There was motion in the globe of watchers; a hawk-nosed man, leaner than the rest, came plunging through and stopped before the fat woman. Behind him was a gnome in brown and red stripes, one of the scientists. “Highborn, this man says Prell has been killed in the workrooms!”
“Prell? Killed? Who killed him? Who is Prell?”
“The time-laboratory director, Highborn! His spine was broken, not more than five minutes ago.”
“There is the man who did it!” blurted the gnome suddenly, pointing his finger at Naismith. Heads turned; there was agitated motion in the group.
“He did it? Then kill him, quickly, quickly, you idiots, before he does it to somebody else! What are you waiting for, kill him!” The woman grew yellow-faced and shrunken; her little eyes glistened with fear.
“One moment,” said the hawk-faced man. “Autos—that man.” Three of the dark, red-lensed machines drifted toward Naismith, taking up positions around him.
“Kill him!” squalled the woman.
“That can be done in a moment, after we ask one or two questions,” said Hawknose. He turned to Naismith. “Don’t make any sudden motion, or the guns will fire. Did you kill Prell?”
“No,” said Naismith. He caught sight of Liss-Yani hovering in the background.
“Who did, then?”
“Uglies,” said Naismith. “They came into view, killed him, disappeared again.” Sweating, he tried to relax.
“You saw this?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you speak of it?”
“No one gave me an opportunity.”
The man’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “Where is that robot?” he asked, turning.
The box drifted up to him; Naismith recognized the red and green arabesques. “Yes, sir?”
“Is this the man who told you Uglies had killed Prell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see it happen?”
“No, sir.”
“Did the automatics fire, or did the alarm sound?”
“No, sir. That man said they were out of order, sir.”
“Were they?”
“No, sir.”
The hawk-faced man turned to Naismith again. “That seems conclusive. Have you anything else to say?”
“Kill him!” screamed the woman again. “Kill him! Kill him!”
“What about the Zug, Highborn?” ventured the pink man.
“The Zug, I don’t care about the Zug…”
“But who will kill it, if we kill the Shefth?”
“Get another one,” she muttered. “Don’t bother me with these details, I’ve told you a million times, I don’t want to be bothered, can’t you understand that, I only want to be left alone—”
“One moment,” said Hawknose. He gestured toward the nearest of the machines. Blackness flapped suddenly toward Naismith.
For a heart-freezing instant, he thought the gun had fired; then he realized he had been enclosed by another of the dark globes. Through it he could hear their voices, but could not make out the words.
Time dragged unendurably. Then, suddenly, the little group broke up; the dark globe vanished.
“Well, that’s settled,” said Hawknose agreeably. “You’re to have a reprieve, Shefth. We’re going to let you kill a Zug—
here, on this side of the Barrier. If you do, well and good. If not—” He shrugged, turned to the gnome beside him.
“Give him some equipment and get the gate ready,” he said. “A few of you go along and watch—you, you and you.
Anyone else want to go? All right, four vehicles, then. See to it.”
As he turned away, there was a babble of voices around Naismith. The gnome had darted away and disappeared; other bright forms were clustering nearer. Naismith caught sight of Liss-Yani, and of a smooth-limbed, athletic man who might have been her brother. Two gorgeous fat men in candy stripes of violet and pink drifted up, chattering excitedly to each other.
With a look of sullen hostility, the gnome reappeared carrying a small bundle of equipment. “This way.”
As the group followed him, he edged closer to Naismith and muttered, “You animal, you’re going to be clawed up and eaten alive inside half an hour. I’ll be watching, and I’ll laugh!”
Naismith felt chilled. The holiday mood of the people around him, their laughter and bright faces, suggested that they were about to enjoy some amusing spectacle. Clawed up and eaten alive… Would that amuse them? A cold fury came to drive back his fear. Somehow, somehow, he would cheat them of that pleasure.
Darting ahead, the gnome checked at one of the mirror disks. He touched it briefly. The disk cleared: they were looking into a tiny, blue-walled room, on the far wall of which glimmered another silvery disk.
“Go ahead, get in,” said the gnome impatiently.
Naismith entered the chamber slowly, glancing around him.
The gnome handed him a clutter of harness and equipment.
“Put these on.”
Naismith examined the objects. There was a pistol-like weapon in a holster, a helmet with a curious forward-jutting spike, and a complex webwork of plastic straps with metal insets.
“Here, let me show you,” said the man who resembled Liss-Yani, coming forward. “Rab-Yani is my name. You may call me Rab.” He took the harness from Naismith’s hands, deftly looped it around his torso, arms and legs.
“What’s this for—to protect me from the Zug?” Naismith demanded.
Rab-Yani gave him an odd look. “It gives some momentary protection,” he said. “Nothing short of a force-field will protect you against a Zug, however. What this does principally is to seal off wounds and prevent shock. In that way, you can go on fighting for another few seconds before you lose consciousness.”
Naismith watched grimly as the Entertainer passed the holster strap around his chest. The projecting gun-butt looked familiar; he grasped it, drew it half out of the holster.
Yes, it was the same—the massive, powerful grip and barrel.
“That’s your flamer,” said Rab-Yani. “It projects a spear of intense flame which cut through even a Zug’s hide, if you are close enough. It is good for three shots before it becomes too hot to hold.”
Naismith thought this over in silence. Behind him, the excited voices continued; then the sound faded, and suddenly a ghostly blue bubble floated past him; in it were the two fat men, staring back at him with onion eyes. The bubble passed through the wall ahead and disappeared.
“Now the helmet,” said Rab-Yani, fitting it onto Naismith’s head. “This contact goes here, on your cheekbone. Clench your jaw.”
Naismith did so, and at once a faintly shimmering disk appeared, hanging in front of his face from the spike of the helmet.
“That’s for illusions,” Rab-Yani said. “The Zug may appear in some confusing shape, but look through that, and you will be able to see its real aspect.”
Naismith relaxed his jaw; the disk winked out.
“Well, we’re ready,” the Entertainer said. Two more ghostly bubbles floated past. In one of them crouched the gnome, who gave Naismith a malevolent glance before he disappeared.
Turning, Naismith saw Rab join Liss-Yani: he floated close to her, she touched the controls of the machine she held, and a blue shadow-sphere formed around them.
The bubble floated nearer: Rab-Yani gestured toward the gateway in the wall ahead, and Naismith saw that it was now open, revealing blue-violet depths.
Feeling very much alone, he took a deep breath and floated through.
The gigantic, deserted corridors of the Old City had a dreamlike familiarity to Naismith: again and again he recognized places he had encountered before, in his dreams and in the machine memory the aliens had given him: but they were all changed, empty, shadowed. Here was a great concourse, on whose elaborate, fluted central stem Naismith remembered seeing a colorful crowd perched, fluttering, coming and going like a flock of tropical birds: now it was an echoing vault.