thrust in. A voice shouted “Here are some!”
“No, no!” said Towers. “We’ve already—”
A blast of spray enveloped him.
“Ten seconds!” boomed the loudspeaker.
Logan swore, and gagged.
“O.K., now!” The door banged shut.
Towers groped his way to a window, and savagely threw it up.
“Five seconds!” boomed the loudspeaker. “Four! Three! Two!”
“Sir—” choked Cartwright.
“Open that door,” said Towers, “and get a little air in here.”
“Zero!” screamed the loudspeaker.
Cartwright threw the door open.
There was a buzzing, droning noise from outside. Towers looked out to see a tornado of hurrying black dots rise over the human section of the camp. The air filled with buzzing, droning, whining sounds, and little darting shapes.
Logan was furiously wiping his face. “Thank God that’s over.”
“Yes,” said Towers, “as long as some fool didn’t—”
There was a thunder of feet that shook the building.
Towers shouted, “Look out!”
A huge gorilla burst into the room, and whirled around. A black-and-yellow thing about the size of a one-inch cut off the end of a lead pencil, flew in right behind and dove at him. The gorilla let out a roar of terror and heaved a chair at it. The chair smashed through the ceiling, legs first, and hung there. The black-and-yellow thing reappeared from the side, and darted for the gorilla.
A set of nozzles poked in the doorway.
“Spray him!” yelled Towers and Logan simultaneously.
The gorilla streaked around the room.
Towers, Logan, and Cartwright bolted to get out of the way.
There was a crash that shook the building.
Towers whirled around. There was a big hole in the opposite wall of the room. Logan and Cartwright were hastily picking themselves up. The gorilla was gone. At the door, the nozzles now thrust in decisively.
“No!” shouted Towers. He’s gone!”
There was a rolling cloud from the nozzle, then a yell. The spray gun flew in the doorway followed by a shouting figure with half-a-dozen yellow jackets swirling around his head. The gun landed against the wall, and the figure went out the open window, hit the ground in a somersault, and streaked across the open space.
Towers shut his eyes.
Logan picked up the spray gun. “The total, one hundred per cent, witless damned fool. He was so busy spraying everyone else, he didn’t get sprayed himself.”
Towers said, “Just so long as they didn’t miss any more gorillas.”
Cartwright cleared his throat apologetically, “Sir, excuse me. If there’s anything else I can do to clear myself?”