Ron made no response. It was obvious that Garathon was going to try to trap him in his own game. The whole thing depended on who could hold out the longest.

"You won't get away with it," Garathon continued. "In a few seconds we'll soon find out what's going on here."

Ron heard the sc.r.a.ping of feet nearby. Something cold and metallic touched his arm while another device of the same material was placed against his skull.

"Go!" ordered Garathon.

A crackling explosion of lightning bolts went off inside Ron's brain. A searing pain ran through his body. He arched upward and screamed-this time for real. He fell off the couch and writhed about on the floor. When the pain ebbed away he felt so weak that he could not lift himself up by his own strength.

But he continued his act, muttering incoherent fragments of words and making a pretense at tearing his hair, though weakly. Out of sheer numbness he was hardly aware of it when he was lifted up for the 3rd time and deposited on the stretcher cot.

Then he heard Garathon's voice beside him again. "You know that you won't be able to stand another jolt like that," he said. "The next one could kill you. So you'd better get up and confess that all this is an act. If not... the robot has his hand on the switch."

Ron's tortured thoughts were racing. On the one hand he could open his eyes and actually admit that his mental derangement had been a put-on but Garathon would kill him anyway. On the other hand he could keep up the pretense. But Garathon had no use for a lunatic and he would still get rid of him-so what difference did it make?

He rolled onto his side and groaned, emitting a series of half-articulated curses while drool spilled from his mouth. He could not see above him but when he opened his eyes he saw Garathon's thick legs close in front of him. The seconds ticked slowly away, each a small, unbearable eternity. He couldn't see the robot or the deadly switch. He only knew that Garathon was right. In his condition he would not be able to stand another pain jolt. It would be the end of him.

Another second... and still another...

Garathon's legs moved suddenly as he turned around. Ron tensed every muscle in his body, preparing for the lightning bolt.

But then he heard the Springer talking. "Stop! Take your hand away! He wasn't lying to us."

Ron had been so unprepared for success that he would have burst out laughing if he had had the strength to do so. Instead he just lay there and continued to mumble incoherently.

A few more minutes went by without event. Ron could feel his strength slowly returning. He made a new attempt to rise up suddenly like a madman while he let out an insane yell and he almost got off the stretcher before the robot grabbed him and shoved him back again.

When he opened his eyes he saw Garathon on the other side of the stretcher bed where he seemed to be busy with one of the technical apparatuses nearby. Prior to this Ron didn't have time to observe the machines around him very carefully. But now that he concentrated on them he quickly realized where he was. All around him stood the cerebra-generators, transformers and tape banks that were used for a mento-interrogation. It was here that Garathon had given him the brain-probe before bringing him out of his state of consciousness. The apparatus the Springer was working with now was a pre-conditioner. Its purpose was to raise the brain potential to the point where mental resistance against the interrogator was no longer effective.

Was Garathon going to set up a second probe? He must know that he couldn't monitor a person who was mentally deranged.

But then Ron realized that a pre-conditioner could be used just as easily to lower the brain potential. It was this condition a mental patient was subjected to as the first step in healing procedures. So apparently Garathon was going to attempt to bring him back to 'normal'.

Ron had no intention of being the recipient of Garathon's helpfulness. Now was the critical moment.

Garathon stood within his reach. Having left it to the robots to guard him, he had turned his back to Ron. But the robots had now witnessed the fact that Garathon himself was convinced of the prisoner's disturbed mental state. Therefore their mode of vigilance had changed. The only danger to watch out for now was to keep the prisoner from harming himself in case he should start blindly raving again. They didn't expect him to be capable of anything more than that.

Not more than a foot and a half above Ron, Garathon's energy gun was hanging in the belt of his cloak. The weapon was seated loosely in its holster. He knew that if he could grasp its b.u.t.t he could pull it free.

As he slowly pulled his knee under him he didn't forget for one second to keep muttering and scolding out loud to himself. And when he opened his eyes he rolled them crazily as usual.

Then he made his jump. Since he didn't have all his normal strength he relied on the full force of his leg muscles. The leap carried him sideways off the stretcher and he crashed into Garathon's back. Just as he caught a glimpse of the robots turning toward him he grasped the b.u.t.t of the energy weapon and pulled it free. He fell to the hard floor between Garathon and the couch but simultaneously he swung the gun-barrel around toward the larger robot. He pressed the trigger with all his strength.

The robot had been about to fall on him and hold him down. Ron's unexpected attack had convinced it that Garathon was mistaken in thinking that the prisoner was actually insane. But even a complex type of robot needed a few seconds to switch from one program to another and react accordingly. It was Ron's salvation. The first shot caught the thing in its middle and blasted the metallic body asunder. Broken and burned parts clattered to the floor. A wave of unbearable heat flooded the rectangular room.

