The pyropod was gone.
But Sister Delta Four had said "dozens" of them. . .
Quickly Gann stooped to the abattoir the pyropod had left and rummaged for weapops. He discovered a half-empty laser weapon, pocketed a light projectile gun, loaded up with the three heaviest-charge laser guns he could find. Then he turned to go after Sister Delta Four.
She was standing just behind him. She had seen what he was doing, and she had done the same. She held two weapons, and in a pouch in her robes Gann could see the glitter of at least one more.
He hesitated, then grinned.
"Come on," he cried. "Let's see what we can do! Right in the eyes, remember!" He clapped her on the shoulder, and turned and ran in the direction of the Great Hall of the Planner.
A hellish howling and roaring led him to it. He needed no other signs.
Before he got there, he destroyed two more pyropods, neither quite as big as the one that had nearly got them in' the hall, and Sister Delta Four had frightened another off with a long-range shot that might or might not have hit.
The Great Hall of the Planner was the mother hive. It was filled with the great creatures, ripping through the smoky, sulfurous air, ripping out boulder-sized bits from the walls, from the huge golden chair of the Planner, from anything that would give them reaction mass. They seemed to have conquered the human defenders of the Hall with no trouble, and were fighting among themselves over the spoils.
Then Gann caught the slim ruby flash of a laser weapon.
One of the pyropods bellowed with pain, like an air-raid siren gone mad. It was not a mortal wound, but it must have been an agonizing one; the injured creature hurtled through the air and collided with another feasting beast; the two began to slash each other.
Someone was still alive in the room!
Warning the girl to remain behind, Gann peered cautiously around the door. The laser flash had seemed to come from one of the decorative niches holding statuary, under a painted lunette. Gann took a deep breath and shouted, then ducked back around the door. But it was useless. In the monstrous racket of the snarling, fighting pyropods his voice was unheard.
He caught Sister Delta Four by the shoulder, pulled her close to him so that her ear was next to his lips. "I'm going to try to pick them off one by one!" he cried. "They're not paying any attention right now. I think I can get most of them. But if any start this way, you shoot right for the eyes!"
She nodded, her face calm and untouched again, the great service lasers incongruous in her hands. He gave her a last thoughtful glance, unable to forget the bright communion plate that was now once again hidden under the black cowl, then turned toward the Great Hall.
It took him twenty minutes.
He counted, and there were fifteen of the great beasts rocketing and fighting about the hall. He got seven of them, one by one, before there was any trouble. Then at Sister Delta Four's warning touch, he had to turn and destroy a lone wanderer racing toward them down the hall.
He got three more, and then he noticed that at the far side of the hall one screamed, burst and died that he had not fired on. Whoever was hiding in the niche across the hall had seen what he was doing, and had copied him.
There were two guns firing then—no, three; for Sister Delta Four stepped out beside him and helped gun down the last survivors, confused and blundering, as the walls shook with the creatures' screams and the air grew acrid and sickening with their fumes.
Then they were all gone.
Hesitantly Gann entered the hall, laser guns ready, eyes darting about as he picked his way across the destroyed battleground.
There were distant bellowings still. Obviously there were still a few strays elsewhere in the underground palace of the Planner; but most of them were dead in this room. He hurried toward his unknown ally.
Machine General Abel Wheeler stepped stiffly out of the niche and moved toward him. There was a hard grin of victory on his face. He holstered one gun and thrust out a hand with a motion like a piston to grasp Gann's extended clasp. "Well done, Major," he rasped.
"Thank you, sir. I had help. This is-"
The general's expression did not change. "I know Sister Delta Four," he boomed. "You may tell the Machine that I commend you, Sister. Please contact the Machine now and ascertain its condition. I fear this attack may have been intended to harm it!"
He grasped Gann's arm in a grip of steel and led him away. "Ugly creatures," he rasped, kicking at one enormous ripped cadaver. "Poetic justice, you might say. The Planner has always been fascinated by them. Interesting coincidence that they've appeared out of nowhere, here in his own home grounds." He glanced over his shoulder at Sister Delta Four, who was quickly chiming her tonal beads, setting up her linkbox. "See here, Gann. Look at this."
On the floor in front of the niche where General Wheeler had taken refuge there was a square of thick, creamy paper. "What is it, sir?" "Pick it up, man! See for yourself!"
There were human voices, now, coming from the hall. The mighty forces of the Plan of Man were regathering themselves. Order was being restored.
Boysie Gann hesitated. Something was wrong. "The Planner?" he asked. "Is he . . ." He looked around the great hall littered with the corpses of the invading pyropods and the human guards who had been trapped there.
"Not he, Major! Gone this half hour. Read that document!" Gann, with a feeling that something was awry, leaned forward and retrieved the paper. He glanced at it.
Then the doubts and uncertainties dropped out of his mind. This paper was strangely familiar. He had seen one just like it—twenty billion miles away—in the hands of the dying Machine Colonel Zafar. That had been the document they called the Writ of Liberation! And this one was something almost as earthshaking in its importance, almost as dangerous to the Plan of Man.
Boysie Gann read swiftly, looked up at the silent carved face of General Wheeler wonderingly, then returned to the paper. It was headed To the Planner, and it said:
To the Planner, or to whoever succeeds him if he is now dead:
You and those who serve with you ignored my warning and discounted the dimming of the Sun.
I send you now a pack of beasts to show that my powers can do more than frighten. They will destroy much. They may yet destroy more.
If I send them again, it will not be to the headquarters of the Planner —if anything remains of that to be destroyed.
The next demonstration will occur in the vaults of the Planning Machine.
Gann looked up, his lips taut, his eyes narrowed. "The Planning Machine!" he said. "General, we must tell Sister Delta Four at once! This must be conveyed to the Machine immediately."
The general rasped, "That decision will be made by me, Major. What have you to say for yourself?"
Startled, Gann said, "Why—I don't know what you mean, General. I didn't have anything to do with . . ." Then he saw that the general was no longer standing with his arms at his side. One hand held a laser gun again, and it was pointing at him.
"You're under arrest," clipped General Wheeler metallically. "Do not attempt to draw those weapons. Do not speak or move."
Gann opened his mouth, then closed it again. This was the overwhelming, culminating insanity of a fantastic experience. Himself under arrest!
But for what? He dared not even ask. The general's iron expression showed that he meant his orders to be obeyed.
Behind him, Boysie Gann heard the movements of the guards, coming near—and past them, a distant booming.
He recognized that sound. Another stray pyropod! He forgot his orders and cried: "General! There's another one."