one with me.”
“You’re a fine one to talk — you’re smoking a cigarette that isn’t
lighted!”
“Me? Why, so I am! We both need that walk. Come.”
Harper arrived less than ten minutes after they had left the office.
Steinke was not in the outer office. He walked on through and pounded on
the door of King’s private office, then waited with the man who accompanied
him — a hard young chap with an easy confidence to his bearing. Steinke let
them in.
Harper brushed on past him with a casual greeting, then checked himself
when he saw that there was no one else inside.
“Where’s the chief?” he demanded.
“Gone out. Should be back soon.”
“I’ll wait. Oh — Steinke, this is Greene. Greene — Steinke.”
The two shook hands. “What brings you back, Cal?” Steinke asked, turning
back to Harper.
“Well . . . I guess it’s all right to tell you — ”
The communicator screen flashed into sudden activity, and cut him short. A
face filled most of the frame. It was apparently too close to the pickup,
as it was badly out of focus. “Superintendent!” it yelled in an agonized
voice. “The bomb — ”
A shadow flashed across the screen, they heard a dull smack, and the face
slid out of the screen. As it fell it revealed the control room behind it.
Someone was down on the floor plates, a nameless heap. Another figure ran
across the field of pickup and disappeared.
Harper snapped into action first. “That was Silard!” he shouted, “in the
control room! Come on, Steinke! He was already in motion himself.
Steinke went dead-white, but hesitated only an unmeasurable instant. He
pounded sharp on Harper’s heels. Greene followed without invitation, in a
steady run that kept easy pace with them.
They had to wait for a capsule to unload at the tube station. Then all
three of them tried to crowd into a two-passenger capsule. It refused to
start, and moments were lost before Greene piled out and claimed another
car.
The four-minute trip at heavy acceleration seemed an interminable crawl.
Harper was convinced that the system had broken down, when the familiar
click and sigh announced their arrival at the station under the bomb. They
jammed each other trying to get out at the same time.
The lift was up; they did not wait for it. That was unwise; they gained no
time by it, and arrived at the control level out of breath. Nevertheless,
they speeded up when they reached the top, zigzagged frantically around the
outer shield, and burst into the control room.
The limp figure was still on the floor, and another, also inert, was near
it. The second’s helmet was missing.
The third figure was bending over the trigger. He looked up as they came
in, and charged them. They hit him together, and all three went down. It
was two to one, but they got in each other’s way. The man’s heavy armor
protected him from the force of their blows. He fought with senseless,
savage violence.
Harper felt a bright, sharp pain; his right arm went limp and useless. The
armored figure was struggling free of them.
There was a shout from somewhere behind them, “Hold still!”
Harper saw a flash with the corner of one eye, a deafening crack hurried on
top of it, and re-echoed painfully in the restricted space.
The armored figure dropped back to his knees, balanced there, and then fell
heavily on his face. Greene stood in the entrance, a service pistol
balanced in his hand.
Harper got up and went over to the trigger. He tried to reduce the
dampening adjustment, but his right hand wouldn’t carry out his orders, and
his left was too clumsy. Steinke,” he called, “come here! Take over.”
Steinke hurried up, nodded as he glanced at the readings, and set busily to
work.
It was thus that King found them when he bolted in a very few minutes
later.
“Harper!” he shouted, while his quick glance was still taking in the
situation. “What’s happened?”
Harper told him briefly. He nodded. “I saw the tail end of the fight from
my office — Steinke!” He seemed to grasp for the first time who was on the