“This is the man.” Burman waved at me like a tenant complaining about a prowler. “I’ve gotten nothing from him but nonsense—or what I thought was nonsense, until now!”
The newcomers looked me over. One was a short, thick-set, hairless man in wide lapels and baggy-kneed pants. The other was trim, neat, well set up. I decided to make my pitch to the former. No underling could afford to look that messy.
“Listen, you,” I started. “I’m Colonel Bayard, of Imperial Intelligence—
“I will listen, of that you may be assured,” the little man said. “Start at the beginning and repeat what you have told the Captain.”
“It’s too late for talk.” I flipped the gun into my hand. All three of them jumped, and a heavy automatic appeared in the snappy dresser’s hand.
“Ever seen one of these before?” I showed the slug gun, keeping the armed man covered.
The thick man jerked his head in a quick nod.
“Then you know they’re only issued to a few people in Net Surveillance work—including me. I could have shot my way out of here when I first arrived, but I thought I’d get a fair hearing without killing anybody. Now its too late for humanitarianism. One of you open up, or I start shooting—and I’m faster than you are, Buster,” I added for the benefit of the tall man with the gun.
“Here, you’re only making it worse—”
“It couldn’t be worse. Get the key. Call that dumb flatfoot out front.”
The thick man shook his head. “Shoot then, sir. Major Gunnarson will then be forced to return your fire, and so two men will die. But I will not release you.”
“Why not? You can watch me. All I want to do is call Intelligence—”
“I do not know what set of signals you may have worked out, or with whom, and I do not intend to find out at the expense of the Imperial security.”
“There’s not any Imperial security, as long as you keep me here. I’ve told my story to Burman! Take action! Do something!”
“I have already attempted to relay your statement to Baron Richthofen at Stockholm,” the rumpled man said.
“What do you mean, attempted?”
“Just that. I was unable to get through. All telephonic connection is broken, I found. I sent a messenger. He failed to return. Another messenger has reached me but now. He was dispatched an hour ago, and heard the news over his auto radio set just before…”
“Just before what?”
“Before the gas attack,” he said in a harsh voice. Abruptly there was a gun in his hand—a heavy revolver. He had drawn it so quickly that I couldn’t even say where he’d gotten it.
“Now, tell me all you know of these matters, Mr. Bayard, or whatever your name might be! You have ten seconds to begin!”
I kept my gun on his partner. I knew that if I moved it as much as a millimeter, the baggy man would gun me down. I tried to match the steely look in his eye.
“I told Burman the whole story. If you choose not to believe it, that’s not my fault. But there may still be time. What’s the situation in the city?”
“There is no time, Mr. Bayard. No time at all…” To my horror I saw a tear glisten at the corner of the thick man’s eye.
“What…” I couldn’t finish the question.
“The invaders have released a poisonous gas which has blanketed the city. They have erected barricades against any attempt at relief. Strange men in helmeted suits are shooting down every man who approaches…”
“But what about… the people… What about my wife? What—”
He was shaking his head. “The Emperor and his family, the government, everyone, all must be presumed dead, Mr. Bayard, inside the barricaded city!”
There was a shattering crash from the outer room. The thick man whirled from me, jumped to the door, shot a look out, then went through at a dead run, Burman at his heels. I yelled at Major Gunnarson to stop or I’d shoot, but he didn’t and neither did I. There was a clatter of feet, a crash like breaking glass, a couple of shots. Someone yelled “The ape-men!” There were more shots, then a heavy slam like a body hitting the floor. I backed into the corner of my cell, cursing the fatal mistake I’d made in letting myself get cornered here. I aimed at the door, waited for the first Hagroon to come through—
The door flew open—and a familiar narrow-shouldered figure in stained whites sauntered into view.
“Dzok!” I yelled. “Get me out of here—or—” A horrible suspicion dawned. Dzok must have seen it in my face.
“Easy, old fellow!” He shouted as my gun covered him. “I’m here to give you a spot of assistance, old chap—and from the looks of things, you can jolly well use it!”
“What’s going on out there?” I yelled. There was someone behind Dzok. A tall young fellow in a green coat and scarlet knee pants came through the door, holding a long-barrelled rifle with a short bayonet fixed to the end of it. There were white facings on the coat, wide loops of braid, and rows of bright gold buttons. There was a wide cocked hat on his head, with a gold fringe and a crimson rosette, and he wore white stockings and polished black shoes with large gilt buckles. The owner of the finery flashed me a big smile, then turned to Dzok and gave a sloppy salute with the palm of his hand out.
“I reckon we peppered ’em good, sor. Now what say ye we have a look about out back here for any more o’ the gossoons as might be skulkin’ ready to do in a honest man?”
“Never mind that, sergeant,” Dzok said. “This is a jail delivery, nothing more. Those chaps out there are our allies, actually. Pity about the shooting, but it couldn’t be helped.” He was talking to me now. “I attempted to make a few inquiries, but found everyone in a state of the most extreme agitation. They opened fire with hardly a second glance, amid shouts of ‘hairy ape-men’! Disgraceful—”
“The Hagroon have hit the capital,” I cut him off. “Laid down a gas attack, barricaded the streets, everybody presumed dead…” I wasn’t thinking now—just reacting. The Hagroon had to be stopped. That was all that mattered. Not that anything really mattered any more, with Barbro gone with the rest—but she was a fighter. She’d have expected me to go on fighting, too, as long as I could still move and breathe.
Dzok looked stricken. “Beastly, old fellow! I can’t tell you how sorry I am…” He commiserated with me for awhile. Then the sergeant came back from the outer room with a key, opened my cell door.
“And so I came too late,” Dzok said bitterly. “I had hoped…” He let the sentence trail off, as we went into the outer room.
“Who are these fellows?” I gaped at the half-dozen bright-plumaged soldiers posted about the jail covering the windows and the door.
“These are my volunteers, Bayard—my Napoleonic levies. I was on a recruiting mission, you’ll recall. After I left you, I went back and loaded these chaps into my cargo shuttle, and returned to Zaj—and found—you’ll never guess, old fellow!”
“I’ll take three guesses,” I said, “and they’ll all be ‘the Hagroon.’ ”
Dzok nodded glumly. “The bounders had overrun Authority headquarters, including the Web terminal, of course. I beat a hasty strategic retreat, and followed your trail here…” he paused, looking embarrassed. “Actually, old chap, I’d hoped to enlist the aid of your Imperium. We Xonijeelians are ill-equipped to fight a Web war, I’m sorry to say. Always before—”
“I know. They caught us off-guard too. I wondered all along why you figured you were immune—”
“the audacity of the blighters! Who’d have expected—”
“You should have,” I said shortly.
“Ah, well, what’s done is done.” Dzok rubbed his hands together with every appearance of relish. “Inasmuch as you’re not in a position to assist me, perhaps my chaps and I can still be of some help here. Better start by giving me a complete resume of the situation…”