Spartan Planet - A. Bertram Chandler [49]
"Have you a screwdriver?" asked Brasidus.
"A screwdriver?"
"If you have, bring it."
"All right."
A light, flexible ladder snaked down from the almost invisible hull. Clad in black coveralls, Peggy Lazenby was herself almost invisible as she rapidly dropped down it. As soon as she was standing on the ground, the pinnace lifted, vanished into the night sky.
"What now, love?" she asked. "What now?"
"That door," Brasidus told her, pointing.
"With a screwdriver? Are you quite mad?"
"We shall need that later. But I was sure that you'd have one of your laser-cameras along."
"As it happens, I haven't. But I do have a laser pistol—which, on low intensity, is a quite useful electric torch." She pulled the weapon from its holster, made an adjustment, played a dim beam on the double door. "Hm. Looks like a conventional enough lock. And I don't think that your little friends will notice a very brief and discreet fireworks display."
She made another adjustment, and the beam became thread thin and blinding. There was a brief coruscation of sparks, a spatter of incandescent globules of molten metal.
"That should be it. Push, Brasidus."
Brasidus pushed. There was resistance that suddenly yielded, and the massive valves swung inwards.
Nobody noticed them enter the warehouse—the entire attention of the mob was centered on the door of the crèche, which was still holding. When they were inside, Brasidus pushed the big doors shut. Then he asked, "How did you find me?"
"I wasn't looking for you. We knew about the riot, of course, and I persuaded John to let me take one of the pinnaces so that I could observe the goings-on. Our liftoff coincided with a test firing of the auxiliary rocket drive—even your Captain Diomedes couldn't blame Commander Grimes for wanting to be all ready for a hasty getaway. And the radar lookout kept by your Navy must be very lax—although, of course, our screen was operating. Anyhow, I was using my infrared viewer, and when I saw a solitary figure slink away from the main party, I wondered what mischief he was up to. I focused on him, and, lo and behold, it was you. Not that I recognized you at first. I much prefer you in uniform. Now, what is all this about?"
"I wish that I knew. But the mob's trying to break into the crèche, and I've at least one friend in there whom I'd like to save. Too . . . oh, damn it all, I am a policeman, and I just can't stand by doing nothing."
"What about your precious Diomedes? What part is he playing in all this?"
"Come on," he snarled. "Come on. We've wasted enough time already." He found the light switch just inside the door, pressed it, then led the way to the hatch in the floor. They went through it, down into the basement, and then to the big chamber. Peggy helped him to open the door, followed him to the far insulated wall. Yes, that was the panel beyond which lay the tunnel—the slots of the screw-heads glittered with betraying bright metal.
At the far end of the tunnel the door into the crèche was not secured, and opened easily.
Chapter 22
IT WAS QUIET in the passageway, but, dull and distant, the ominous thudding of the battering ram could be heard. And there was the sound of crying, faint and faraway, the infants in the wards screaming uncontrollably.
"Which way?" Peggy was asking. "Which way?"
"This way, I think." He set off at a run along the corridor, his bare feet noiseless on the polished floor. She followed at the same pace, her soft-soled shoes making an almost inaudible shuffle. They ran on, past the closed, numbered doors. At the first cross alleyway Brasidus turned right without hesitation—as long as he kept the clangor of forcible entry as nearly ahead as possible, he could not go far wrong.
And then one of the doors opened. From it stepped the tall, yellow-haired Arcadian whom Brasidus had encountered during his first trespass. She was dressed, this time, in a belted tunic, and her feet were shod in heavy sandals. And she carried a knife that was almost a short sword.
"Stop!" she