The 2nd robot hadn't yet moved. Ron destroyed it before it could complete its slower programming processes. Only then could he turn his attention to Garathon. Disarmed and frightened, the Springer had retreated behind the preconditioner console. When Ron turned toward him he threw his arms protectively in front of his face and yelled. "Don't! Don't do it! Spare me!"

The sweat was dripping from Ron's forehead. The heat radiating from the broken parts of the robots was into able.

"Get out there into the corridor!" he snapped at the Springer.

Garathon hesitantly lowered his arms and saw that Ron was pointing with the weapon back to the original corridor where the prison cells were located. He came out from behind the console and marched obediently ahead, Ron following at a safe distance of 10 feet.

Ron did not delude himself concerning his situation. To break free it had been necessary to destroy 2 robots. The noise involved must certainly have been heard by somebody. In a few minutes the other Springers would be coming to see what the trouble was. It was an open question whether or not they would value Garathon's life enough so that he might use him as a hostage for his escape. For the moment he shoved this thought into the background.

He shouted at Garathon. "Open the doors of the cells where my men are located!"

Garathon stopped and turned around. "You... you can't do that...!" he stammered.

Ron took a step toward him and aimed the weapon at him. Then Garathon turned again and went on to open the first door. He stopped in front of it, which was a mistake.

Lofty Patterson must have been waiting a long time for just such an opportunity. Probably he had not been able to understand the exchange of words between Ron and the Springer while listening through the door. He didn't know who had opened the door. Goaded by all the anger that had gathered in him, he came out like a shot and catapulted into Garathon. The latter fell back screaming and flailing his arms frantically to protect himself. But Lofty had caught his enemy and wasn't about to let him go. It didn't matter what the odds were or how big and strong his opponent was by comparison. In a blind rage he went after him with his bare fists. Garathon was too terrified to even defend himself. His arms hung helplessly at his sides while he howled and pleaded and tried to duck the hammering blows.

In this moment Ron was seeing the Springer for the first time in his true colours. He could be overbearing while he had his opponent bound and wounded in front of him but in his heart he was a coward.

"That's enough, Lofty," There was an obvious note of loathing and disgust in Ron's voice. "All you can do is get your hands dirty."

Lofty looked up from the Springer who was now beneath him on the floor. He turned to look at Ron in surprise. "Sir...!" he cried out. "How did you...?"

Ron waved a hand. "No time now, Lofty," he interrupted. He turned his gaze from the older man to Garathon "Let's go! There are still 2 others!"

Without further argument the Springer got up and went to the next door. This time when he opened it he stepped back quickly. But Larry Randall wasn't the type to jump blindly into danger in spite of his anger. He stood against the far wall of his cell and didn't move. Without letting Garathon out of his sight, Ron stepped into the doorway.

"Come on out, Larry," he grinned. "We still have some unfinished business."

Larry returned the grin and came out calmly. He saw the fat Springer standing against the opposite wall of the pa.s.sage. Garathon's face was blanched with fear. "Is that the man who...?"

Ron nodded. "That's the one."

Garathon pressed himself fearfully against the wall. His face turned a shade whiter. Larry only stared at him for a moment or so and then ignored him. "Where is Bladoor?" he asked.

Ron pointed to the Springer. "He will find him for us. Let's go, Garathon!"

The Springer moved a few more steps along the pa.s.sage. He bypa.s.sed one of the doors but Ron said nothing, merely watching him until he opened the one beyond it. This time Garathon was not as cautious because he didn't expect much reaction from Bladoor; yet when he looked into the cell Ron saw a startled expression on his face. Ron shoved the Springer aside and personally inspected the small bare room.

Bladoor lay there flat on his back. During the past number of hours his body had become still more bloated. Ron needed no doctor to tell him that Bladoor was no longer alive. The aircar crash, his capture by the Springers, the mento-probing-all of it had been too much for his stamina. He had died from pure neglect.

Ron turned to stare coldly at the Springer. "You are responsible for that," he said. "You have killed this man!"

Garathon shrank back, raising his hands imploringly. He opened his mouth to speak but terror made him speechless for the moment.

Then suddenly another voice was heard: "Who has killed what man?"

Ron spun around. Standing next to him, Larry partially blocked his view-but what he saw was enough. Looking back in the direction of the interrogation room he saw five Springers blocking the pa.s.sage.

A sense of bitter resignation swept through him as he realized that time had run out.

10/ HEAVY GAINS.

