“Maybe.” Brown went to the back of the truck and found a fresh pack of cigarettes. “We can talk about that later.”
“We ought to talk now. I know what sort of equipment you’ll need in the Forest. If you run out on Benson half-equipped, it’ll be just too bad.”
The door swung open, admitting a blast of frigid air. Commander Benson stepped in, his lips tight and hard, his eyes blazing. Brown, at the end of the chamber, swung around, a sudden, surprised tenseness in his attitude.
“I don’t think you’ll do any running out on me, Captain,” Benson said.
Brown flashed Garth a glance. “Damn you,” he half-whispered. He took a step forward, tigerishly menacing.
Benson pulled a gun from his pocket. “Don’t move,” he said. “Hold it—right there. I thought you’d given up that crazy idea you and Paula had, but apparently—” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll have to put you and the girl under guard. No one in this outfit’s heading for the Black Forest if I can help it.”
Brown’s hand hovered in midair.
“Don’t try it,” Benson said. “Keep your gun where it belongs. The sound of a shot wouldn’t help you any.” He stepped back, his mouth opening in a shout that would summon others.
Brown, at the other end of the truck, could not have reached him in time, but the Commander had forgotten or ignored Garth. That was a mistake. Garth was only a few feet from Benson, and he galvanized into unexpected action. He sprang, one hand clamping over the gun, the other, clenched, driving in a hard, short jab at Benson’s chin.
There was strength in that punch, and it connected at the right point. Had Garth not been gripping the Commander’s hand, the latter would have gone backward, out of the truck.
“Knockout!” Brown said tonelessly. He was suddenly beside Garth, yanking Benson forward. “Shut the door. Quick.”
Garth obeyed. Turning, he saw the Captain kneeling beside Benson’s motionless form. After a moment Brown looked up.
“He’ll come out of it soon. Maybe too soon. Get me those straps from the corner.”
Garth did that, and then had another drink. He felt lousy. He watched Brown bind the Commander and thrust the lax figure out of sight, under a bunk.
“That does it,” Brown said, rising. “We’re in the soup now. But—it was lucky you hit him when you did.”
“What now?”
“We start for the Black Forest before Benson wakes up. I’m second in command. I’ll get my own men, and we’ll jump the gun.” Brown’s eyes were excited.
“Equipment?”
“We’ll take what we can. Weapons, mostly. Stay with me.”
They went out of the truck into the soft light of four moons, two large, two tiny. Fourfold shadows paced them over the icy slick. Garth hurried off to find his medical kit. By the time he returned, Brown had mustered his men and was waiting. He gave Garth a brief glance.
“Okay. Morgan—” He turned to a giant in uniform. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. As soon as we find Miss Trent. ’Bye.”
“ ’Bye, sir.”
Garth led the way into one of the kiosks. Lamps were flashed on. A spiral ramp led steeply down.
In an undertone Brown said, “I told Morgan Commander Benson sent me to find Paula Trent—that she was lost in the city. So we’re safe till—”
“We’re safe till we leave the underground passage,” Garth said. “After that, twenty miles across open ground. Has Benson got planes?”
“Portable ones, yeah.”
“Then we’d better do that twenty miles at night.”
The ramp ended. Before them was a gigantic room where their tiny lamps were lost. Here and there enigmatic shadows loomed, the dead, fantastic machines of the Ancients that had once made Chahnn alive and powerful.
Garth went directly to an opening in the wall, Brown and his ten men following, and entered a short tunnel. At one spot he paused, ran his finger over a panel of smooth metal, and pressed. A black oval opened silently.
“Here’s the way. They won’t follow us beyond this point.”
Brown nodded. “Sampson, get the men inside. Wait here for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
A burly, beak-nosed fellow with a cast in one eye and flaming red hair saluted casually. “Right. Come on, boys. Hop through. Mind your packs.”
Garth stared at Brown. “What d’you mean? Where—”
The Captain said, “We’re taking Paula Trent with us.”
“No! It’s nearly suicide for us—she couldn’t make it at all.”
“She’s tougher than you think. Besides, she’s got the map. And she’s an archaeologist. I can’t read the Ancients’ lingo. Can you?”
Garth shook his head. “I can speak it, that’s all. But—”
“If we find what we’re after, we’ll need Paula Trent. She’s down here somewhere. Let’s go find her.”
“I tell you—”
Brown brought out a gun and leveled it.
“Find her. Or I’ll find her myself, and we’ll head for the Black Forest without you. Because you’ll be dead. I haven’t come this far to let you stop me. And chivalry looks a bit funny on a guy like you.”
Sudden murder-light flared in the pale eyes.
“Find her!” Brown whispered. “And—fast!”
III
Garth knuckled under. There was nothing else to do. He knew Brown wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, and, after all, what the devil did Paula Trent mean to him? Her life was unimportant, compared to the hopeless quest that had quickened in his mind, despite himself.
For Doc Willard might still be alive. Even if he wasn’t, there was that notebook the Doc had always carried around with him—a book that contained the medico’s theories about the Silver Plague. Even if that ghastly dreamlike memory were not merely delirium—even if Garth, witless and unknowing, had killed Willard—there was always that dim, desperate chance that the cure for the Plague might be found in the Black Forest.
So—damn Paula Trent! She didn’t matter, when the lives of millions might depend on Garth’s penetrating the jungle that had baffled him for five years.
Without a word he turned and started back, Brown keeping close beside him. The huge chamber loomed before
