Smiling, Hendrin said, “If milady would know—”
She edged closer to him. He felt a quiver of triumph; through Meryola, he could learn the secret of Darrien’s robot duplicates. He extended his massive arms and gently caressed her shoulders.
She seemed to melt into him. The Mercurian started to fold her in his arms. Then his hypersensitive ears picked up the sound of relays clicking in the door.
In one quick motion he had pushed her away and bent stiffly, kneeling in an attitude of utter devotion. It was none too soon. Before she had a chance to register surprise, the door opened.
Darrien entered.
Lon Archman crouched in the far corner of the cell, listening to the talk going on outside.
A cold Martian voice was saying, “There’s an Earthman here. Dorvis Graal wants him brought to Froljak the Interrogator for some questions.”
“Certainly.” It was the Plutonian jailer who spoke. “And how about the girl? Do you want her too?”
“Girl? What girl? My orders say only to get the Earthman. I don’t know anything about a girl.”
“Very well. I’ll give you the man only.” The Plutonian giggled thickly. “And when Froljak’s through with him, I guess you can bring the shattered shell back to me and I’ll put it out of its misery. Froljak is very thorough.”
“Yes,” the Martian said ominously. “Take me to the cell.”
Suddenly Archman was conscious of the girl’s warmth against him, of her breasts and thighs clinging to him.
“They’re going to take you away!” she said. “They’re going to leave me here alone.”
“A moment ago you said you hated me,” Archman reminded her bluntly.
She ignored him. “I don’t want to die,” she sobbed. “Don’t let them kill me.”
“You’ll be on your own now. I’m going to be Interrogated.” He shuddered slightly. The capital “I” on “Interrogated” was all too meaningful. It was an inquisition he would never survive.
“Is this the cell?” the Martian asked, outside.
“That’s right. They’re both in there.”
The cell door began to open. Elissa huddled sobbing on the floor. Archman realized he had been a fool to give up so easily, to even allow the thought of death to enter his mind while he still lived.
“When the Martian comes in,” he whispered, “throw yourself at his feet. Beg for mercy; do anything. Just distract him.”
Her sobbing stopped, and she nodded.
Archman flattened himself against the wall. The Martian, a burly, broad-shouldered, heavy-tusked specimen, entered the cell.
“Come, Earthman. Time for some questions.”
Elissa rose and leaped forward. She threw herself at the Martian, grovelling before him, clasping his ankles appealingly.
“What? Who are you?”
“Don’t let them kill me! Please—I don’t want to die! I’ll do anything! Just get me out of here!”
The Martian frowned. “This must be the Earthgirl,” he muttered. To Elissa he said, I’m not here for you. I want the Earthman. Is he here?”
“Don’t let them kill me!” Elissa wailed again, wrapping herself around the Martians legs.
Archman sprang.
He hit the Martian squarely amidships, and the evil-smelling breath left the alien in one grunted gust. At the same moment Elissa’s supplication turned into an attack; with all her strength she tugged at the surprised Martian, knocked him off balance.
The zam-gun flared and ashed a chunk of the wall. Archman drove a fist into the Martian’s corded belly, and the alien staggered. Archman hit him again, and smashed upward from the floor to shatter a tusk. A gout of Martian blood spurted.
The Martian thrashed about wildly; Archman saw a blow catch Elissa and hurl her heavily against the wall. He redoubled his own efforts and within moments had efficiently reduced the Martian to a sagging mass of semi-conscious flesh, nothing more. He seized the zam-gun.
“Elissa! Come on!”
But the girl was slumped unconscious on the floor. He took a hesitant step toward her, then whirled as a voice behind him cried, “What’s all the noise around here?”
It was the Plutonian jailer. And the door was beginning to close.
Nimbly Archman leaped through, as the micronite door clanged shut on the girl and the unconscious Martian. The Plutonian had done whatever had to be done to close the cell door. Now he was fumbling for a weapon.
The fish-man’s wide mouth bobbed in astonishment as Archman sprang toward him.
“The Earthman! How—who—”
Viciously Archman jabbed the zam-gun between the spread lips and fired. The Plutonian died without a whimper, his head incinerated instantly.
Archman turned back to the door. He heard Elissa’s faint cries within.
But there was no sign of a lever. How did the door open? He ran up and down the length of the cell block, looking for some control that would release the girl.
There was none.
“Step back from the door. I’m going to try to blast it open.”
He turned the zam-gun to full force and cut loose. The micronite door glowed briefly, but that was all. A mere zam-gun wouldn’t break through.
Angrily Archman kicked at the door, and a hollow boom resounded. Time was running short, and the girl was irretrievably locked in. The door obviously worked on some secret principle known only to the jailers, and there was no chance for him to discover the secret now.
“Elissa—can you hear me?”
“Yes.” Faintly.
“There’s no way I can get you out. I can’t stay here; there’s certain to be someone here before long.”
“Go, then. Leave me here. There’s no sense in both of us being trapped.”
He smiled. There seemed to be a warmth in her voice that had been absent before. “Good girl,” he said. “Sorry—but—”
“That’s all right. You’d better hurry!”
Archman turned, stepped over the fallen form of the Plutonian jailer, and dashed the length of the dungeon, toward the winding stairs that led upward. He had no idea where he was heading, only knew he had to escape.
The stairs were dark; visibility was poor. He ran at top speed, zam-gun holstered but ready to fly into action at an instant’s notice.
He rounded a curve in the staircase and started on the next flight. Suddenly a massive figure stepped out of the shadows on the landing, and before Archman could do anything he felt himself enmeshed in a giant’s grip.
Hendrin froze in the kneeling position, waiting for Darrien to enter the room.
The diminutive tyrant wore a loose saffron robe, and he was frowning grimly. Hendrin wondered if this were the real Darrien, or the duplicate he had seen before—or perhaps another duplicate entirely.
“You keep strange company, Meryola,” Darrien said icily. “I thought to find you alone.”
Hendrin rose and faced Darrien. “Sire—”
“Oh! The Mercurian who bought me the fair wench! I’m glad to see you here too. I have a question for the two of you.”
“Which is?” Meryola asked.
Instead of answering, Darrien paced jerkily around the chamber, peering here and there. Finally he looked up.
“The girl,” he boomed. “Elissa. What have you done with her?”
Hendrin stared blankly at Darrien, grateful for the hard mask of a Mercurian’s face that kept him from betraying his emotions. As for Meryola, she merely sneered.
“Your new plaything, Darrien? I haven’t seen her since this Mercurian unveiled her before you.”
“Hmm. Hendrin, what were you doing here, anyway?”
The Mercurian tensed. “Milady wished to speak to me,” he said, throwing the ball to her. In a situation like this it didn’t pay to be a gentleman. “I was about to receive her commands when you entered, sire.”