As they reached the ground level of the tower and prepared to descend into its unknown depths, Pell could hear firing in the distance. They were using weapons that had been obsolete for three hundred years. In spite of what Gret had said, Pell had not really comprehended the significance of her statements in that respect. He was bitter at the shrewdly ruthless policy of the Earth Government. Gutridge wasn't joking when he said the colonials under Dallard wouldn't have a chance when he got his atomics into action. If only Dallard could fight into the fortress in time....
But even as the thought flitted through his mind, he crushed it out. Dallard would need days, not hours, to penetrate this labyrinth.
For perhaps ten minutes they were escorted deeper and deeper into the underground fortress. The twisting passage-ways threw Pell's sense of direction for a loss immediately, but he did remember the long descent in an auto-dropper before they reached the level of their prison.
Finally they turned off into a side corridor which was damp and illuminated only faintly. The walls as he brushed against them were cold to the touch. One of the guards opened a door in the seemingly blank surface of a wall and grunted at Pell.
Shrugging, Pell followed Heintz inside and turned just in time to see the heavy metal door slide back into place.
Sighing, Heintz lowered his vast bulk to the cement floor and surveyed the cell gloomily. Then he looked up at Pell and said, "Boy, if this ain't a mess! If I know anything about atomics, we got about two hours to figure a way out of this clink. Gutridge has one technician who's a genius when it comes to atomics—guy named Bede. That devil will have those blasters ready in no time."
Pell swore to himself and nervously paced the cell looking for a ventilator opening—anything that would allow him to gain egress from the cell. His eyes roved restlessly along the walls seeking for a fault or opening in its maddeningly smooth surface. At last he found the vents—a small series of holes located high in the wall opposite the door. Straining on tip-toes, he managed to insert his little finger in one of them, only to meet with a steel mesh screen inside.
Cursing fluently, he flopped down beside Heintz on the floor and stared moodily at his surroundings. The fat man beside him was morosely searching his pockets for a cigarette. He found one at last and began to tinker with his cranky lighter. Pell watched him curiously as he fumbled with its primitive flint. Taking pity on him, Pell produced his own lighter, flicked the stud and held it toward Heintz. The fat man jumped and looked at him reproachfully.
"Say!" he protested, "Don't scare me like ... like...." He broke off, his eyes wide with the dawn of an idea.
"Pell!" he blurted eagerly, "that thing will cut through these walls like butter!"