Unconscious Quahoggians lay everywhere; the few who retained consciousness lay quivering, their color like unbaked dough. The party made their way along the deserted pharynx, turned left into the nasal pa.s.sage, a poorly lighted corridor decorated with NO SMOKING signs and enlarged photos of glamorous bacteria torn from foreign magazines.

"Little... cooler here," Sloonge puffed. "But... no difference in the end. Trapped. Sorry about this, gentlemen. Should have... let you save yourselves..."

They emerged into a high-domed chamber almost filled with banks of leathery curtains which hung in rows, quivering faintly.

"The olfactory membranes?" Retief asked.

"Correct. As you see, everything's shut tight. Nothing can get through; dustproof, windproof-"

"Unless we can persuade His Supremacy to open up," Retief said.

"I tried," Sloonge said, collapsing into a rubbery heap. "But he's delirious. Thinks he's a mere grub again, and is being roasted and dipped into molten chocolate for the exotic tidbits trade."

"For sale to the CDT catering service, no doubt," Magnan groaned. "Hurry up, Retief-burn a hole through to the outer air before my bodily juices coagulate!"

"Retief-you wouldn't...!" Sloonge made a convulsive grab for the Terran, who stepped back out of range.

"Not unless I have to."

"You tricked me," Sloonge wailed. "Alas, that I should play a part in torturing His Supremacy in his last moments!"

"Listen, Sloonge, I need your help," Retief said. "How far above ground level are we here?"

"Mmm. About fifty feet, I should say. But-"

"Can you elongate to that length?"

"Easily. But-"

"You'll need a solid anchor at this end. How about grabbing a few of those..." He pointed to a stand of wrist-thick sensory spines lining the central aisle.

"Why should I?"

"Because if you don't I'll have to burn our way out."

"Well..." Sloonge followed instructions, coiled himself like a pale fire-hose, gripping the support.

"Lie flat and hang on, Mr. Magnan," Retief instructed his colleague, positioning him astraddle the Quahoggian.

"What are you going to do?"

"Trigger a reflex-I hope," Retief said. "Hold your nose." He detached the borrowed medal from his chest, opened it, and emptied the contents in a brownish cloud over the nearest sensitive membrane.

The result was remarkable. The curtainlike tissue turned flaming red, twitched, writhed, sending the powder billowing about among the adjacent sensors, which in turn jerked and blushed. Retief dived for a position just above Magnan as, with a violent spasm, the nostril-a forty-foot vertical slit at the far end of the room-opened to admit a blaze of daylight and a great squall of cold air, snapping shut at once.

"That's one 'ah,' " Retief called. Again the shudder, the quick intake, the snap shut.

"Two."

A third violent inhalation-

"Sloonge-get set...!"

The end wall split. "Go!" Retief called. The aft end of the boa-shaped Quahoggian slithered quickly forward, out, down out of sight.

"Come on!" Retief and Magnan dashed for daylight; without urging, Magnan gripped the leg-thick rope and slid down. Retief followed, was halfway to the windswept rock below when the thunderous Choo! blasted forth like a quarry explosion; he fell the rest of the way, amid coils of rubbery Interior Minister.

12.

"We're out," Sloonge groaned, slowly dragging himself back into his normal superslug form. "But to what end? With His Supremacy gone, we few survivors will be back to scratching at rocks for a living. Think of it: a million years of evolution shot overnight."

"We're not through yet, Sloonge," Retief said. "Can you lead the way back to where you found us?"

"Abandon His Supreme Fulguration in his dying agonies? Look here, Retief, you said something about trying to save him-"

"That's right. I don't guarantee results, but at this stage it won't hurt to try desperate measures. Let's go."

It took the little party half an hour to grope their way across the plain through the relentless wind to the abandoned landing pod and the heaped drums. At Retief's direction, Sloonge shaped himself into a large, hollow bulb with a slim nozzle at one end. Retief uncapped half a dozen of the containers.

"All right, Sloonge, load up," he directed. The bulky Interior Minister inserted his small end into the nearest drum, with a powerful muscular contraction siphoned out the contents. Quickly, he repeated the performance with the other containers. After the fourth he was swollen to a vast drum-tight bulk.

"Retief," he telepathed faintly. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I hope so. Let's get started back."

It was a painful progress. Laden with the sloshing bulk cargo, Sloonge moved heavily, clumsily, crawling over each b.u.mp and ridge with mute telepathic groans and moans. At last the range of hills that was His Supremacy loomed out of the driven smog.

"Now-one last trick," Retief said. "You'll have to force an entry into the buccal cavity."

"Impossible!" Sloonge expostulated. "How can I open a hurricane-proof mouth?"

"Just far enough to get a finger in," Retief urged.

Sloonge dragged himself across to the sealed, fifty-foot-wide eating mouth, probed fruitlessly at the tight-sealed orifice.

"I'll have to use a touch of the quirt," Retief said. "Get ready." He set the blaster at low heat, aimed it at the monstrous lip, and pressed the stud. For a moment, nothing happened; then the stony-looking hide twitched; for an instant, an opening appeared-

Sloonge plunged his syringe-tip through as the mouth clamped tight again.

"That-that smarts," he said. "Now what?"

"Pump it in, Mr. Minister," Retief said. "Then we'll just stand back and wait."

With a powerful contraction of his versatile body, Sloonge squirted two hundred and twenty gallons of high-grade medicinal mineral oil into the alimentary ca.n.a.l of his mother country.

13.