Meech Hannigan soon discovered that the stronghold had a much smaller crew than might have been expected. It made his task that much easier. When he reached the bottom of the grav shaft he encountered no resistance so he proceeded along a bare, dark pa.s.sage into the interior of the dome.

He penetrated into a complete maze of corridors, small rooms, an endless number of doors, intersections and hub-like junction points. Each time he became aware of an approaching Springer, all he had to do was slip into a side pa.s.sage. Since his positronic sensitivities were infallible he was always able to avoid failing into enemy hands.

Not that this would have been something to worry about. There could be no doubt that he was the most powerfully armed single ent.i.ty on the planet. But he didn't want to start any excitement until he at least knew where the Springers kept their prisoners.

He inspected several junction points where doorways led off into other subterranean corridors. At first he didn't know what to make of the machinery he saw installed in several places where a great bustle of fabrication was going on. But then he recalled the theory he had been toying with hours before when he had sought to find an explanation for the sudden corpulence of the Azgons. A light dawned. The Springers had chanced upon the same idea and were trying to turn it into a profitable business.

Meech registered everything carefully in his brain and continued onward. Within about a half-hour after his entry into the dome he began to hear loud angry voices somewhere far ahead of him. His superior hearing system enabled him to recognize a voice he had often heard before. He hastened onward.

He pa.s.sed through a medium-sized room where there was a stretcher cot and a number of machines which were related to mento-technology. The pa.s.sage continued on the other side of the chamber. Meech hesitated for a moment. Not more than 10 meters inside the corridor beyond he saw five Springers standing with their backs to him. They were arguing menacingly with a group of men who stood just ahead of them in the pa.s.sage.

Meech went into a combat mode. He had reached his goal.

Garathon's voice was high-pitched and hysterical as he screamed at Lag-Garmoth. "Kill them! These are the prisoners-they've broken out!"

Meanwhile Ron had turned toward his new opponent. He struggled to maintain an outward calm as he spoke in a level tone of voice. "Whoever you may be, Lag-Garmoth don't listen to this man. I know that you seem to have the advantage of us just now-but not enough to keep me from giving this coward what he deserves before you can shoot me down." He heard a choking sound from Garathon behind him.

Lag-Garmoth's weapon did not waver but he smiled. "Don't worry, Terran," he answered. "I have plans of my own." Then the smile faded. "Who has been killed?"

"An Azgon," said Ron. "Your men captured him along with us and nothing was done to help him although his condition must have been critical. They imprisoned him here and allowed him to die."

Lag-Garmoth's eyes narrowed as he looked at Garathon. "An Azgon?" he queried. From his tone of voice it was obvious that he neither knew of the situation nor approved of it.

Garathon had slightly recovered from his fearful state of mind. "Yes, an Azgon," he answered calmly. "He was with these men so we had to bring him along."

Lag-Garmoth remained impa.s.sive. "It was our intention that we would not get into any conflicts with the Azgons, under any conditions whatsoever," he said. "You know that as well as I do. We won't be able to work here on Azgola if the natives are hostile to us, even though they may be lying helpless and too sluggish to move inside their own houses. So you have to take an Azgon captive and bring him here to let him die?" These last words had a threatening undertone to them.

Garathon straightened up. He was almost his old self again. "Who is the commander of this base?" he demanded in a shrill voice. "You or I?"

"You are," Lag-Garmoth conceded, "but I am not one of your underlings. I belong to another sub-clan. You made a contract with me and now I see you don't intend to stick to it."

Garathon came away from the wall and stood in the middle of the corridor with his legs braced apart. "You will put these Terrans back in their cells," he commanded. "After that we can discuss the contract but not until then-is that clear?"

It was obvious that Lag-Garmoth was becoming tense. He was evidently prepared to give a sharp retort but he was interrupted.

From behind him in the pa.s.sage someone spoke very calmly and casually. "Whatever the issue of the argument is, gentlemen, you will first lay down your weapons before continuing the discussion."

"Meech-!" yelled Ron.

There was a brief second of dead silence in the corridor before Ron shouted again in triumph. Lag-Garmoth whirled around but Meech was far too fast for him. There was no visible discharge as he lifted his hand and fired. He had chosen the mento-beam because a basic rule of his robot consciousness was to avoid spilling any blood.

Lag-Garmoth groaned and staggered to one side, falling to the floor. One of his companions was also knocked out of the fighting. The remaining three obeyed Meech's order and dropped their weapons.

Meech did not move from his position but his voice expressed urgency when he spoke to Ron. "Sir, we have to hurry. We have to get out of here as quickly as possible!"

