The terrene crew had moved that massive piece of equipment to one side, where it bobbed on contragravity, a few feet off the ground, and were re-stringing their orange engineer's tape to make a cordon about sixty meters away from the machine.

O'Bannon, Stag well, and Casagra were still to one side, in a close little group, talking quietly among themselves.

"Well, Gerd," Holloway drawled, "if you were planning to bust into a strange place like that, wouldn't you want to listen to the inside of it a little bit before you charged ahead?"

"Yeah," Gerd said. "Yeah, I guess I would."

It was still a little uncomfortable, even in the hot suit, as Helton placed the snooperphone on a special collar so the pickup wouldn't melt against the glassed-up surface of the headwall.

He cranked the gain and listened.

Now, that's damned strange, he thought. A cavern, closed by a rockfall hundreds of years ago . . . And there's somebody-or some thing-in there, using vibrohammers. He pulled the audio pickup out of his ear, turned, and trottedback toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

Ingermann's face was a pale maroon, and his neck bulged out over his shirt collar. "Throckmortoni" he shouted. "You blockhead! Why did you have to stick in that damned conspiracy in the causes of action? Why didn't you draw the complaint just as I told you? Can't you follow simple instructions, you nitwit?"

Throckmorton was quivering in his chair. "I-I thought it would make a solider case, sir," he said in a small voice.

"Solider case?" Ingermann screamed. "Solider case? How in Nifflheim did you ever pass the bar to practice law on this planet-" He paused to suck in another gasping breath before continuing. "-or any other colony world, without knowing you have to have the government's permission to sue them for conspiracy."

"Well, sir,," Throckmorton began.

"You numbskull!" Ingermann raged. "Out! Get out of my sight!"

Throckmorton gratefully rose to take his departure.

"Just a minute!" Ingermann said. "Who was the presiding judge?"

"Why, uh, Justice Pendarvis," Throckmorton replied. "I thought so!" Ingermann shrieked triumphantly. "He's been trying to get me ever since I set foot on Zarathustra. Oh, don't kid yourself. He and Brannhard have been working behind my back for years. Well, I'll get him. I'll get him if it's the last thing I ever do. Him and his sanctimonious mouth; I'll send him to Nifflheim, so help me."

Ingermann had been talking to the top of his desk, his eyes glazed, his breath coming in short rasps. Suddenly, he looked up and saw Throckmorton. "I told you to get out, didn't I?"

Throckmorton nodded.

"Well, then, get out!" He strode around the desk as Throckmorton made a terrified retreat into the corridor. Ingermann slammed the door as hard as he could, then staggered back to the desk and leaned upon it, breathing heavily, for several minutes.

Chief Byers helped with the fastenings as Helton shucked off the hot suit. As soon as his head was free, Helton asked, "Chief-how soon can you have that cold enough for men in body armor and breathing gear to go in? Huh, Chief; how long?"

"Take at least forty-five minutes to an hour, Gunnie," Byers replied. "Still be pretty warm, at that, an' it'll crackle up the walls somthin' fierce."

"It won't make them unstable, will it?" Helton asked as he peeled off the last vels from the over-boots.

"Oh, nothin' like that," Byers said. "Some little-bitty pieces might fall out, but you'll be as safe in there as a pit in a prune."

O'Bannon frowned deeply. "Vibrohammers? Vibrohammers, did you say?"

"Yes, sir, "Helton replied. He had joined the little knot of officers on theknoll.

O'Bannon pursed his lips. "I imagine, Helton, that you have already formulated some ideas about how to handle this."

Helton smiled. "As a matter of fact, Colonel ..."

"Get on with it," O 'Bannon said as he rubbed the first two fingers of his right hand across his forehead. "What's your idea?"

"Fan out a cordon of scouts and combat cars all around the mountain in a pattern, say, six kilometers in diameter, together with an aloft surveillance in case they try to make a break for it. Slowly pull the purse string tight, looking for civilians or aircars in the area, concealed or trying to keep concealed. Arrest anyone who's not one of us-no matter how good their story.

It'll be an hour before the tunnel is cool enough. Then, I'll take six men, blow the head wall, and go in."

O 'Bannon thought for a few seconds. "Couple things you overlooked, but basically I like it. I'll lead, with the scout platoon and elements of 'A'

Company. Dick," he said to Stagwell, "you lead the aloft cover. Use a waffle-iron pattern." He turned to Casagra. "Glen, you dig in some crew-served automatic weapons about two hundred meters from the tunnel opening so they have good crossfire-and another one up here where we're standing, with some rockets, too. If Helton and his guys don't come out of there first, Ghu knows what we'll be up against. We should be able to make lift in fifteen minutes.

Now, let's see if we all have the same time." Four hands extended as each man checked his watch. As Casagra and Helton trotted away to their respective tasks, O'Bannon was on his belt commo. "Bushmeyer," he barked at his driver,"put down whatever kind of trash you 're reading and get my car over here on the double." Pause. "That's right. I'm on the little knoll, in plain sight."

