"Where are they?" Spence shouted at the servant who still gazed at his fallen master. The man mumbled something unintelligible.
"He says that his master's vimana has been made ready," replied Gita.
"Quick!" said Spence, pushing the bewildered Pundi before him. "Take us to them! Hurry!"
Kyr stooped over the ancient body of the Dream Thief, folding its limbs and arranging it carefully. "Go," he said. "I will join you."
Spence, Gita, and Adjani left the chamber pushing Pundi ahead of them. As they entered the corridor they heard a low rumble, which shook the foundations of the palace to its mountain roots.
"What was that?" exclaimed Spence. He and Adjani looked at each other.
"It sounded like a blast."
"It was the vimana of my master, no doubt," said Pundi.
They dashed through the passageway and out into the courtyard. Over stones thick with moss they ran and stopped to stand looking at a brightly blazing orange star that burned up into the heavens, diminishing rapidly.
White smoke still billowed from the ruins of the collapsed central dome, which for centuries had sheltered the vehicle. "Hocking!" said Spence.
When they burst into the tower keep they found August Zanderson sitting with his head in his hands moaning and whimpering.
"Director, what happened?" said Adjani rushing to his side. A quick look around the room confirmed Spence's worst fears: Ari was gone. He knew, even before her father told them, that Hocking had taken her with him to make good his escape. "Where's he taking her?" asked Spence, dark fire flashing from his eyes.
"I can't be sure, but I think he intended to go back to Gotham. He said something about the station being ready to receive them-he had two others with him. There may have been more." His face, at first hopeful and expectant, now fell as the impact of what he said hit him afresh. "She's gone. We can't catch them now-it'll be days before we can get a shuttle up. Oh," he moaned, running his hand through his hair. The man was vastly changed since Spence had last seen him. He looked gaunt and haggard; a straggly, speckled beard of coarse stubble lined his jaw. His eyes were red-rimmed and deeply pouched.
"We'll catch them," said Spence.
"We'd better hurry," said Adjani. "They have a good head start."
29
…
THEIR PLAN FAILED MISERABLY. Hocking reached the station first and was ready for them. A brief scuffle in the docking bay-resulting in taser darting all around for the would- be rescuers-put a swift end to the rescue attempt.
Spence came to lying facedown in a cell, groggily shaking off the effects of the taser dart and wondering what had happened. They had counted on Director Zanderson's sudden forceful appearance to throw the mutineers into panic, thereby giving them time to marshall the help they needed from Gotham's alarmed populace.
But they never had a chance to sound the alarm. Chief Ramm and his men had been waiting for them the moment they stepped from the craft. It was all masterfully calculated.
Looking at it now, Spence wondered why they had thought it could have turned out any differently. They acted foolishly and had been easily outsmarted by Hocking. How could it have been otherwise? Their every move had been foreseen.
Now he was alone in a cell in the security section, feeling as if someone had clubbed him and then used him for a pidg bird. He felt weak and mushy inside, his limbs trembled with the neurological aftereffects of the taser jolt, his mouth tasted of blood, and his nose throbbed from taking the full force of his headfirst dive into the floorplates when the dart hit him.
With a groan he rolled into a sitting position and saw a small puddle of dried blood where his face had pressed against the floor. He hesitantly touched a finger to his nose and found it painfully swollen, but probably not broken. It had bled freely all over his jumpsuit.
On his hands and knees he dragged himself to the small vestibule set in the wall. He ran water in the tiny sink and splashed it on his face, washing the blood from his cheek and neck. He rinsed out his mouth, spit, and then glanced at himself in the mirror.
The forlorn image he saw staring back at him did not greatly cheer him. Nor did his prospects for the immediate future.
What would they do with him? And the others? Then he remembered Ari. Hot black rage flowed up like molten lava within him. Where was she? What had they done to her?
His rage burned out in futile ravings and exhausted itself in hurling him against the clear plastic door to his cell. He slid once more to the floor to sit with his back against the door, panting, crying tears of anger and frustration, grinding his fists against the floor.
The wave of temper left him and he lay dejectedly against the door. It was then that he smelled something burning.
The smell of melting plastic filled the cell within seconds, throwing him into a fit of coughing. He lay down on the floor to keep from suffocating on the fumes. Smoke from a spot in the center of the floor began to rise, forming a thick black cloud on the ceiling of the cell. He watched the column of smoke, fascinated and appalled at the same time. What the devil is going on? he wondered.
He did not have long to find out.
There appeared in the center of the cell first a blackened circle, and then the area dipped and sank as if the floor at that spot was melting-which it was.
Black fumes rose from the floor trailing black, snaky wisps. Spence feared he would be suffocated very soon; the pocket of clear air diminished rapidly as the cloud pressed down from the ceiling.
He waited, holding his breath.
Even as he began choking on the fumes he heard the sound of tearing fabric and then, through the smoke-dark haze, saw a head pop through the hole which had formed in the floor.
The head, wearing goggles and a breathing apparatus, looked around the room and then saw him. A hand appeared and motioned him closer.
Tears streaming down his face, Spence wormed his way over to the edge, squirming on his stomach. The floor beneath him was hot like a griddle.
A mask was thrust into his hand and he blindly fumbled to put it on and drew the oxygen deep into his burning lungs. He was handed a pair of thick gloves and motioned down into the opening in the floor.
With the gloves on he gripped the still-smoldering sides of the aperture and lowered himself through. He felt hands on him, steadying his descent so that he would not touch the hot metal rim of the hole.
Once below the floor he cast aside the gloves, tore off the mask, and jumped from the platform that had been erected directly beneath his cell.
"Packer! What are you doing here?"
"We must apologize for not meeting you at the gate earlier." A thickly-Russian accented voice sounded behind him. "We were unavoidably detained."
"Kalnikov! You, too?"
"Are you all right, Reston?" Packer, his mask dangling from his neck, pounded him on the back. "It sure is good to see you." "I didn't expect this, I-"
"Don't thank us yet. We're not out of the woods by a long shot." "Where are the others?"
Kalnikov raised his eyes and pointed upward. "Still captive?"
"We're working on getting them out now. We've been very busy these last few hours. I'll have to tell you all about it-"
"Some other time," said Kalnikov. "Please, comrades. We must get away from here at once."
With that the Russian stooped and lifted a bulky cylindrical apparatus to which was attached hoses and a sharp nozzle. "This is our latest invention. No space station should be without one."
"I'm convinced," remarked Spence. They all hurried off along the maintenance catwalk crowded with conduits and pipes and vents of various sizes.
"What's below all this?" asked Spence. "Commissary kitchens," replied Packer. "Where are we going?" "You'll see."