"If it's any comfort, Whitey, you look better this way," McCade said as he rolled the corpse over and undid the gunbelt which circled its waist. McCade was strapping Whitey's gun on, when three other prisoners ran up.
"Shit, boss, you don't mess around," a short blocky man called Fesker said. "God, look at that, he took all three of 'em."
"I'm glad you men showed up," McCade said. "I could use a little help. Are you with me?"
"You bet we are, boss," Fesker said, picking up a riot gun. "Right, Mendez? Right, Hawkins?"
"Count me in," Mendez agreed calmly, kneeling to strip off the neanderthal's gunbelt.
Hawkins just nodded solemnly, and ran his hand lovingly along the length of the second riot gun. He had even features, bright blue eyes and long brown hair, which hung down his back in two braids.
"All right," McCade said. "Now listen carefully . . . and do this exactly the way I tell you to. As the men come out of the tunnels, hold them right here. Whatever you do, don't let them leave the cavern. Otherwise the guards on the crawlers will know something's fishy, and mow you down before you even get close. The time to take them is at the end of the shift, when they expect us to come out."
"Right, boss," Fesker agreed enthusiastically. "It'll be just the way you said."
"Good," McCade replied. "How about radio? Do you know if Whitey had some way to communicate with the crawlers?"
Fesker shook his head. "Naw, the rock's too thick."
"Excellent," McCade replied. "At least there's one problem we don't have to worry about. Now, Hawkins, give me a hand with one of these bodies. Spigot's in a tight spot, but there's a chance we can pull him out." McCade bent over, struggled to get a hold on Whitey's body, and only barely managed to pick it up. It was damned heavy. Doing his best to ignore the nature of his burden, McCade headed for tunnel seventeen.
Hawkins slung the riot gun across his back, eyeing first the black man, and then the massive form of the neanderthal. He quickly chose the black man. With one smooth motion, he lifted the corpse, and threw it over his right shoulder. Then, carefully picking his way through the rocks, Hawkins hurried to catch up.
As he entered the tunnel, McCade had only the vaguest of plans. But if Spigot was as elusive as Whitey gave him credit for, it might even work. Even so, speed was of the essence. It wasn't easy to jog with a dead body in his arms, so McCade was forced to stop, and sling it over one shoulder as Hawkins had. Having done so, he made much better time.
Finally he saw it, a narrow slitlike crevice in the rock, cut by running water rather than worms. The opening was a tight fit, but he forced his way through it, with Hawkins right behind him. They couldn't run in the narrow passageway, but they still made fairly good time, splashing through the shallow water until suddenly a rock wall barred their way. At the base of it there was a small hole through which the water gushed into the open space beyond. They could make it, but they'd have to lay down in the water to do so, and there was no guarantee as to what they'd find on the other side.
McCade dumped Whitey's body into the water. "You first," he said, pushing the guard's body down, and into the hole. It was quickly sucked out of sight. McCade motioned to Hawkins. "Your friend's next."
Hawkins grinned, and followed McCade's example.
As soon as the other body had disappeared, McCade gave Hawkins what he hoped was a confident smile as he lay down in the water, and shot through the hole feet first. First he felt bitter cold as the water hit his skin, and then pure terror, as the current grabbed him and pulled him through the opening. Suddenly he was falling, wondering if this was how he would die, and then he hit, plunging deep under the surface of the water. Kicking upward, he wondered why everything was black, and then realized his eyes were closed. He opened them to crystal-clear water, his headlamp shining up toward the surface, bubbles dancing in and out of the light. Then he was through the surface, splashing water against a rock wall, and gulping down air. He cursed himself for never wondering if the light was waterproof, and gave thanks that it was.
He heard a tremendous splash behind him, jerked around, almost laughing when he realized it was just Hawkins, shooting through the opening and into the pool. Turning his head McCade's light fell across a steeply shelving beach. He gave a kick and stroked toward it, almost screaming when he hit something soft, and Whitey's faceless corpse popped up in front of him. Forcing himself to push it in front of him, he heard Hawkins surface, coughing up water.
"Over here!" McCade shouted, and splashed the water to attract the other man's attention.
