Behind the locked door of the conference room, one of the Masters passed out heatguns to Nuwell, Placer and the other four.
"If we use these on them at half intensity, I think we can calm them down without killing any of them," said Placer. "We'll probably have more trouble beating down the Toughs and keeping them from killing all the Jellies than we will subduing the Jellies in the first place."
"I hope we warned the three at the other end of the hall in time," said one of the others. "There hasn't been any word from them."
Placer flicked a switch on the intercom system.
"Touchstone, are you men safe?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," replied a voice on the other end. "We locked ourselves in, because there aren't any heatguns we can get to from here. The Jellies haven't gotten this far down yet. They seem to be cowed by the Toughs at the door to Miss Cara Nome's room, and the Toughs are strutting around getting themselves in the mood for an attack. We've been watching them through the window."
"Good," said Placer. "Between the Toughs at that end and our heatguns at this end, we ought to be able to force them back below without much trouble. Are we ready to move out?"
A different voice came in over the intercom, the voice of the tenth Master, who was on duty in the farm's control room.
"Placer, the screens show three groundcars moving up from the south," he said. "I've tried to contact them by radio, but they don't answer."
"We haven't been notified to expect any government visitors," said Placer. "It may be a convoy of travelers off-course in the desert, or it could be a wandering party of escaped rebels. Warn them away."