“Newcomers,” breathed Gederr, and added his familiar curse, “ill be their fate! They have one of those vibration-shields.”
“Warn the advance party,” bade Stribakar, and Sporr, turning from his dials, muttered quickly into a speaking tube.
The situation that thus interested and activated my companions was hard to make out. I saw only an indistinct fuzziness in a sort of niche against the tunnel wall. Doriza pointed.
“A vibration-shield,” she told me. “The Newcomers have such things. Some machine or other power stirs the molecules of air to such a new tempo as to create a plane of force. No missile, no light even, can penetrate. They are sheltered and all but indistinguishable. See, they go forward.”
The eddying cloud moved along the tunnel. We could see the scout again. He tucked away his disk and employed the ray-digger. Quickly he sank deeper and out of sight.
“Burrowing in,” pronounced Gederr. “If he succeeds in what he hopes—”
“Spare him, you mean?” asked Stribakar, and Gederr nodded.
The eddying blotch that marked the power-shield of the invaders came closer. I saw it approach the place where the scout had burrowed away. It paused there, as if those hidden by it were investigating. Then—
“Brave fellow!” cried Elonie, like someone at an exciting sports event or play.
The scout had dug himself a little channel beneath the floor. Now he burst into view, beyond and behind the invaders. He held a pistol-weapon in each hand. One spat sparks—some sort of pellets or projectiles. The other was plainly a web-spinner like the one that first had bound me, and this he poised ready for use.
His projectiles seemed to find an opening behind the power-shield. A human form lurched into view—a glowing, writhing form, like a man of red-hot metal. An agonized leap, a shudder, and the body fell, abruptly falling into clinkered bits. A moment later, the power-shield disturbance vanished, and there stood revealed two others, clad like the scout in earth-colored jumper over armor.
“He got the power-shield man!” exulted Elonie. She was on her feet, applauding wildly. In the same second, I saw the scout point and discharge his spinner-gun. Whirling coils of cord struck, wound and tangled the two foremen. The scout’s bearded mouth opened, as if he yelled in exultation.
But that was his last cry and action. Another eddy, larger and swifter, suddenly came into the picture behind him. From it sprang a pale shaft of light. The scout went down on his face as if in sudden prayer. He moved no more.
Toward the dark end, Dondromogon figures seemed to move. There was a great spatter of spark-pellets. But the eddy of the new power-shield had scurried forward, enveloping and vanishing the two bound men. It retired as quickly. No movement, no figure, except those of the dead scout and the charred remains of the man he had killed.
“There will be little action here for some time to come,” announced Gederr. “Switch it off, Sporr.”
Sporr did so. I shook myself, as if to rid my body of unpleasant dampness and chill.
“Exciting,” I said. “Unusual. I suppose this goes on all the time.”
“Not all the time,” Elonie demurred. “As Yandro has heard, the battle-areas are limited, in the region of the poles. There is much maneuvering, but not too much contact. This incident was an order.”
“Order?” I repeated.
“We sent the man you saw, knowing that you would want this televiso view of how we made war.”
I snorted and faced her angrily. “You sent him to his death? So that I could see a show? You value life very cheaply, Elonie.”
III
She smiled, as if I had complimented her. “Oh, the man was up for elimination. He was supernumerary. Of course, if he had succeeded in his capture of prisoners and one of the devices that make those power-shields—”
I remembered what Stribakar had said to Gederr. “He was brave,” I said, “and it was a shame that he had to die. You want me to be a leader in war like that? I have other ideas of warfare.”
All of them looked at me, and one spoke from behind Gederr: “We had hoped that Yandro would say that. Yandro means to lead us in person—in a great and decisive battle.”
“At least it would be cleaner than this mole-digging and sneaking,” I said hotly.
Gederr rose. “Sporr, tune in whatever terminal you can find among the Newcomers. I shall say something to them.”
Obediently Sporr manipulated levers, push-buttons and dials near the speaking-tube. Gederr crossed to it and spoke harshly:
“Newcomers, ill be your fate! Your defeat is at hand! We give you warning! Our engines will burrow a mighty cave near the north pole. Let you come there, with all your hosts—and so shall we, so shall we!” His voice rose to a scream. “With us—leading us—comes the greatest fighter that Dondromogon has ever known, and the sight of him shall break your hearts!”
My ears rang, as the ears of all listeners must have rung, with those last words. Gederr turned away, and Sporr dialed the power off.
“Now,” Gederr said, “is there not some plan for amusement? A pleasant hour in the Pavilion? Great Yandro’s heart is troubled—for it is as great as himself—by thoughts of war and its pains. Let him come with us for solace.”
“Amen to that,” said Elonie, and she walked toward me. I rose, and she slid her bare arm through mine. Her face was close to mine, smiling and full of invitation. It seemed that Doriza was going to say something, but Elonie spoke first: “He will need no military aide, Doriza. Nothing military about the Pavilion, you remember.”
We walked out together—Elonie and myself, then the others. We found a wider corridor, and one full of hum and motion. The smooth floor of the passage was seamed with metal-shod grooves, in which moved vehicles—ovoid vehicles, of various sizes, balancing, it seemed, on one whirring wheel apiece. Elonie escorted me to one such car, which stood poised on its wheel like a dancer on
