"This way. They’ll kill us now if they catch us."
She sped into an alleyway that gaped nearby. Vanning saw Hobbs and Sanderson racing in pursuit. So Sanderson had got through, too. Good!
Zeeth?
The Venusian reeled against Vanning, his fat face contorted. "I’m—hit. Go on—don’t mind me—"
"Nuts," the detective growled, and hoisted the flabby body to his shoulder. Zeeth had more courage than any of them, he thought. Weak of physique, hating pain, yet he had not hesitated to join his companions in a hopeless battle....
IV
Vanning sped after the others, who had waited for him. After that it was a desperate hare-and-hounds chase, with Lysla leading them through the labyrinth of the city, her slender legs flying.
"You okay?" Vanning gasped as he ran shoulder to shoulder with the girl for a moment.
Her white teeth were fixed in her lower lip. "I ... I shot at that Swamja’s eyes. Blinded him. It’s the only way ... ugh! "
"Where now?" Hobbs panted, his white hair rippling with the wind of his racing. Sanderson echoed the question.
"Lysla? Can we—"
"I don’t know. We’ve been heading north. Never been there before. Can’t go south—gates are always guarded."
Hobbs panted, "There are only two ways out. The way we came in—guarded, eh?—and another gate at the north."
"We’ll try it," Vanning said. "Unless we can get to that space-ship—"
Zeeth wriggled free. "Put me down. I’m all right now. The space-ship—that’s guarded too. But there aren’t any soldiers at the north gate. I don’t know why."
Through the city a rising tumult was growing. Lights were blazing here and there, but the party kept to the shadows. Twice they flattened themselves against walls as Swamja hurried past. Luck was with them; but how long it would last there was no way of knowing.
Suddenly a great voice boomed out, carrying to every corner of the city. It seemed to come from the dome high above.
"Attention! No slaves will be permitted on the streets unless accompanied by a Swamja master! No quarter is to be given to the fugitives who blinded a guard! Capture them alive if possible—they must serve as an example. But show them no quarter!"
Lysla’s face had paled. Vanning glanced at her, but said nothing. Things were bad enough as they were. Only Sanderson chuckled sardonically.
"Nice going, Vanning. How about Callahan now?"
The detective grunted. Zeeth panted, "I would—have preferred a—peaceful death. I do not—like torture."
Vanning felt a pang of sympathy for the fat little native. But he couldn’t help him. Escape was the only chance.
"Here," Lysla gasped, pausing in the shadow of a tall building. "These outer houses are all deserted. There’s the gate."
Across a dim expanse of bare soil it loomed, a wall of metal rising high above their heads. Vanning stared.
"No guards. Maybe it’s locked. Still ... I’m going out there. If there are any Swamja, they’ll jump me. Then run like hell. Don’t try to help."
Without waiting for an answer he sprinted across the clearing. At the door he paused, staring around. Nothing stirred. He heard nothing but the distant tumult from within the city. Looking back, he could see the faint elfin-lights glowing here and there, and the shining tube rising to the dome—the tube that was pouring out the North-Fever virus into the atmosphere of tortured, enslaved Venus.
And these were the gods of Venus, Vanning thought bitterly. Devils, rather!
He turned to the door. The locks were in plain sight, and yielded after a minute or two to his trained hands. The door swung open automatically.
Beyond was an empty, lighted tunnel, stretching bare and silent for perhaps fifty yards. At its end was another door.
Vanning held up his hand. "Wait a bit!" he called softly. "I’ll open the other one. Then come running!"
"Right!" Sanderson’s voice called back.
An eternity later the second door swung open. Vanning gave the signal, and heard the thud of racing feet. He didn’t turn. He was staring out across the threshold, a sick hopelessness tugging at his stomach.
*
The door to freedom had opened—mockingly. Ahead of him was the floor of a canyon, widening as it ran on. But the solid ground existed for only a quarter of a mile beyond the threshold.
Beyond that was flame.
Red, crawling fire carpeted the valley from unscalable wall to granite scarp. Lava, restless, seething, boiled hotly down the slope, reddening the low-hanging fog into scarlet, twisting veils. Nothing alive could pass that terrible barrier. That was obvious.
Zeeth said softly, "It will be a quicker death than the Swamja will give us."
"No!" Vanning’s response was instinctive. "Damned if I’ll go out that way. Or let—" He stopped, glancing at Lysla. Her blue eyes were curiously calm.
"The cliffs?" she suggested.
Vanning scanned them. "No use. They can’t be climbed. No wonder the Swamja left this door unguarded!"
"Wonder why they had it in the first place?" Hobbs asked.
"Maybe there was a way out here once. Then the lava burst through ... I’ve seen lava pits like this on Venus," Sanderson grunted. "They’re pure hell. This isn’t an exit—except for a salamander."
"Then there’s no way?" Lysla asked.
Vanning’s jaw set. "There’s a way. A crazy way—but I can’t see any other, unless we can get out by the south gate."
"Impossible," Hobbs said flatly.
"Yeah. They’ll have plenty of guards there now ... I mean the space-ship."
There was a momentary silence. Zeeth shook his head.
"No ship can live in the air of Venus."
"I said it was a crazy way. But we might get through. We just might. And it’s the only chance we have."
Sanderson scratched his red head. "I’m for it. I don’t want to be skinned alive ... I’m with you, Vanning. You a pilot?"
"Yeah."
"You’ll have to be the best damned pilot in the System to get us through alive."
Lysla said, "Okay. What are we waiting for?" An indomitable grin flashed in her grimy, lovely face.
"Good girl," Hobbs encouraged. "We’d better get out of here, anyway. Back to the city."
They returned through the valve, without troubling to close the doors. "The Swamja might think we tried to get through the lava," Vanning explained. "We need all the false trails we can lay. Now—we’d better hide out for a bit till the riot dies down."
"Good idea," Sanderson nodded.
"These outer buildings are deserted—I told you that. We can find a hiding-place—"
Lysla led them into one of the structures, and into a room below the level of the street. "They’ll search, but it’ll take a while. Now I suppose we just wait."
Since there were no windows, the light Lysla turned on would not attract attention. Nevertheless, Vanning subconsciously felt the urge to remain in darkness.
He grinned mirthlessly. "I’m beginning to know how you feel, Callahan. Being a fugitive must be pretty tough."
Nobody answered.
The silence ran on and on interminably. Finally