Hawkins coughed in reply, and began swimming toward the beach.
McCade felt his feet touch bottom, scooped up Whitey's body, and stumbled up and out of the water. Suddenly he froze. What the hell was that? Some sort of a noise. Then he heard it again and saw a flash of light over to his right.
"Take that, you big turd. I hope you choke on me and die." It was Spigot!
"He's somewhere to the right!" McCade yelled, lunging toward the flashing light. After a few steps, he came to a place where the wall opened to the main tunnel, and there was Spigot, one leg twisted awkwardly under his body, his headlamp swinging wildly this way and that, as he threw both rocks and insults at the worm.
The worm was by far the ugliest thing McCade had ever seen and, considering its size, moved with surprising speed. It made a sort of sloshing sound as it surged forward, its circular pink maw opening to reveal thousands of black teeth. As it moved, it belched out waves of rotten acidic breath. McCade felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. A primitive part of him started to gibber and scream deep in the back of his mind. He pushed it down and pretended not to hear it. Twenty-five more feet and the worm would have Spigot.
Hawkins appeared at his side, riot gun at the ready, reminding McCade of the task at hand. Apparently the other guard's body was still somewhere in the pool. "Well, I guess it's up to you, Whitey," he said to the corpse. Turning to Hawkins he said, "Grab Spigot, and get him out of there!"
Seconds later, Hawkins was dragging a surprised Spigot back away from the oncoming worm. Meanwhile, McCade forced himself to move toward the undulating monster. When he was about ten feet away, he dumped Whitey's corpse unceremoniously on the ground, and quickly backed up. As he did so, McCade drew Whitey's handgun, and Hawkins pumped a round into the chamber of his riot gun. For the first time since they'd met Hawkins spoke, "
Bon Appétit,
you sonovabitch." Spigot cackled gleefully from his position on the ground.
Then all three watched in horrified fascination as the Worm reached Whitey's body, delicately sucked the corpse into its mouth, and began to chew. The sound of Whitey's bones being ground into a fine paste sent chills up McCade's spine, but at least they'd bought some time, now all he had to do was find a way to use it.
"So far so good," McCade observed, turning to the others. "Now if there's only some way to get past the damned thing."
"This is no time to kid around, Sam," Spigot said. "The minute that thing's done with Whitey, it'll come for us. Let's leave the same way you came in."
"I'd like to, Spigot, but I'm afraid that's out." McCade quickly described the passageway, the fall into the pool, and their subsequent arrival.
Much to McCade's surprise, Spigot laughed. "That's a new one on me, Sam. No wonder you're wet. I assumed you came through the side passage, that hits the main tunnel about twenty yards behind us. That's where I was headed when I slipped in the slime and broke my leg."
McCade looked at Hawkins, and they both laughed. "All right, Spigot," McCade said. "Let's get out of here." Carrying Spigot between them, McCade and Hawkins made their way down the tunnel. They went about twenty yards, and sure enough, there was the passageway, right where Spigot said it would be. It took a good twenty minutes of hard work to carry the little man through the passageway and out of the tunnel. As they emerged, McCade wasn't ready for the crowd of men, or their applause. The shift was about to end, and true to his word, Fesker had held all the men inside the cavern. He and Mendez were standing at the front of the crowd, having appointed themselves as McCade's assistants.
Turning to the crowd Fesker yelled, "There he is, men, he just snatched Spigot from a worm, and now he's gonna kick Torb's ass, are you with him?"
As the crowd roared their approval, Spigot grinned, and waved, as though they were cheering him. Suddenly McCade realized that things had gotten out of hand. What started as an effort to help a friend had somehow turned into a full-scale revolt. The men expected him to lead them against Torb, and having killed three guards, McCade realized he didn't have much choice.
As the crowd calmed down, two men took Spigot aside, and applied some rough and ready first aid. There wasn't much time, so McCade jumped up on a rock and motioned for silence. "Thank you, men. Now listen carefully, because if we don't do this right, the guards are going to cut us up into very small pieces." For the next few minutes McCade outlined his plan, assigned responsibilities, and answered questions. Then it was time to move.