"Get me Sergeant Chin," Helton said into his commo. "Have him meet me at the tunnel. Right now."

Sergeant John Chirgantha Chin was a cocky little three-striper with a body like a coiled spring. He always looked as though he were about to burst out laughing about something.

"Is there anyone in your company who's tougher and more reliable than you are?" Helton asked him.

"Of course not," he replied. "Nobody in the whole Corps-except maybe you, Gunnie." He grinned.

"Okay," Helton said. "I'm flattered already. I need you and five men for a little chore, here. Who do you recommend?"

Chin ticked off on his fingers as he named them. "Hen-shaw, Cooper, Bradley, McDermott, and Holden."

Helton squinted at him. "Aren't all those men in your squad?"

"Of course," Chin said, ' "That's why they 're so tough "Are they all available?" Helton asked. "Sure, Gunnie. We're off duty today." "Okay," Helton said. "Have them draw body armor and assault rifles. Three sleep-gas grenades per man. Breathing gear. Draw a set for me, and draw six Pattycake mines.

We're going in through the headwall of that tunnel, but I don't know what's on the other side. There's something there, but I don't know what it is.""Sounds like fun," Chin said. "When do we jump off?" "Sixty minutes after the Old Man lifts off with the patrols," Helton said.

"Okay," Chin said with a jaunty wave of his hand. "I'll be back with the bodies and the stuff in a little while."

By the time Sergeant Chin had left to gather his men, Gerd and Jack had walked over to the tunnel site. Helton sat down on a rock and lighted a cigarette.

"What in blazes is going on?" Gerd asked. Helton told them about the patrol cordon while he was making up his mind whether to tell them the rest.

"Aren't you afraid whoever they 're after will get away?" Gerd asked.

Holloway nudged him in the ribs. "They won't get away from these guys," he said.

"For that vote of confidence," Helton said, "we will not charge you the customary admission fee to watch Marines doing what they're supposed to do when it comes to the bottom line."

After a few more expressions of astonishment and a flock of questions from Gerd, Sergeant Chin arrived, with Helton's gear slung over one arm and his men in a neat file close behind him.

"Now, what's this bunch outfitted for?" Gerd asked.

Holloway laughed. "You tell him, Phil. I've already figured it out."

Helton spoke as Chin helped him into the body armor. "There's something or other inside the cavern, using vibrohammers. After O'Bannon gets the perimeter pulled in nice and tight, we're going in."

"Then what's with the crew-served weapons out here?"

Gerd asked. Helton smiled. "Oh, those. Well, those are in case we don't come back out first."

"Great Ghu 's calluses!" Gerd said. "Just like that! Aren't you scared?"

"Are you scared when you examine an alien organism for the first time and don't know whether it may give you some unknown, some fatal disease?"

"Well, of course I am," Gerd said. "But we take precautions. Sterile procedures; that sort of thing."

Helton pulled the magazine from the assault rifle, inspected it, inspected the weapon, then slammed the magazine home and chambered a round. "We take precautions, too, but they don't have to be sterile. We wear 'em, carry 'em, and fly in 'em." He leaned close to Gerd and Jack. "Confidentially, I 'm scared to death. In my trade-as, I imagine, in yours-it has a good effect on my ability to survive."

Chin and the other Marines had already lain down on the ground to rest, arranged in a circle, so that each man's stomach made a pillow for the next man's head.

"Look at that," Gerd said.' "They 're getting ready to blow the headwall and go up against an unknown quantity and they're taking a nap."Helton sat back down on his rock and lighted another cigarette.

Forty minutes later, he got up and went over to the other Marines. He lightly kicked the sole of Sergeant Chin's boot. "Time to go," he said simply, Helton walked back to Gerd and Jack and shook hands with them in turn. He stared off into the middle distance for a few seconds. "Reminds me of a verse," he said.

"The Milky Way is tracks in time where we have danced, Unwitting that the deadly tide of life on us advanced, To dissolve us into formal counterparts And make us slaves and patrons of the arts."

"Who wrote that?" Jack asked.

"Can't remember the name," Helton said. "Have other things on my mind at the moment-such as my own mortality. But, he was a First Century novelist who was also given to writing sentimental poetry."

Helton turned back to the other Marines. "Okay, you guys; mask up. Let's go."

With that he pulled on his own breathing gear, cleared it, and led the other men toward the mouth of the tunnel.

Chapter 29.

Christiana squinted at the man across the table from her. "Just who is your employer?" she asked.

The man, who had never introduced himself, had a pale complexion. His eyes were colorless, hypnotic; he wore an old-fashioned hat.

