"I must be getting old," said MacRae. "Anybody here enough of a technician to sneak up on it and pull its teeth?"
A faceless figure in the darkness volunteered. "Go ahead," Doc told him. "We'll cover you from here." The colonial trotted ahead, swung around behind the shield covering the stationary automatic blaster, and stopped. He worked away for several minutes, then there was a white flash, intensely bright. He trotted back. "Shorted it out. Bet I blew every overload breaker in the power house."
"Sure you fixed it?"
"You couldn't dot an T with it now."
"Okay. You-" MacRae grabbed one of his squad by the arm. "-tear back and tell Kelly that allee allee out's in free. You-" He indicated the chap who had wrecked the gun. "-go around in back and see what you can do with the setup back there. You two guys cover him. The rest of you follow me-the building ahead, according to plan."
Jim's assignment called for sneaking along the face of the building and taking a covering position about twenty feet short of the doorway. His way led him over the ground where the man had been at whom he had shot. There was no body on the pavement; he wondered if he had missed. It was too dark to look for blood.
MacRae gave his covering troops time to reach their stations, then made a frontal assault with six to back him up, among them Frank. The doctor himself walked up to the building entrance, tried the outer door. It opened. Motioning the assault group to join him, he went in. The outer door of the building's lock closed on them.
Jim huddled against the icy wall, eyes wide, ready to shoot. It seemed a cold eternity that he waited; he began to fancy that he could see some traces of dawn in the east. At last he saw silhouettes ahead, raised his gun, then identified one as Doc's portly figure.
MacRae had the situation in hand. There were four disarmed prisoners; one was being half carried by two others. 'Take 'em back to the school," Doc ordered one of his group. "Shoot me first one of them who makes a funny move. And tell whoever is in charge back there now to lock 'em up. Come on, men. We've got our real job ahead."
There came a shout behind them; MacRae turned. Kelly's voice called, "Doc! Wait for baby!" He came running up and demanded, "What are the plans?" Behind him, men were pouring out of the school and up the street.
MacRae took a few minutes to recast things on the basis of more guns. One of the platoon leaders, a civil engineer named Alvarez, was left in charge at the school with orders to maintain a guard outside the building and to patrol the neighborhood with scouts. Kelly was assigned the task of capturing the communications building which lay between the settlement and the space port. It was an important key to control of the whole situation, since it housed not only the local telephone exchange but also the radio link to Deimos and thence to all other outposts on Mars-and also the radar beacons and other aids for incoming ships from Earth.
MacRae reserved for himself the job of taking the planet office-the main offices on Mars of the Company, Beecher's own headquarters. The Resident Agent General's personal apartment was part of the same building; the doctor expected to come to grips with Beecher himself.
MacRae sent a squad of men to reinforce Marlowe at the power house, then called out, "Let's go, before we all freeze to death. Chop, chop!" He led the way at a ponderous trot.
Jim located Frank in the group and joined him. "What took you guys so long in that building?" he asked. "Was there a fight?"
"Took so long?" said Frank. "We weren't inside two minutes."
"But you must have-"
"Cut out that chatter back there!" called out Doc. Jim shut up and pondered it.
MacRae had them cross the main canal on ice, avoiding the arching bridge as a possible trap. They crossed in pairs, those behind covering those crossing; in turn they who had crossed spread out and covered those yet to come. The crossing held a nightmarish, slow-motion quality; while on the ice a man was a perfect target-yet it was impossible to hurry. Jim longed for his skates.
On the far side the doctor gathered them together in the shadow of a warehouse. "We'll swing around to the east and avoid the dwellings," he told them in a hoarse whisper. "From here on, quiet!-for your life. We won't split up because I don't want you shooting each other in the dark." He set forth a plan to surround the building and cover all exits, while MacRae himself and about half their numbers tried to force an entrance at the main door.
"When you get around in back and make contact," MacRae warned the two who were to lead the flanking and covering moves, "you may have one deuce of a time telling friend from foe. Be careful. The word is "Mars'; the answer is 'Freedom'."
Jim was in the assault party. Doc stationed six of them in fan shape around the door, at an easy twenty-five yards range, and had them take cover where available. Three of them were on the open ramp in front of the door; he had them lie down and steady their guns. "In case of doubt-shoot," he instructed them. "Come on, the rest of you."
Jim was included in the last order. MacRae walked up to the outer door and tried it; it was locked. He pressed the signal switch and waited.
Nothing happened. MacRae pressed the switch again and called out mildly to the speaker grille, "Let me in. I have an important message for the Resident."
Still nothing happened. MacRae changed his tone to pretended exasperation. "Hurry up, please! I'm freezing to death out here."
The door remained dark and silent. MacRae changed his manner to belligerence. "Okay, Beecher, open up! We've got the place surrounded and we're ready to blast in the door. You have thirty seconds till we set off the charge."
The seconds ticked away. Doc muttered to Jim, "I wish it were the truth," then raised his voice and said, "Time's up, Beecher. This is it."
The door hissed as the compressed air in the lock began to escape to the outside; the lock was starting to cycle. MacRae motioned them back a little; they waited, not breathing, all guns drawn and aimed at the point where the door would begin to open.
Then it was open and a single figure stood in it, the lock's light shining behind him. "Don't shoot!" said a firm, pleasant voice. "It's all right. It's all over."
MacRae peered at the figure. "Why, Doctor Rawlings'" he said. "Bless your ugly face."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"It's an Ultimatum."
RAWUNGS HIMSELF HAD spent half the night locked up, along with half a dozen other prominent citizens who had attempted to reason with Beecher. As the story got around, especially the matter of the deaths of the Pottles, Beecher found himself with no support at all, save from his own clique of sycophants and toadies and the professional, largely disinterested support of the Company's police.
Even Kruger cracked up under the strain, tried to get Beecher to reverse himself-and was stuffed in with the other dissidents, which by then included the chief engineer of the power plant. But it was Doctor Rawlings who talked the guard placed over them into risking his job and letting them go-the doctor was treating the guard's wife.
"I don't think Beecher would ever stand trial, even if we had him back on Earth," MacRae remarked about the matter to Rawlings and Marlowe. "What do you think, Doctor?" The three were seated in the outer offices of the planet office building. Marlowe had come there after getting word at the power house from MacRae and had gotten busy at once, writing despatches to the Project camps and the other outlying activities, including North Colony itself, trying to round up boats. He had then tried, red-eyed and uncertain from lack of sleep, to compose a suitable report to Earth, until MacRae had interrupted him and insisted that he rest.
"Paranoia?" said Rawlings.
"A clear case.7'
"My opinion, too. I've seen suggestive indications of it, but the case was not fully developed until his will was crossed. He must be hospitalized-and restrained." Doctor Rawlings glanced over his shoulder at a closed door. Behind it was Beecher.