The Osnomians’ chairs crashed backward, their heavy coats flew off, and they stood tensely ready, machine pistols in all four hands. And, seconds later, the other Skylarkers were on their feet and ready too. The Captain-General had not heard the low-voiced warning, but he had seen the action and that was enough. Trigger-nerved Dunark’s chair had no sooner struck the floor on its first bounce than Takeel was going into his shooting stance, with his weapon flipping around into firing position as though it were sliding in a greased groove; the while glaring ferociously at his senior lieutenant — who thereupon began to have an acute attack of the jitters.
It was the commander’s savage motion, actually, that ruined the attackers’ split-second schedule. For, at a certain second, the two lieutenants were to shoot their captain; then to shoot Prenk and Kay-Lee Barlo; and then, as the attack proper was launched, they were to kill as many of their own men as they could. Thus, knowing what a savage performer the Captain-General was with his atrocious weapon, their hands were forced; they had to act a couple of seconds too soon. They tried — but with two short bursts so close together as to be practically one, Takeel cut them down. Cut them both almost literally in two.
Thus, when the two great doors were blasted simultaneously down and the attackers stormed in with guns ablaze, they did not find a half-dead and completely demoralized Guard and a group of surprised visitors. Instead:
The mercenaries were neither dead nor demoralized. They knew exactly what to do and were doing it. Dunark and Sitar had the fire-power of half a company of trained troops and were using it to the fullest full. The Captain general, from his coign of vantage atop the desk, was spraying both entrances with bullets like a gardener watering two flower-beds with a hose. Kay-Lee was throwing lead almost as fast as Takeel was; changing magazines with such fluent speed and precision as to miss scarcely a shot. Dorothy, nostrils flaring and violet eyes blazing, was shooting as steadily and as accurately as though she were out on the range marking up another possible. Even tiny Lotus, with one of her .25’s clutched in both hands, was shooting as fast as she could pull the trigger.
It was Seaton, however, who ended the battle. He waited long enough to be absolutely sure of what was going on, then fired twice with his left-hand magnum — through the doorways, high over the heads of the attackers, far down the corridors.
There were two terrific explosions; followed by one long rumbling crash as that whole section of the building either went somewhere else or collapsed into rubble. Falling and flying masonry and steel and razor-edged shards of structural glass killed almost everyone outside the heavily reenforced wall of the Room of State. The shock-waves of the blasts, raging through the doorways, killed half of the enemy massed there and blew the others half the length of the room. And, continuing on with rapidly decreasing force, knocked most of the Skylarkers flat and blew the Captain general off of the desk and clear back against the wall.
“Sangram’s head!” that worthy yelled, scrambling to his feet with machine-gun again — or still? He had not for an instant lost control of that! — at the ready. “What in Japnonk’s rankest hell was that?”
“X-plosive shell,” Seaton said, his voice as hard as his eyes. “This time I came loaded for bear. Now we’ll mop up and find out what’s been going on. I gather, sir, that your two platoon leaders were in on it?”
“Yes. It’s a shame I had to kill ’em without asking ’em a few questions.” He did not explain that he had had neither the time in which nor the weapon with which merely to wound them seriously enough so that neither of them could fight back with any sort of weapon. There was no need.
“That won’t make too much difference.” Seaton looked around; first at his own crew and then at the guards, half of whom were down. Medics and first-aid men were rushing in to work on them. He looked again, more closely, at his people and at Prenk and Kay-Lee. Not one of them, apparently, had even been scratched.
That, however, was logical. The mercenaries were hardtrained fighting men, shooting was their business. Hence the attackers’ orders had been to shoot the guards first, and there had been no time to evaluate the actual situation and to change the plan of attack. Hence, as far as anyone knew, not a single bullet had been aimed at the far end of the room.
Seaton took a pair of headsets out of his pocket and applied one of them, first to one of the two lieutenants’ heads, then to the other.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted then. “That ape didn’t know too much, but this one was going to be the new captain-general. I suppose you’ve got a recorder, Ree-Toe?”
“I’ll get it, sir!” Kay-Lee exclaimed; and Prenk, eyes bulging, gasped: “Don’t tell me you can read a dead brain, sir!”
“Oh, yes. They keep their charges, sometimes for days.”
Kay-Lee handed Seaton a microphone then, and he spoke into it for ten minutes the while three Rayseenian faces went through gamuts of emotion; each culminating in the same expression of joyous satisfaction.
When Seaton paused for breath Prenk said in awe, “That machine is certainly a something… I don’t suppose…” He stopped.
“I do suppose, yes. I’ll give you a few sets, with blueprints, and show you how they work,” and Seaton went on with his reading.
A few minutes later he cut off the mike and said, “That ape over there,” he pointed, “is one of the Big Wheels. Have someone latch onto him, Ree-Toe; we’ll read him next.
He’s one you’ll be really interested in, so I’ll hook you up in parallel with me so you can get everything he knows into your own brain.” He took a third headset from his pocket and began to adjust its settings, going on, “It takes a different set-up… so… and goes on your head so.”
“That ape” was a fattish, sallow-faced man of fifty, who had been directing operations from outside the room and had intended to stay outside it until everything was secure within. He had been blown into the room and halfway along its length by the force of the blasts. He was pretty badly smashed up, but he was beginning to regain consciousness and was weakly trying to get to his feet.
This unlucky wight was a mine of information indeed, but Prenk stopped the mining operation after only a couple of minutes of digging.
“Sy-By,” he said. “Two more of your officers you can shoot.” He gave two names. “Then come back here with some men you think you can trust and we’ll test ’em to make sure.
By that time I’ll have a list of people for you to round up and bring in for examination.”
There is no need to follow any farther the Premier’s progress in cleaning up his planet.
In fact, only one more incident that occurred there is of interest here — one that occurred while Seaton and Dorothy were getting ready for bed in one of the suites of honor. She put both arms around him suddenly; he pressed her close.
“Dick, I belonged there. Beside you. Every fiber of my being belonged there. That was exactly where I belonged.”
“I know you did, sweet. I’ll have to admit it. But…”
She put her hand over his mouth. “But nothing, my dearest. No buts. I’ve killed rats and rattlesnakes, and that wasn’t any different. Not a bit different in any way.”
Of the more than five thousand Fenachrone who had left their noisome home planet in Sleemet’s flagship, almost seven hundred had died and more were dying.
It was not that the Llurdi were physically cruel to them or abused them in any way. They didn’t. Nor were they kind; they were conspicuously and insultingly neutral and indifferent to them. Conspicuous and insulting, that is, to the hypersensitive minds of the captives. In their own minds, the Llurdi were acting strictly according to logic. Every item of the subjects’ environment duplicated precisely its twin on the subjects’ home world. What more could logically be done? Nothing.