"That, dear lady," he said, "I am not at liberty to reveal. As stated, though, he is willing to be quite generous with you in exchange for anything of interest regarding the plans of the CZC. Inside information, one might call it, if one cared to use a slangy phrase. This-ah-generosity will not take so much the form of financial reward, although that is a consideration, as the continued opportunity for you to pursue your quite promising future-unencumbered by a past that might prove less than palatable to Mr.

Victor Grego."

They were sitting at a back table in La Rondo, a bistro and sandwich shop that was neither in Junktown or in the new city, but in the fringe area between them.

Christiana's mind was racing. How could they know of her affection for Grego?

No, no. That didn't have to be it. They just knew she had a good, honest job-one that was close to the pivots of power in the CZC. That's what they were blackmailing her about. She didn't dare let them know how she felt about Grego; then they'd have a real stranglehold on her.

"I'll have to think about this," she said. It was all happening too fast. Only a few hours from the time she found a note shoved under her door until this-this, from this ever-so-polite gangster, bag-man-whatever he was.

The man in the hat leaned back in his chair. "Take all the time you like, dear lady," he said.' "The entire balance of my day is at your disposal."

"I-I mean I need a few days to think it over," she said."Regrettably, time is a luxury we cannot afford in the matter," he said. "You must make up your mind now." Christiana chewed at her lower lip. She certainly didn't want Grego to know about her short, disastrous career on ' Zarathustra as a prostitute, and she could tell by this man's eyes that he would really spill it if she didn 't co-operate. The only thing to do was agree to the proposition and try to find a way out later. Possibly through the man in the hat she could get at who he was working for and find some way to shut him up for good. She was astonished to find herself thinking like that, but Victor Grego had become worth that much to her. He was beginning to become everything to her.

She took a deep breath, put her elbow on the table, and hoped she had a convincingly tough look on her face. "Okay," she said, "you got a deal. How do we pass the information?"

"Right here," the man in the hat said. "Tuesdays and Fridays at 1600.1 will meet you at this table and we will have a pleasant chat about matters of interest to my employer." "What if I get tied up, or something," she said, "and can't make it?"

The man in the hat made a non-commital motion of his hand. "You have only to screen this establishment and explain matters to the proprietor, who is an aquaintance of mine. Your story will be checked by one of our-urn-observers.

If you have lied, our relationship will terminate and Mr. Grego will receive some distressing news."

Christiana got to her feet. "See you Friday," she said.

The man rose as she did, and doffed his hat. "It will be a pleasure to see one so lovely as yourself again at that time," he said.

She turned and left, anxious to get out on the esplanade, into the sunlight, and into the fresh air.

Helton and Sergeant Chin had just placed the last of the shaped-charge Pattycake mines, neatly arranged at sixty-degree intervals around the periphery of the head wall.

"Give 'em thirty seconds," Helton said, as he prepared to set fuse timers.

"Two-second decension. We'll start on the top two. Go."

They each quickly set the fuses-30-28-26-on three of the six mines, figuring two seconds to move to the next one and set it, so all six would go off at once. Then they jumped up and sprinted back down the tunnel. All seven of them flopped down on the tunnel floor and pressed the heels of their hands over their ears.

With a deafening roar, the entire headwall of the tunnel blew inward. The Marines were already up and running toward it.

Helton, in the lead, was thinking, I sure hope the inside mouth of the tunnel isn't five feet off the deck of the cavern, or something. A guy could break his leg that way.

Through the smoke and dust, Dave could see the ghostly figures charging at them just before the first one leaped into the cavern. "Stand and fight!" he shouted. "It's our only chance."

Squint didn't even listen. His pockets laden with sunstones, he was squeezingthrough the narrow opening of the fissure. "You stay!" he shouted as he waddled heavily down the passage.

The three crouched and opened up with their pistols. One Marine went down.

They might have a chance, after all. They began dodging around, to find a little cover and not be stationary targets. Jimmy drew down on the last Marine to jump into the cavern. The shot caught him and spun him around. He dropped his rifle, flopped on his belly, and lobbed a sleep-gas grenade with his good arm.

All the other Marines were spread out on the cavern floor, lying prone, propped on their elbows, and drenching the far corner of the cavern with automatic fire.

Dave was the last one they got, because he was the smartest and the quickest.

As he broke cover to get to a better position, a burst stitched him up the right side. The impact threw him against the cavern wall, with his arms spread wide. His pistol flew out of his hand and skittered across the floor as he sagged down into a sitting position. As he died, he smiled at the Marine who had come up close to look at him.

Those outside heard the gunfire and shouts. It seemed like a year, but it was actually less than three minutes from the time the headwall blew until Helton came walking back out through the wisps of sleep-gas that were beginning to drift from the tunnel mouth. His men were close behind. One had his rifle at sling arms and with one hand was holding pressure on the wound in his other arm. Another had a knotted tourniquet on one leg and was hopping on the other, with his arms across the shoulders of the man on each side of him.