McCade nodded. "All right then . . . let's do it." There was a sense of subdued excitement, as the men walked out of the cavern, and into the early dawn light. They were different somehow, backs straight, heads erect, they no longer moved like slaves. McCade worried that the distant guards would notice the difference. If they did, the whole thing could turn into a terrible slaughter. They had to get close enough to take over the crawlers. Once they accomplished that, they'd have powerful weapons, plus a way to crack the dome itself. The chances were good that Torb would receive some sort of warning, and unless they had the means to break in, he could lock them outside the dome until they simply ran out of oxygen.
But his fears were groundless, because as they approached the crawlers, the guards regarded them with the same bored disdain they always did. McCade, Fesker, Hawkins, and Mendez were each leading a contingent of men toward one of the four crawlers. They had the only weapons, so it would be up to them to neutralize the guards, and McCade knew that even with surprise on their side, it wouldn't be easy. The guards were tough, and many were professional killers.
As the men lined up to throw their tools in an open box, McCade was watching both of his guards. The driver was sitting on the bow of the crawler, completely oblivious to his surroundings, reading a skin mag. The other guard was the same woman they'd had on the way out, and one glance told McCade she was suspicious. Her features were locked into a rigid frown, and her glittering eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something to confirm the feeling in her gut. She knew something was wrong . . . she just couldn't figure out what it was. Then McCade saw her eyes widen as she realized that Whitey and the other two guards were nowhere in sight. Her lips moved, and her hand dived for her sidearm, but the only sound was the roar of McCade's gun. The heavy slug hit her in the left thigh, and she went down hard, the gun spinning from her hand to land in the dirt. The driver was fast. He was up and scrambling toward the weapon turret so quickly that McCade fired three times before a slug finally caught him and threw him off the far side of the crawler.
McCade pointed at three of the nearest men. "You . . . you . . . and you. Get the men aboard and secure this rig. Find somebody who knows how to run it. And not some bozo either . . . our lives are going to depend on him in a few minutes. And get that guard some first aid. Watch her though, she's down, but she isn't out. Got it?" They nodded and scrambled off to obey his orders.
Suddenly Fesker appeared at his side. "Trouble, boss. We got two of em, but the guards on the fourth killed Mendez, and managed to button it up."
As if to punctuate Fesker's words, there was the whine of a starter, followed by a stuttering roar as the last machine in line started up, and then jerked into motion. "Hit the dirt!" McCade shouted, and promptly followed his own advice.
Incandescent pulses of blue light flashed and rippled toward them, slagging everything they touched, as the crawler gradually built up speed and rumbled away. Men ran screaming in every direction as the turret-mounted energy cannon cut them down in swathes. But suddenly two of the captured machines began to return fire, scoring at least one clean hit, before the escaping crawler disappeared around a spire of rock. "Damn," Fesker said as he got to his feet. "Sorry, boss."
McCade did likewise and shrugged. "Couldn't be helped. We were lucky it wasn't worse. Well, let's see to the wounded, and get organized. There's no reason to give Torb any more time than we have to."
An hour later they'd done what they could for the wounded, passed out what weapons there were, and assigned the most experienced drivers and gunners to the three remaining crawlers. As they neared the dome, McCade was worried. They had an hour, two at the most, before they ran out of oxygen. Torb knew that, and therefore knew exactly how long he had to hold out to win the battle. An advantage to say the least.
McCade ran a critical eye over the outside of the dome and didn't like what he saw. First, the base of the dome was made out of durasteel reinforced permacrete; second, the bubble was constructed of forty ply armaplast; and third, the damned thing had four weapons emplacements, one for each point of the compass. Bad—but not hopeless. By the look of them, the multibarreled energy weapons were intended for anti-aircraft use, and not for defense against a ground attack. Since he had Worm to himself, Torb had assumed that an attack would come from space. McCade grinned as he remembered what they'd taught him at the Academy. The first role of warfare is, don't assume anything. Spread out the way they were, McCade figured he could neutralize two of the gun emplacements by attacking just one side of the dome. While that would leave only two emplacements to deal with, they would be able to support each other, and place his forces in a cross fire.