Ron turned to his 2 companions. "You heard him-let's go!"

No one could explain later what caused Garathon to take action just then. Perhaps it was the realization that his role would be at an end if the prisoners got away and Lag-Garmoth brought the situation concerning the Azgon to the attention of the rest of the base personnel or perhaps it was merely an instinctive reaction on his part. In any case, he suddenly charged Ron Landry. Ron wasn't prepared for the attack and he cried out while lifting his weapon. Garathon had apparently been waiting for this because his hand darted up and tore the energy pistol from his grasp. Ron quickly grabbed the other's arm above the elbow and held it in a raised position. He knew he'd be a dead man if Garathon succeeded in bringing the weapon down to firing level.

Meech could not interfere because he would have shot Ron as well as Garathon if he fired.

The Springer had suddenly developed a murderous strength, perhaps due to blind desperation, and Ron was tiring quickly in his weakened condition. Garathon forced his hand downward and for what seemed to be a terribly long second Ron stared into the round muzzle of the gun.

But then somebody yelled and jumped into the fray. Ron caught a fleeting glimpse of Lofty Patterson's short grey hair and his flying beard as Garathon let out an answering cry of rage. In a lightning quick movement Lofty had managed to twist Garathon's wrist around just as the weapon fired-straight into the Springer's face.

Lofty sprang away and leaned back against the wall, staring down incredulously at the dead body. "I-I didn't mean to do that!" he stammered.

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "You didn't-he shot himself," he said rea.s.suringly. "Let's go!"

Lofty allowed himself to be turned away. The three Springers standing between Meech and Ron moved willingly out of their way. Meech turned about and took up the lead. Larry Randall brought up the rear but he bent down first to pick up Garathon's fallen weapon. Meanwhile Ron and Lofty had appropriated the weapons of the other 2 unconscious men.

"The faster we move," said Meech, "the more chances we'll have of getting out of here."

But no one blocked their way. In a very short time Meech led them to the vehicle hangar. They boarded the s.p.a.ceboat he had singled out and Meech took over the controls himself. It took him 2 seconds to find the control for opening the hatch. He activated it and the great door slid upward. The small craft raised up from the floor and glided slowly and peacefully out into the night.

Meech remained silent until they had left the fortress far behind them. It was only then that he reported his experiences. He left out no detail of his observations, which included a full description of the machinery he had seen in the subterranean rooms of the Springer stronghold. It was clear to everyone now what the enemy was engaged in. They had discovered Azgola's secret sooner than the Terrans. Whether or not they knew what the nutrient substance was that filled the air like a suspended aerosol mist, the fact remained that they were taking full advantage of this newfound wealth on the planet and were making a business out of it.

Meech guided the lifeboat eastward and out beyond the coastland. The pulse signal he had received while sinking in the antigrav shaft had told him that one of the Terran s.p.a.ceships was preparing to make a landing somewhere far to the East.

The Vondar was prepared to take off again when the small flying disc was tracked on the sensors and appeared moments later on the optical screens. Meech Hannigan had signalled through just in time. Gerry Montini waited for them although he was anxious to show his heels to this treacherous planet as soon as possible.

The 4 fugitives were taken on board. Gerry wanted to turn over the ship command to Ron Landry but Ron waved him off.

"I'm bushed," he said with a rueful grin. "All I can think of now is a nice comfortable bed. And also of course-a report from you as to what you were doing here."

"That part's easy," Gerry told him. "We knew something very peculiar was going on here. That was obvious from Chuck Waller's report alone. We couldn't land on the central continent because any time we came within gunshot of those Springers they opened up on us. But this bigger continent seemed to be free of any strongholds. So we came down here to let a few specialists take a look around."

Ron stared at him expectantly. "And...?"

Gerry ran a hand through his hair. "They ran into something that was pretty peculiar alright. Almost the entire continent seems to be covered with just one species of moss. It has a characteristic of sending out spores continuously. And those spores are mainly made up of-well, I don't know what the devil you'd call it for sure. At any rate they're terrifically nourishing. One gram of moss spores contains more nourishment than a full-course dinner with the appetizers thrown in. From soup to nuts. The worst part is that the spores are such tiny particles that they can be breathed in without knowing it. They spread through the body and feed it. The men we sent outside gained 5 pounds in as many hours."

Ron nodded. "Did they have a biologist with them?"

"Naturally."

"What did he have to say? How come the moss has only become noticeable lately? Why didn't the Azgons get fat centuries ago?"

Gerry rubbed his chin. "You have a point. The biologist had a look at a few native species of moss which can still be found in a few places-and that's what really turned him on."