Alec undressed, went into the adjoining bath, and got ready for bed.
Jeff peeled off his robes and turban, but not his beard; it was now homegrown. He put on overalls, stuck a cigar in his mouth, and called the base.
For the next three hours he dictated, over Alec’s snores. Then he, too, went to bed.
Jeff woke up with a feeling of unease. The lights had not switched on; therefore it was not the morning alarm that had wakened him. He lay very still for a moment, then reached down beside him on the floor and recovered his staff.
Someone was in the room, other than Alec, still snoring on the other cot. He knew it, although at the moment he could hear no sound. Working by touch alone he carefully set his shield to cover both cots. He switched on the lights.
Johnson was standing in front of the communicator. Some sort of complicated goggles covered his eyes; in his hand was a black-light projector.
“Stand where you are,” Jeff said quietly.
The man whirled around, then shoved the goggles up on his forehead. He stood for a moment, blinking at the light.
Quite suddenly a vortex pistol appeared in his other hand. “Don’t make any sudden moves, Pop,” he snapped. “This is no toy.”
“Alec!” Jeff called out. “Alec! Wake up.”
Alec sat up, at once alert. He glanced around and dived for his staff.
“I’ve got us both screened,” Jeff said rapidly. “Now you grab him but don’t kill him.”
“Make a move and you get it,” warned Johnson.
“Don’t be foolish, my son,” Jeff answered. “The great god Mota protects his own. Put down that gun.
Without wasting time on speech Alec was setting the controls on his staff. It took him some time; he had had only practice drills in the use of the tractor and pressor beams. Johnson watched him fumbling, looked uncertain, then bred at him point blank.
Nothing happened; Jeff’s shield soaked up the energy.
Johnson looked amazed; he looked still more amazed and rubbed his hand a moment later when Alec snatched the gun from his hand with a tractor beam. “Now,” said Jeff, “tell us, my son, why you saw fit to violate the mysteries of Mota?”
Johnson looked around at him, his eyes showing apprehension but still defiant. “Stow that Mota stuff. I wasn’t kidded..”
“The Lord Mota is not mocked.”
“Stow it, I tell you. How do you explain that stuff?” He hooked a thumb at the communicator.
“The Lord Mota need not explain. Sit down, my son, and make your peace with him.”
“Sit down, my eye. I’m walking straight out of here. If you birds don’t want this place swarming with slanties, you won’t try to stop me. I wouldn’t turn in a white man unless he made trouble for me.”
“You are implying that you are a common thief?”
“Watch what you call me. You guys have been throwing gold around; anybody is bound to take an interest in it.”
“Sit down.”
“I’m leaving.”
He turned away. Jeff said, “Nail him, Alec! — but don’t hurt him.”
The injunction slowed Alec down. Johnson was halfway up the stairs before Alec snatched his feet from under him. Johnson fell heavily, striking his head.
Unhurriedly Jeff got up and put on his robes. “Sit on him, Alec, with your staff. I’ll reconnoiter.” He went upstairs, was gone a few minutes, and returned. Johnson was stretched on Alec’s cot, dormant. “Not much damage,” Jeff reported. “The upper door’s lock was merely picked. No one was awake; I relocked it. The lower door’s lock will have to be replaced; he used something or other that melted it. That door really should have a shield; I must speak to Bob about that.” He glanced at the figure. “Still out?”
“Not really. He was coming to; I gave him sodium pentothal.”
“Good! I want to question him.”
“So I figured.”
“Anesthesia?”
“No, just a babble dose.”
Thomas nipped one of Johnson’s earlobes with a thumbnail and twisted viciously. The victim stirred. “Darn near anesthesia — must be the knock on his head. Johnson! Can you hear me?”
“Mmm, Yes.”
Thomas questioned him patiently for many minutes. Finally Alec stopped him. “Jeff, do we have to listen to any more of this? It’s like staring down into a cesspool.”