«He knows, and he has sworn to slice off your baby-maker and choke you with it.»

Blade winced. Jantor was capable of it. He said: «Tell Jantor that I had no part in that. The slave, Sart, is guilty.»

«But you protect him and you are responsible for him under law. You know all this, man Blade.»

«Yes. I know. I could not prevent it. But I do not wish to speak of that now. Tell Jantor that I am after the secret of the power. I will get it. Tell him that if he bides his time-reins his anger-it will be to his advantage and to mine. I can be of great service to him and he to me. Bid him to think it out. His real danger is the Moon, not Blade, a woman and fifty bed-weakened guards. When I have the power, we can combine forces, and I will show him a way to defeat the orbfolk and take over the city for all time. Tell him that.»

Another Gnoman voice spoke. «We will tell him, man Blade. But there is something Jantor bids us to tell you.»

Blade gazed over the catwalk at the city roofs. Far off was another party of Gnomen hurrying toward him. He pounded once with his bar on the hatch. «Then tell me quickly. I cannot linger.»

Laughter. «You see our parties, then. Surrender, man Blade. You and that whore Sybelline are doomed. Jantor is coming out of the sewers at last.»

Blade tapped with his bar. «Jantor's message? Quickly or I go.»

The second voice said: «Jantor sends word of the girl Norn. He has her and she confesses love for you. Jantor asks if you have love for her? If this is true, if you do have love for her, you would perhaps spare her what Jantor has in mind.»

Blade kept an eye on the party of Gnomen. They were still distant enough for safety. «And what is that?»

He was told and Blade, hardened as he was, felt the sweat on him and his spine chill. And yet there was nothing he could do.

He rapped once again with his bar. «Tell Jantor to do as he likes. Norn is nothing to me. Tell him all I have said and that it is wiser to have me for a friend than an enemy. I go now. Later I will send word to Jantor.»

Silence. The battering began again. Blade ran lightly across the roof and leaped into the chute.

CHAPTER 12

The tube was spiral. By the time Blade had whipped around the third twist of the helix, doubling back and back again, he was sliding at over a hundred miles an hour and gaining speed with every passing second. He lay on his back, arms trailing, and let the tube devour him. The plastic was sleek and cold. There was no sense of burn or pain as he plunged ever faster. And it was totally dark. Surely, he thought, the black of the dreaded five-mile pits could not be worse than this.

The tube was steeper now and he was into a near vertical fall around the spiral. The Gs were piling up and he began to black out. He fought to retain consciousness and made himself fix on a thought to the exclusion of everything else.

Down and down the rushing slide continued and he hung on grimly to sanity and thought-what of Norn? Had he meant what he told the Gnomen? Norn loved him. So what? He owed her nothing. She was a liability, a nuisance. All true. What did he care for her? Nothing.

Blade had adapted now, he was more Gnoman than the Gnomen; he was savage and barbaric, the kill craze lurking just below his surface.

Faster and faster. The plastic screamed as he passed. His backside heated as he approached maximum speed. If Sybelline had tricked him, he was dead. Down into nothing he sped.

Black invaded his brain. Fight it off. Think of Norn. Norn-Norn-what did he care? Nothing.

But Blade knew it wasn't true. He still retained enough of HD humanity to know that if he could save Norn he would-if he could save himself.

He was rushing into terrible heat. Sweat bathed him, poured from him in rivers. He must be approaching the five-mile limit. The heat was unbearable.

He clutched the spear bar, dragging it behind him. The iron heated now, as did his body, and once the bar nearly slipped from his sweat-sodden hand. He brought the bar up and cradled it across his chest. The plastic tube held him, screwing him down and down into the bowels of darkness.

Then he felt the flaps. Immediately he began to slow. Plastic fingers, semi-rigid, clutched at his body, gave as he passed, slowed him bit by bit and passed him on to larger and more rigid fingers. The spiral straightened and the angle lessened and his falling speed dwindled. He could think again.

Down one final glissade. He saw red torches flickering in keyhole silhouette. He shot out through the final orifice and fell lightly onto thick-padded plastic mats, like a feather drifting down. He was safe.

Blade stood up, weak-legged, his bar at the ready. All he could see was a ring of torches. The heat was terrible. Sweat cascaded from him. He heard an agonized sound and was surprised to find that he was making it. He was panting for breath.

A shadow moved. It was Sart, reaching for a torch. Blade called to him, his voice harsh and echoing in this vast domed chamber that he could not yet see.

«Where is Sybelline?»

«Here.» She called from darkness and another torch sparked. «There is a ladder just before you. Guide on my torch.»

The plastic mats were piled thirty feet high. Blade found the edge and the ladder. He looked down and saw her uplifted face. He climbed down. He felt weak and giddy. The deadly heat was the enemy.

Sybelline handed him a torch and lit it from her own. She watched him gravely, her green eyes sparkling, her full mouth set in a smile he could not fathom.

«Follow, Blade,» she said.

Sart was lighting torches, far across an open space. Blade called to him. «Leave off that. Come to me.»

Sybelline shrugged. «He is of no use. He will understand nothing.»

«No matter. I want him under my eye.»

They waited for Sart. Blade scuffed at the floor with his toe. It was artificial turf, plastic, as would be the great dome in which they stood. He could not see the sides or the top. A thought occurred to him.

«How come you to find torches at hand and to light them?»

«An ancient way-firesticks struck together. When the power is on the air is bright. This is not so in the sewers and the Gnomen have used firesticks for longer than I know.»

Blade watched her. In the glow of the torches she looked much younger, almost desirable. Her flesh was firm and pink, unlined. Her breasts thrust at him. Her snowy hair took on a blue sheen. Sybelline saw him watching her and her smile was an invitation.

He bellowed to break the spell. «Sart! Another minute and I come after you.»

«I am here, master.»

Sart emerged from the shadow, holding his torch high. He was not sweating. Neither was the woman. Blade, salt water pouring from him, grimaced. «You do not suffer from heat?»

Both of them stared at his sweat-bathed visage. «Heat?» Blade cursed. «Never mind. Get on with it, Sybelline. Sart, stay close to me.»

She led the way. They walked across a great smooth plain of plastic turf. She was following white glowing lines that made corridors.

The slave glanced about fearfully. «I do not like this place, master.»

Sybelline laughed. «So long as the power is off you have nothing to fear. The mole rats are afraid of us and anyway they do not come this high except in time of famine.»

Blade wiped sweat. «Mole rats? Tell me of this.»

Those Gnomen had told him of the fate in store for Norn-to be flung into a pit of mole rats.

Sybelline stopped abruptly. She pointed her torch at something. «I will not have to tell you. They grow bolder than I thought. See yonder? It is a sleeper technician and the mole rats have been at him.»

Sart whimpered. Blade cuffed him, but he was careful not to strike his wound. «You will be a man or I will not treat you as one. A sleeper cannot hurt you.»