Telephone and radio communication
seems to be broken, and, although there is continuous firing going on
inside the building, the city police, who have a cordon completely
around it, say that the situation in the store is well in hand.
Considering Chester Pelton's attacks on the city administration and
particularly the police department, I leave to your imagination what
they mean by that. We do know that a large body of unidentified
plug-uglies whom Police Inspector Cassidy claims are 'special
officers' are holding the conveyor line into the store at the downtown
Manhattan terminal, and nobody seems to know what's going on at the
other end--"

"They have the sections of both belts at the store entrance end
wedged," Latterman said, coming up at the moment. "Coccozello has a
barricade thrown up across the store end of the tunnel, and they have
a barricade about fifty yards down the tunnel. That's where I was
fighting when you called me up."

"Anything being done about gold-berging up a radio sending-set?"
Prestonby asked.

"Yes. I just called Coccozello," Latterman said. "Fortunately, the
inter-department telephone is still working. He's put a couple of men
to work, and thinks he may have a set in operation in about half an
hour."

"... And if, as I much fear, Chester Pelton has been murdered, then I
advise all listening to me to go to the polls tomorrow and vote the
straight Anarchist ticket. If we've got to have anarchy in this
country, let's have anarchy for all, and not just for Grant Hamilton
and his political adherents!" Mongery was saying.

* * * * *

There was a series of heavy explosions on the floor above. Everybody
grabbed weapons and hurried outside, crowding onto the escalators. The
floor above was a shambles, with bodies lying about, and the
descending escalator was packed with white-robed attackers, who had
apparently prepared for their charge by tossing down a number of
heavy fragmentation bombs. Cardon had a burp gun, this time; he
emptied the fifty-shot magazine into the hooded hoodlums who were
coming down. Prestonby, beside him, had a heavy sono gun; he kept it
trained on the head of the escalator and held the trigger back until
it was empty, then slapped in a fresh clip of the small blank
cartridges which produced the sound waves that were amplified and
altered to stunning vibrations. Still, many of the attackers got
through. More were dropping down the lift-plat