Literally torn apart by the explosion, the creature must have died at once. But the -captive moved. He was on his feet again, pulling his companion up with him, before the startled spectators could guess what had happened. Then half carrying the other prisoner, he ran, not onward to the waiting Raf, but for the gate through which he had come into the arena. At the same time a message beat into the Terran’s brain.
“This way!”
Avoiding bits of horrible refuse, Raf obeyed that order, catching up in a couple of strides with the other two and linking his arm through the dangling one of the furred creature to take some of the strain from the stranger.
“Have you any more of the power thing?” the words came in the archaic speech of his own world.
“Two more bombs,” he answered.
“We may have to blow the gate here,” the other panted breathlessly.
Instead Raf drew his stun gun. The gate was already opening, a wedge of the painted warriors heading through, flame-throwers ready. He sprayed wide, and on the highest level. A spout of fire singed the cloth of his tunic across the top of his shoulder as one of the last aliens fired before his legs buckled and he went down. Then, opposition momentarily gone, the two with their semiconscious charge stumbled over the bodies of the guards and reached the corridor beyond.
16
SURPRISE ATTACK
So much had happened so quickly during the past hour that Dalgard had no chance to plan or even sort out impressions in his mind. He had no guess as to where this stranger, now taking some of the burden of the wounded merman from him, had sprung from. The other’s clothing, the helmet covering his head were more akin to those worn by the aliens than they were to the dress of the colonist. Yet the man beneath those trappings was of the same breed as his own people. And he could not believe he was a Peaceman of Pax -all he had done here spoke against those legends of dark Terran days Dalgard had heard from childhood. But where had he come from? The only answer could be another outlaw colony ship.
“We are in the inner ways,” Dalgard tried to reach the mind of the merman as they pounded on into the corridors which led from the arena. “Do you know these-“ He had a faint hope that the sea man because of his longer captivity might have a route of escape to suggest.
“-down to the lower levels-“ the thought came slowly, forced out by a weakening will. “Lower-levels-roads to the sea-‘
That was what Dalgard had been hoping for, some passage which would run seaward and so to safety, such as he had found with Sssuri in that other city.
“What are we hunting?” the stranger broke in, and Dalgard realized that perhaps the other did not follow the mind talk. His words had an odd inflection, a clipped accent which was new.
“A lower way,” he returned in the speech of his own people.
“To the right.” The merman, struggling against his own weakness, had raised his head and was looking about as one who searches for a familiar landmark.
There was a branching way to the right, and Dalgard swung into it, bringing the other two after him. This was a narrow passage, and twice they brushed by sealed doors. It brought them up against a blank wall. The stranger wheeled, his odd weapon ready, for they could hear the shouts of pursuers behind them. But the merman pulled free of Dalgard and went down on the floor to dig with his taloned fingers at some depressions there.
“Open here,” the thought came clearly, “then down!”
Dalgard went down on one knee, able now to see the outline of a trap door. It must be pried up. His sword-knife was gone, the spear they had given him for the arena, he had dropped when he dragged the merman out of danger. He looked to the stranger. About the other’s narrow hips was slung a belt from which hung pouches and tools the primitive colonist could not evaluate. But there was also a bush knife, and he reached for it.
“The knife-“
The stranger glanced .down at the blade he wore in surprise, as if he had forgotten it. Then with one swift movement he drew it from its sheath and flipped it to Dalgard.
On the track behind the clamor was growing, and the colony scout worked with concentration at his task of fitting the blade into the crack and freeing the door. As soon as there was space enough, the merman’s claws recklessly slid under, and he added what strength he could to Dalgard’s. The door arose and fell back onto the pavement with a clang, exposing a dark pit.
“Got ‘eml” the words burst from the stranger. He had pressed the firing button of his weapon. Where the passage in which they stood met the main corridor, there was an agitated shouting and then sudden silence.
“Down-“ The merman had crawled to the edge of the opening. From it rose a dank, fetid smell. Now that the noise in the corridor was stilled Dalgard could hear something: the sound of water.
“How do we get down?” he questioned the merman.
“It is far, there are no climbing holds-“
Dalgard straightened. Well, he supposed, even, a leap into that was better than to be taken a second time by Those Others. But was he ready for such a desperate solution?
“A long way down?” The stranger leaned over to peer into the well.
“He says so,” Dalgard nodded at the merman. “And there are no climbing holds.”
The stranger plucked at the front of his tunic with one hand, still holding his weapon with the other. From an opening he drew a line, and Dalgard grabbed it eagerly, testing the first foot with a sharp jerk. He had never seen such: stuff, so light of weight and yet so tough. His delight reached; the merman, who sat up to gaze owlishly at the coils the.’. stranger pulled from concealment.
They used the door of the well for the lowering beam, hitching the cord about it. Then the merman noosed one end‘ about him, and Dalgard, the door taking some of the strain, lowered him. The end of the cord was perilously close to, the scout’s fingers when there was a signaling pull from below, and he was free to reel in the loose line. He turned to= the stranger.
“You go. I’ll watch them.” The other waved his weapon: to the corridor.
There was some sense to that, Dalgard had to agree. He made fast the end of the cord and went in his turn into the dark, burning the palm of one hand before he was able to slacken the speed of his descent. Then he landed thigh deep in water, from which arose an unpleasant smell.
“All right- Come-“ he put full force into the thought he beamed at the stranger above. When the other did not obey, Dalgard began to wonder if he should climb to his aid. Had the aliens broken through and overwhelmed the other? Or what had happened? The rope whisked up out of his hands. And a moment later a voice rang eerily overhead.
“Clear below! Coming down!”
Dalgard scrambled out of the space under the opening, heading on into the murk where the merman waited. There was a splash as the stranger hit the stream, and the rope lashed down behind him at their united jerk.
“Where do we go from here?” The voice carried through the dark.
Scaled fingers hooked about Dalgard’s right hand and tugged him on. He reached back in turn and locked grip with the stranger. So united the three splashed on through the rancid liquid. In time they came out of the first tunnel into a wider section, but here the odor was worse, catching in their throats, making them sway dizzily. There seemed to be no end to these ways, which Raf guessed were the drains of the ancient city.
Only the merman appeared to have a definite idea of where they were going, though he halted once or twice when they came to a side passage as if thinking out their course. Since the man from the arena accepted the furred one’s guidance, Raf depended upon it too. Though he wondered if they would ever find their way out into the open once more.
He was startled by sudden pain as the hand leading him tightened its grip to bone-bruising force. They had stopped, and the liquid washed about them until Raf wondered if he would ever feel clean again. When they started on they moved much more swiftly. His companions were in a hurry, but Raf was unprepared for the sight which broke as they came out in a high-roofed cavern.