grope with their hands
before them like blind men. Stumbling and falling against the rock,
their fingers were soon throbbing and raw from brushing against the
rough walls. Ulv followed the scent of the magter that hung in the
air where they had passed. When it grew thin he knew they had left
the frequently used tunnels and entered deserted ones. They could
only retrace their steps and start again in a different direction.

More maddening than the walking was the way time was running out.
Inexorably the glowing hands crept around the face of Brion's watch
until they stood at fifteen minutes before twelve.

"There is a light ahead," Ulv whispered, and Brion almost gasped
with relief. They moved slowly and silently until they stood,
concealed by the darkness, looking out into a domed chamber brightly
lit by glowing tubes.

"What is it?" Ulv asked, blinking in the painful wash of
illumination after the long darkness.

Brion had to fight to control his voice, to stop from shouting.

"The cage with the metal webbing is a jump-space generator. The
pointed, silver shapes next to it are bombs of some kind, probably
the cobalt bombs. We've found it!"

His first impulse was to instantly send the radio call that would
stop the waiting fleet of H-bombers. But an unconvincing message
would be worse than no message at all. He had to describe exactly
what he saw here so the Nyjorders would know he wasn't lying. What
he told them had to fit exactly with the information they already
had about the launcher and the bombs.

The launcher had been jury-rigged from a ship's jump-space
generator; that was obvious. The generator and its controls were
neatly cased and mounted. Cables ran from them to a roughly
constructed cage of woven metal straps, hammered and bent into shape
by hand. Three technicians were working on the equipment. Brion
wondered what sort of blood-thirsty war-lovers the magter had found
to handle the bombing for them. Then he saw the chains around their
necks and the bloody wounds on their backs.

He still found it difficult to have any pity for them. They had
obviously been willing to accept money to destroy another planet--or
they wouldn't have been working here. They had probably rebelled
only when they had discovered how suicidal the attack would be.

Thirteen minutes to midnight.

Cradling the radio against his chest, Brion rose to his feet. He had
a better view of the bombs now. There were twelve of them,