In the midst of a wild melee support came—through the roof. The feinting force that had attacked earlier had taken the interior of the slave compartment. They cut through the roof when they heard the scuffling. Oxygen roared through the opening into Tetrarch’s dead atmosphere. The struggle was brief—and without quarter to the tetrarchs.
Rod, meanwhile, had reorganized his forces and directed them to proceed to the science building and surround it.
His Survivors were better equipped now. They had gained blasters. The feint on the slave compartment had won them the oxygen-making equipment. It had diverted the enemy from Rod’s main objective. And the men of the feint-party now stood ready to reinforce him.
A courier dashed to him. Bunny was reporting that all space ship hangars had been immobilized. He had then turned to assist in the communications clean up. He wanted further orders.
The orders were brief: to explode all tetrarchians encountered while proceeding to the science building.
His own men waited in silence. They waited before a quiet, ominous building. It stood—a squat, sullen pile—a citadel of science perverted—of infamous torture.
And from it—through a door quickly opened and as quickly shut—a human emerged. A human who limped and snuffled as he crossed the clearing toward the Survivors.
“Harrow,” he called, “I’m an emissary to Rod Harrow. I want to speak to Rod Harrow.”
“All right. What is it?” Rod strode forward despite Williamson’s restraining hand.
The whimpering slave gathered himself together and spoke as if he had memorized his piece.