rightly—was one of the old learned members of the race. As he scuttled closer to the cowering Tipene, I saw that, amidst the bristles which covered his head and thorax, was a menore.
The three great spiders approached the ship warily, watching it constantly with huge, glittering eyes. A safe distance away they paused, and the old one fixed his attention on Tipene.
Evidently, what Tipene emanated caused the old fellow to become very angry; I could see his legs quivering, and his withered old mandibles fairly clattered.
“He says he won’t do it!” Tipene called up to me, excitedly. “Says we can’t reach them underground, and that they’ll kill their hostages if we try to harm them.”
“Ask him if there are any tunnels between the ship and the river,” I commanded. “We’ll demonstrate what we can do if he harms Inverness and Brady.”
The two were in silent communion for a moment, and Tipene looked up and shook his head.
“No,” he shouted. “No tunnels there. The water would seep into them.”
“Then tell him to watch!”
I stepped back and pressed an attention signal.
“Mr. Hendricks?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Open up with the starboard tube, full power, concentrated beam, at any spot halfway between here and the river. At once.”
“At once, sir!”
The ray generators hummed instantly, their note deepening a moment later. The ray bit into the dry, sandy soil, boring steadily into the earth, making an opening over twice the height of a man in diameter.
The fine, reddish-brown dust of disintegration hung swirling above the mouth of the tunnel at first, and then, as the ray cut deeper into the earth, settled quickly and disappeared.
“Cease operation, Mr. Hendricks!” I commanded. “Keep the generators on, and stand by for further orders.”
As soon as Hendricks’ quick acknowledgment came back, I called down to Tipene.
“Tell your friend to inspect the little hole we drilled,” I said. “Tell him to crawl down into it, if he wishes to see how deep it is. And then inform him that we have several ray tubes like this one, and that if he does not immediately produce his hostages, unharmed, we’ll rise above his city and blast out a crater big enough to bury the Ertak.”
Tipene nodded and communicated with the aged Aranian, who had cowered from the shaft in the earth disintegrated by our ray, and who now, very cautiously, approached it, flanked by his two far from eager guards.
At the lip of the slanting tunnel he paused, peered downward, and then, circling cautiously, approached the lidded tunnel whence he had emerged.
“He agrees,” Tipene called up sullenly. “He will deliver Inverness and Brady to us. But we must come and get them; he says they have barricaded themselves in one of the cubicles, and will not permit any Aranian to approach. They still have their atomic pistols; the Aranians did not realize they were weapons.”
“Very well; tell him a party from the ship will be ready in a few seconds. You will go with us as interpreter; you understand how to communicate with them.”
I pressed Correy’s attention signal and he answered instantly.
“Pick five good men for a landing party, two of them portable disintegrator ray operators, with equipment. The others will be provided with ethon lamps, pistols, and atomic grenades. Get the men to the trap as quickly as possible, please.”
“Immediately, sir!”
I had the cage drawn up, and by the time I had secured my own equipment and returned, Correy was waiting with his men.
“One second, Mr. Correy, and we’ll leave,” I said, calling the navigating room. “Mr. Kincaide, I’m leaving you in command. We are going into the Aranian city to pick up Inverness and Brady. I anticipate no trouble, and if there is no trouble, we shall return within an hour. If we are not back within three hours, blast this entire area with atomic grenades, and riddle it with the rays. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Kincaide.
“And then proceed immediately to Base and report. I have made an entry in the log regarding this expedition, as official evidence, if needed.”
“Right, sir,” said Kincaide, who was as near a perfect officer as I have ever seen.
“Mr. Correy, you’ve heard my orders. So have you, men. We’re going underground, into a veritable warren of these spider creatures. If any of you wish to refuse this service, you have my permission to withdraw.”
Not a man moved. Correy hardly repressed a grin. He knew the men he had picked for the job.
“Good!” I said, and signaled to the cage operator. Swiftly we dropped to earth, where Tipene and our three hairy guides awaited us.
The descent into the white-lined tunnel was a terrifying experience. The lining was tough and fibrous, a sort of coarse material corresponding to the silk of a spider of normal size, although these strands were as large as my little finger, and strong as cables.
A close inspection of our guides added nothing to my confidence or bravery; their eight beady eyes, set at strategic spots about their heads, seemed unwinkingly ominous. And their mandibles, with fangs folded back like the blades of a pocket-knife, paired with their bristly palps, seemed like very capable weapons.
The Aranians ran ahead of us, our ethon lamps making strange and distorted shadows on the curving walls of the tunnel. Correy and I herded the unwilling Tipene just ahead of us, and the five picked men brought up the rear.
About forty feet down, the floor of the tunnel curved sharply and leveled off; a short distance farther on a number of other level tunnels merged with it, and the shape changed; from a tube perfectly circular in cross-section, it became a flattened oval, perhaps half again the height of a man, and at least three times that dimension in width.
Our party was joined by scores of other Aranians, who darted in from side passages; some going ahead, some closing in behind us, until the tunnel was filled with the peculiar brittle sound of their walking.
“They don’t lack for numbers,” muttered Correy softly. “Think they’ll make trouble, sir?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I showed them what the ray would do; I believe it threw a scare into the old chap. Did you tell them what we would do if they played any tricks, Tipene?”
“Certainly; my own life is endangered, isn’t it?” snapped the Zenian.
“It certainly is,” I told him grimly. “And not only by the spiders, if you make any suspicious moves.”
We went on without further conversation, until we came to the beginning of the cubicles Tipene had mentioned.
Each of these was closed, or could be closed, by a circular door such as those which concealed the outer entrance to the tunnels, save that these were swung on a side hinge. From the central passage we were following, smaller ones branched off in all directions: to the left, to the right; upward and downward. And all were lined with the cubicles, from which a constantly increasing army of Aranians emerged to accompany us.
We had gone but a short distance into the “city” when our ancient guide paused, turning to stare down a deserted passage.
“He says,” grunted Tipene—as near a grunt as the high-pitched Zenian voice is capable of, “that they’re down there. He asks that we go and get them; he is afraid. They have killed two of the Aranians already with their atomic pistols.”
“For which I don’t blame them in the least,” said Correy. “I’d get as many as I could before I let them sink their mandibles