"We have a substitute for sucker pads." Kartr rolled Fortus Kan off the bed and set to work tearing its coverings into strips which Rolth caught up and knotted together. Working against time, but testing each knot, they produced a rough rope.
"You first," ordered the sergeant. "Then this." He touched Kan with the toe of his boot. "I'll come last. Over now — time must be running out fast or they wouldn't have been in such a hurry to clear out."
Rolth was gone almost before he finished speaking. Kartr hung over the window sill to watch but the Faltharian was so quickly hidden in the dark that only the movements of the rope told when he stopped climbing down and signaled a safe landing. Kartr pulled the clumsy line back into the room, his palms wet against the torn cloth. There was a terrible urgency goading him. He tied the cloth loop under Kan's arms and manhandled the secretary's limp body over the sill, lowering it as slowly as he could until a sharp jerk told him Rolth was in charge. Kartr did not even wait until Kan was untied before he was descending hand over hand.
And as his feet hit the surface of the roof below it happened. There was no sound at first. But the support under him danced. He fell flat and buried his head in his arms, not daring to watch what was happening above. Force bomb all right. He had once before been caught in the backwash of one. Had Zinga and Fylh escaped in time? Resolutely he shut that fear out of his mind. There was a faint moan from Kan. Rolth — ?
But on the edge of that thought came the Faltharian's voice.
"Quite a display! Cummi likes to play rough, doesn't he?"
The sergeant sat up. He was trembling — perhaps with reaction from that frenzied descent — but, he decided, mostly from the black rage which possessed him now whenever he thought of the Ageratan. A rage he must best or that other sensitive could turn it into a weapon against him.
"How do we get away from here?" He must depend on Rolth's ability to pierce the gloom. For it was real gloom which walled them in now. The dancing lights of the city were gone — they were crouched in the middle of a black blot.
"Window over there — not too high to reach. What about this prize package? Do we have to lug him along?"
"He'll wake by morning. Get him inside a room and leave him. I don't think they'll try another bomb."
"Not unless they want to bring the whole place down around their heads. Let's go. If you'll take Kan's legs, I'll heave his head."
Kartr stumbled along, trusting to Rolth to guide them. They reached a window, beat open the casement and crawled through with their unconscious burden.
"Aren't we in the wrong building now?" the sergeant wanted to know. "I thought we climbed down over there — "
"You're right. We're in a different one. But this was the easiest and quickest route out. Did the boys get away?"
For the second time Kartr tried to reach Zinga — sent out those shafts of thought. Once — for a single joyful second he thought he had made contact — then it was gone. He dared not try too long, the Can-hound — if that creature still lived — or even Cummi might be able to pick up his signal.
"No use," he told Rolth. "I can't make contact. But that doesn't mean we have to worry. They may be too far away — we've never been able to discover what governs mental reception or how far we can beam a call. And they may be lying low because the Ageratan is too near. But I did reach Zinga before the blast and they had several minutes more than we did to escape."
That was not much to pin any hope to, Kartr knew that. But with such veterans as Fylh and Zinga it was almost enough.
"Do we try to locate Smitt?"
"I think so. Or at least we can make contact with his rebels."
Kartr hooked his fingers in Rolth's belt and allowed the Faltharian to tow him through dark rooms and darker hallways, while he tried to keep some sense of direction.
"Street level," came the welcome whisper at last.
"I believe that we are facing the street which runs along the front of Cummi's headquarters — "
But, before Rolth could affirm or deny that, a brilliant bolt of fire snapped across the dark and both of them involuntarily ducked.
A blaster shot! And that was another from down the street. A third beam brought a choked, horrible scream in answer.
"The war's on!" Rolth pointed out unnecessarily. "And which is our side?"
"Neither, just yet. I don't want to guess wrong and be fried," returned Kartr grimly. "There's one to our left — about five feet away He's crawling past us at an angle. I'll try contact as he goes by and see who he is — "
The lashes of fire continued to light up the sod-grown street at intervals. There were no more cries so either the aim continued to be poor, or very, very good.
The sniper crawled across their vantage point.
"No uniform," Rolth reported. "Looks like a civilian to me. But he knows blasters. Maybe the veteran of a sector war — "
"He's not a Cummi man but — " Kartr had no time for a warning.
No, the man out there was not one of Cummi's followers, but he had caught that tentative mind touch in an instant — something which had never happened to Kartr before. And his blaster swung around at the rangers.
"Patrol!" Rolth yelled.
The blaster aim wavered, and then held steady at them.
"Come out — with your hands up!" ordered a harsh voice. "I've set this on `spray' and I'll use it that way, too!"
Kartr and Rolth obeyed, hunking forward at a half stoop for there were other blasters busy farther down.
"Who in Space are you?" demanded their captor.
"Patrol rangers. We're trying to contact Smitt, our com-techneer — "
"Yeah?" There was deep suspicion in that voice. "Well, you're going to contact him now. Get going down in that direction and I'm right behind you if you try to run — "
They followed orders which brought them to a dark doorway some distance away.
"Stairs here," Rolth informed his companion.
"Sure," agreed the man behind them. "Go down them, and shut up!"
But five steps down brought them to a barrier.
"Knock on that four times quick, wait a second and knock again!" came the order of their guard.
Rolth obeyed and the portal moved aside. They blundered through a thick curtain and found themselves in a dimly lighted hall where two men eyed them with no pretense of friendship and blasters were pointed at their middles. But when the light touched their comets there came recognition and relaxation. One of the guardians stepped closer.
"Take off your helmets," he commanded.
The rangers obeyed and the blinked as a torch beam centered on them.
"It's okay. They're not Cummi's — they must be Patrol. Take them in to Krowli. How is it going topside?"
"We lie on our bellies and shoot — they do the same. At least we knocked out the robots' signal cables so they can't turn those against us again. Far as I can see it's stalemate," their late captor replied. "Okay. Let the old man out, boys — back to the firing line!"
"Get one of them for me, Pol!"
"I'll do that little thing. Fry him on a platter. Good landing!"
"And clear skies!" One of the guards closed the door and rearranged the folds of the improvised blackout curtain. The other jerked a thumb at the rangers.
"Down this way."
They went down the length of the hallway into a large room which was the scene of some activity. Several men squatted around some boxes digging machinery parts out of packing. Two others sat at a box table and three more were making a scratch meal at the far end of the room. The newcomers were waved toward the two at the table. One of them raised his head and then jumped to his feet. It was Smitt.
"It is stalemate all right." The com-techneer ran his fingers through his hair.
Kartr and Rolth studied the crude map which lay on the table top.