Eloise

"I'm not sure. I-" Adara frowned, then his face cleared. "Yes. I remember now. The Monitors armed themselves before we set out They took the weapons from the same store."

Eloise whispered, her breath warm against his cheek, "Earl! Do you have a plan?"

A bare idea formed while he had lain resting, thinkings correlating every scrap of information he had gained about the city and its occupants.

"A chance," he admitted, "but the only one we've got. We can't cross the ice on foot. Even if we could cross the ground beyond the city, we could never scale the barrier. And if we could do that we'd never make it to Breen. There could be tunnels running from the lower levels, in fact there have to be; but we'd still have to dig our way to the surface. Flying is the only way out."

"Simple," she said, disappointed. "All we have to do is to get the units and go. But what about the Monitors? Camolsaer? As soon as we touch the store, it would know about it."

"Perhaps."

"It can't be done, Earl." Adara shook his head. "The Monitors would order us away."

"What if they do? Do you have to obey?" Dumarest saw the man blink, as if at an unheard of concept. "Listen, Adara, unquestioning obedience is the badge of slavery. If ever you get away from here, you'll have to learn how to be free. You may as well start now. I suppose you do want to get away?"

Adara hesitated, looking at Eloise.

"I'm going," she said firmly. "I don't care what you do, Adara, but I'm going. If you want to stay here and listen to that damned bell knell away your life, you're welcome."

"It isn't death," he said weakly. "It's-"

"Conversion. I know. If you want it you can have it. Me, I'd rather take my chances on a different kind of hell. What do you want us to do, Earl?"

"Get tools from the workshops. Levers, hammers, wedges; anything to force open that store. Can you do it?"

"No." Adara was positive. "The Monitors would stop us."

"Normally, yes," agreed Dumarest. "But times aren't normal. Men are out in the corridors hunting each other down. At any other time the Monitors would stop it, but not now. This is the one chance we have of breaking free. If you take the tools and anything tries to stop you-well, don't be stopped. It's your life, remember. Eloise, you've worked in the gardens, can you get chemicals?"

"Such as?"

"Artificial fertilizers."

"No. The stuff comes through pipes in monitored amounts."

A pity; with fertilizer and sugar he could have made a crude but powerful bomb. But there were other ways. Keeping his voice below the singing thrum of the strings he said, "This is what you must do. Get tools and take them to the store. When the moment comes, wrench it open and take out flying units and weapons."

"And?" Eloise met his eyes. "Don't try to con me, Earl," she said. "It isn't as simple as that. If it was, you wouldn't need help. What else must we do?"

"Create a diversion. More than one if possible. Start some fires, well away from the store."

"Fires?" Adara looked blank. "How? What with?"

"I know how," said Eloise. "I was in a house once-well, never mind. But I can start a fire. How about him?" She jerked her head at the minstrel. "What will he be doing?"

"Helping me."

"And you?"

"Me?" Dumarest shrugged. "I'm going to stop the bell."

* * * * *

Corridor 137 was deserted, the door to the room in which Dumarest had woken locked. He knocked, waited, knocked again; then slipped the knife from his boot and thrust it into the crack. A heave and the door opened with a brittle snap of metal. Dras was nowhere to be seen. He appeared from an inner compartment as Dumarest tore at the casing of the diagnostic machine.

"What are you doing?" He stared, voice rising into a scream. "How dare you touch that machine. Help! Monitors! To-"

He sagged as Arbush slammed a fist against his jaw, the minstrel catching him as he fell. Without a word, he heaved the body back into the inner room and rested the unconscious man on a couch.

"I was sorry to do that," he murmured as he returned to where Dumarest was working. "In a way he saved our lives. Well, it can't be helped." He sucked at a split knuckle. "Need any help, Earl?"

Dumarest shook his head. The inside of the machine lay bare; a mass of electronic wizardry into which he probed with questing fingers. As he'd guessed there was a communication unit installed into the machine, a radio-link with Camolsaer. He adjusted it, altering the circuits, seeing tiny sparks flare between poorly made connections. Satisfied, he stepped back into the corridor.

"Get back to the others," he told Arbush. "Help them. But not yet. First, we have work to do."

Part of it was done; the readjusted machine was now broadcasting a band of white noise, a stream of static which, he hoped, would disturb the close contact each Monitor had with the others and Camolsaer. A distraction to add to the others, but this one with a more definite purpose. "Now!"