He and his companions had not been idle in their freedom. They managed, in two raids on the vacii complex, to free forty-six other intelligent Earthmen of their hairy breed. However, they were never inside the ship, for that was now beyond their reach. The third raid was anticipated, and the vacii killed eleven of their number, while they were unable to free any more of their brethren. With their thirty-eight, they went into the deepest caves in the mountain and hid from the lizardmen. Slowly, they established contact with the half-men above them- the naked, savage type-and began rescuing children of their own breed before the vacii got to them, rewarding the half-men with trinkets for not slaughtering them. A great number of the half-men's pregnant women were secreted away until it could be learned whether their child was savage or intelligent. If intelligent, Moog's group kept it and raised it. They began breeding some of their own. Now, in six years, their number stood at eighty-nine and was climbing faster and faster every month.
Yet the vacii remained a thorn in their side. Fully half a dozen babies a month were abducted into the vacii ship for experimental purposes. Moog and the others were anxious to free them, anxious to somehow defeat and drive off the vacii. But, of course, the vacii had guns. The Earthmen here had bows and arrows. Moog knew how metal could be smelted, how machinery of limited complexity could be built. But, having to live in utter secrecy, unable to go out of the caves in daylight, the Earthmen were restricted from achieving the level of social order they knew they could create.
But you have a gun, Moog said.
Be careful! Victor shouted as the hairy man picked up his gas pellet pistol.
Do not worry. We are not as stupid as those whose hands you first fell into. I've heard what the gun does from the half-men. And I can figure it out, almost. But would you mind explaining?
Salsbury didn't mind.
May I fire it at that rock? Moog asked.
Salsbury shrugged. Go on.
He fired. The pellet sank only an inch into the boulder before exploding. Chips of stone flew in all directions, and a fine gray powder hung in the air. Would this work on metal? Moog asked.
Yes. Only it will take more shots. If the metal is thick, that is. The pellet will only sink a fraction of an inch into dense material before exploding.
It can require as many shots as you have, Moog said. Just so we get inside.
Inside? Salsbury thought he was beginning to lose track of the conversation.
Inside the vacii ship, Moog said, smiling, his wide mouth full of glittering teeth.
But what good will that do us? Victor wanted to know, suddenly coming forward on his chair. It sounded foolish, half-baked, unrealistic. The vacii outnumbered them. The aliens had weapons far superior to anything the men here could possess or hope to obtain. Yet, somehow, he had the feeling that Moog already considered these things and was speaking rationally, with something definite and workable in mind.
I know the inside of the vacii starship by heart, Moog said. I lived in it for twenty-four years, except when they took me on field experiments. I used that time to memorize every foot of the place in the event such information would ever come in handy. It has. I know, for instance, exactly where the ship armory is.
But-
If you will help us with your pellet gun, Moog said, grinning even wider so that it seemed his head would split open, I think we will solve several problems simultaneously. We will be rid of the vacii at last and free to raise all the newborn children in an enlightened atmosphere, in a society where they will not have to hide by day and move at night only with fear. And you will get a chance to return to the woman you call Lynda. That should be enough for you. And perhaps we will even destroy the vacii installations across all the probability lines.
The others looked anxious, as if, despite the language barrier, they knew what Moog was saying.
But, the hairy man finished, you must understand that you will not have a promise of return to your probability. Only a chance. A chance and nothing more.
That's a hundred percent more than I had an hour ago, Salsbury said.
Moog chuckled, slapped his arm, and translated his acceptance to the others.
There was a brief but enthusiastic cheer.
CHAPTER 19
Moog's war party moved with astonishing cat-like grace and silence, considering the size of it and the size of each member. There were thirty-one in the party aside from Salsbury, all the men their settlement contained. Those left behind were women and children; even some of them had been anxious to go along, to fight the hated enemy. The decision had been to go for broke, to seize all or nothing. It was thought all men were needed (though a slaughter of them by the vacii would mean a virtual end to the colony), but that women, untrained for combat, would only get in the way.
Once, they met a party of vacii still searching the compound, walking the alleyways with electric torches. The war party was quicker, for it was expecting trouble. The arrows were swift and silent. Six dead vacii without one managing a scream was a testimony to the accuracy of the archers.
They went on to the starship.
That portion of the great hull which, Moog assured him, was on the outside of the ship's armory, was pressed close against the white walls of a building, hidden in welcoming shadows. The war party stationed itself along the walls, taking advantage of the pitch darkness, while Moog and Salsbury walked along the hull to the place the hairy one chose as the most advantageous for forced entry.
There will be no one in the armory, Moog said. There will be an armory officer stationed just outside it, in the antiroom. But by the time he realizes we are in the ship, we will be armed and ready for a fight.
I hope you're right, Salsbury said. Moog had assured him that the hull sensors were inactive and would not go active until the ship was preparing for spaceflight. Still he worried.
I most certainly am right, Moog said, shaking his burly head. Let's begin, eh?
Salsbury ran his hand along the hull, sampling the coolness of the metal. He rapped, heard only a faint booming sound. It's thick. He rapped again, listened. It'll take some time. I think we better fire sideways so the metal chips will be propelled away from us. You stand behind me.
Moog obliged, moving softly, quietly.
Salsbury aimed, fired the first pellet. There was a sharp pinging noise and the rattle of metal chips on the curve of the hull. He ran his fingers over the spot he had shot at. It was hot, though not hot enough to burn him. He found he had made perhaps a quarter to a half inch indentation in the alloy, rugged, with sharp edges, perhaps half a foot across. To make a hole large enough to admit these fellows, he was going to have to do much better than that. He set the pistol to machine gun status and prayed there were enough of the little droplets in the gas bottle cartridge to do the job. Then he depressed the trigger and held it down.
The pinging grew louder, harsher. After two minutes of continuous fire, he stopped, waited until the echoing ring had ceased, then looked closely at what he had done. There was a rugged hole three feet across and four feet high. Only the center, big as a penny, had broken clear through. Resetting the pistol to a single shot basis, he began chopping away at the stubborn alloy, enlarging that penny-sized aperture.