Limpy Austin was standing at the infra-red glass wall. His left arm and leg were shriveled, and one side of his face was twisted up in a sardonic leer. Mercurian Paralysis, that strange disease which immobilizes either half of a person depending on whether it is contracted at the Day or Night Side, had made a hopeless cripple of him.
He turned around when Mac came in. "Well?" he asked.
"They're coming, all right," Mac grunted. He leaned over the control panel, pushed the button that clanged the cease-work alarm down in the mine. Then he threw the lever that halted the ore cars to bring the men to the surface.
"How do things look?" Limpy pursued.
Mac shrugged. "We ought to have a better chance than before. There are four of us this time."
Limpy shuffled to the radio. With his slender, sensitive right hand, he twisted the dials.
"Adonis City," he said harshly into the microphone. "Limpy Austin calling Adonis City...."
There was a squeal of static. "Adonis City," replied a harried voice. "Come in, Austin, but make it short!"
"What's up?"
"'Pede attack on every damned mine. How about you? Aren't they—"