"But-" said Hartley and stopped, aware that Marlowe was no longer paying any attention to him. He looked uncertain, like a man who wants someone to argue him out of his resolution. His wife touched has arm; he turned then and they went together to the front entrance.
Marlowe said to MacRae, "What do they expect of me? Miracles?"
MacRae answered, "Exactly, boy. Most people never grow up. They expect papa to get 'em the pretty Moon." The doctor went on, "Just the same, Joe accidentally told the truth. We've got to do something."
"I don't see what we can do until Sutton and Toland get some results."
"You can't wait any longer for them, son. We've got to crush out of here anyway. Theoretically a man can live for days in a respirator. Practically, it won't work and that is what Beecher is counting on. You can't keep several hundred people crouching here in the dark and the cold, wearing masks to stay alive, not indefinitely. You're going to have a panic on your hands."
Marlowe looked weary, even through his mask. "We can't tunnel out. We can't get out at all, except through the doors. And they've got those doors zeroed. It's suicide."
"It's got to be done, son. I'll lead the rush."
Marlowe sighed. "No, I will."
"m a pig's eye! You've got a wife and kids. I've got nobody and I've been living on borrowed time so long I've lost track."
"It's my privilege. That's settles it."
"We'll see."
"I said that settles it, sir!"
The argument was left unfinished; the inner door to the pressure lock opened again and Mrs. Hartley stumbled inside. She was clutching the tiny crib and sobbing wildly.
It was the case of the Pottles and Gibbs all over again. When MacRae was able to make something out of her sobs, it appeared that they had been very cautious, had waited, had shouted their intention to surrender, and had displayed a light. There had been no answer, so they had shouted again, then Hartley had stepped off the threshold with his hands up and his wife shining the light on him.
He had been struck down as soon as he stepped out the door.
MacRae turned her over to the women, then went out to reconnoiter. He came back in almost at once. "Somebody get me a chair," he demanded, and looked around. "You, Jimskedaddle."
"What's up?" asked Marlowe.
"Let you know in a moment. I suspect something."
"Be careful."
"That's why I want the chair."
Jim came back with one; the doctor went through the pressure lock again. He came back in about five minutes later. "It's a booby trap," he stated.
"What do you mean?"
"Beecher didn't try to keep men outdoors all night-at least I don't think so. It's automatic. They've put an electriceye grid across the door. When you break it, a bolt comes across, right where you'd be if you walked through it." He displayed half a dozen deep bums through the chair.
Marlowe examined them. "But that's not the important point," MacRae went on. "It's automatic but it's inflexible. It hits about two feet above the step and about four feet. A man could crawl through it-if his nerves were steady."
Marlowe straightened up. "Show me."
They came back, with the chair still more burned, in a few minutes. "Kelly," Marlowe said briskly, "I want twenty volunteers to make a sortie. Pass the word around."
There were at least two hundred volunteers; the problem was to weed them down. Both Frank and Jim tried to get in on it; Jim's father refused to take any but grown, unmarried men -except himself. MacRae he refused.
The doctor pulled Jim back and whispered to him. "Hold your horses. In a few minutes I'll be boss."
The raiding party started into the lock. Marlowe turned to MacRae. "We'll head for me power plant. If we are gone more than two hours, you are on your own." He went into the lock and closed the door.
As soon as the door was closed, MacRae said, "Okay, twenty more volunteers."
Kelly said, "Aren't you going to wait two hours?"
"You tend to your knitting! When I'm out of here, you're in charge." He turned and nodded to Jim and Frank. "You two come along." MacRae had his party in short order, had apparently selected them in his mind before Marlowe left. They filed into the lock.
Once the outer door was open MacRae flashed his torch into the street. The Pottles and the unfortunate Joseph Hartley lay where they had fallen, but no other bodies littered the street. MacRae turned around and said, "Ginune that chair. I'll demonstrate the gimmick." He stuck it out into the door. Instantly two bolts cut across the doorway, parallel to the ground. After they were gone and the eye was still dazzled by their brilliance, two soft violet paths of ionization marked where they had been and then gradually dispersed.
"You will note," said the doctor, as if he were lecturing medical students, "that it does not matter where the chair is inserted." He again shoved the chair into the opening, moved it up and down. The bolts repeated at split-second intervals, but always at the same places, about knee high and chest high.
"I think it is best," continued the doctor, "to maintain the attack. Then you can see where you are. First man!"
Jim gulped and stepped forward-or was shoved, he was not sure which. He eyed the deadly fence, stooped over, and with awkward and infinite care stepped through. He went on out into the street. "Get moving!" the doctor ordered. "Spread out."
Jim ran up the street, feeling very much alone but terribly excited. He paused short of the end of the building and cautiously looked around the comer. Nothing either way-he stopped and waited in the darkness, ready to blast anything that moved.
Ahead of him and to the left he could see the curious structure which had almost cost him the top of his head many hours before. It was clear now that the bolts were coming from it.
Some one came up behind him. He whirled and heard a voice yelp, "Don't shoot! It's me-Frank."
"How about the others?"
"They're coming-I think."
A light flashed at the building ahead, beyond the shield from which the bolts came. Frank said, "I think somebody came out there."
"Can you see him? Do you think we ought to shoot?"
"I don't know."
Someone else was pounding up the street behind them. Up ahead, from near the spot where Frank had thought he had seen a man a heater flashed out in the darkness; the beam passed them.
Jim's gun answered by pure reflex; he nailed the spot from which the flash had come. "You got him," said Frank. "Good boy!"
"I did?" said Jim. "How about the guy behind me?" He found that he was trembling.
"Here he is now."
"Who shot at me?" the newcomer said. "Where are they?"
"Nowhere at the moment," Frank answered. "Jim nailed him." Frank tried to peer into the mask; the night was too dark. "Who is it?"
"Smitty."
Both Frank and Jim gave exclamations of surprise-it was Smythe, the practical man. "Don't look at me like that," Smythe said defensively. "I came along at the last minute-to protect my investment. You guys owe me money."
"I think Jim just paid it off," suggested Frank.
"Not on your life! That's another matter entirely."
"Later, later," said Frank. Others were coming up. Presently MacRae came puffing up and roared, "I told you birdbrains to spread out!" He caught his breath and said, "We tackle the Company main offices. Dogtrot-and don't bunch together."
"Doc," said Jim, "there are some in that building up ahead."
"Some what?"
"Somebody that shoots at us, that's what."
"Oh. Hold it, everybody." MacRae gave them hoarse instructions, then said, "Got it, everybody?"
"Doc," asked Frank, "how about the gun over there? Why don't we wreck it first?"