Sart scratched his head and admitted that he did not understand it either. Sybelline snatched his spear bar from him before he knew what was happening. «Come with me,» she commanded. «We do not need the laughing powder for mole rats. I will show you how it is done. Fetch one of the torches,» she ordered Sart.

Wilf watched them go with a lack of concern. He hoped the mole rats would eat them both. If so, they would serve a double purpose. Their deaths would leave him a clear field with the man Blade and provide food to keep the mole rats at bay. Wilf stretched out full length on the table and began to fantasy again. What would it be like to kiss the feet of the man Blade?

Sart was right about the mole rats. They had greatly increased in numbers and formed a gobbling, sinister-eyed circle around the bunker. Sart, near to panic, held the torch high and waved it. The creatures held their ground.

Sybelline readied the spear bar. «Go just in front of me,» she ordered. «There to the right, that big one. If I can kill him they will be satisfied for a time.»

Sart gibbered in fear. He clutched at his heavily bandaged torso. «My wound,» he complained. «It pains me greatly. I may fall and be eaten. I cannot do this thing. I-«

«Turn around,» said the woman. «Let me see. Perhaps the bandage and the shield have come loose.»

She knew the exact location of Sart's grievous wound. She readied the sharp end of the bar. As he turned, she thrust hard at the shield protecting his heart. The keen point went deep, easily piercing the plastic shield, the heart behind it and grating on bone in his spine.

Sart was a Gnoman and brave. He glared at her, reached for her with his bare hands, tried to walk along the bar impaling him to get at her. Sybelline retreated, still holding to the bar, seeking to retrieve it and strike again. Sart grabbed the bar with blood-slippery hand and sought to pull it out of his body. Failing that he tried to pull himself along it, to push it behind him, out of his flesh, so he could reach her. At last, beginning to panic, Sybelline released the bar. But it was too late for Sart. He went to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth. The mole rats picked up the scent and went into a frenzy.

Sart stopped twitching. The mole rats began to close in. Sybelline tugged the bar out of Sart's body and ran for the safety of the bunker. The horde of mole rats was already ripping and tearing at the body.

Sybelline was gasping for breath when she entered the bunker, still carrying the blood-stained spear bar.

Wilf sat up. «What happened?»

Sybelline was shaking, her voice trembled. «The mole rats got Sart. We killed one and he slipped in the blood. They were on him before he could get up. I could do nothing. I had to flee to save my own life.» She found a towel and wiped blood from the bar. Her gown was badly spattered.

Wilf stared at her. He rested on an elbow and listened to the terrible sounds out there in the dark. He did not believe her. Sart was stupid, but not that stupid. And while he was brave enough in other matters he was a coward where mole rats were concerned. Sart would never have gotten close enough to the creatures to slip and be eaten by them.

Wilf smiled at his mother. «You lie to me. You killed him and fed him to the mole rats.»

Sybelline smiled back at him. «Yes, I did. So what matter? Now move over and perform for your mother, Wilf. All that blood has excited me.»

She got on the table with him, pulled up her bloody gown and opened her thighs. She cradled his head on her breasts.

«I command,» she whispered. «You are my son and you must obey.»

Wilf did not have to be urged. He did not really want to but he was young in Gnomen years and he was ready instantly. Sybelline, as usual, spoke no words and did not moan or even move very much. She simply engulfed him. She was quite capable of taking her pleasure and thinking at the same time. She did both now.

When it was over she patted his head and said, «Sleep now for a time. I will watch for Blade's message. It cannot be long and we must be ready. I will waken you the moment it comes.»

Wilf, sleepy and dazed; realized that she had used her body and his to make a fool of him. He sought to struggle up, off the table. He looked at her. Something was wrong. Something in her smile was-

Sybelline had the cylinder in her hands and was pointing the hose nozzle at him. A fine spray of powder, under great pressure, hit him in the face. Wilf began to laugh.

She gave him another squirt, and another, and left him in laughter, too weak to move. She picked up the spear bar and began to gouge the power studs out of the necks of the four sleeper technicians. It was bloody work but no matter, she was already covered with blood.

CHAPTER 15

Richard Blade made his way through the ravished city. He kept to the shadows as much as possible, noticing that more and more of the searchlights were being beamed at the city from the Moon. The Selenes were up to something, no doubt of that. Nor was there any doubt that they knew precisely what was going on down here.

The streets and squares were littered with Morphi sleepers, the females all raped and most of the men either destudded or beheaded. But the wandering, drunken squads of Gnomen were careless killers. They had missed some of the men, who slept unharmed. They were also fighting among themselves. Near one particularly beautiful Morphi female were two dead Gnomen. Each had a spear bar through him. Blade smiled grimly. Cans of intoxicant lay nearby. They had killed each other over the women. He was about to turn away when he noticed an iron chain and a medallion about the neck of one of the dead Gnomen. He had been a subchief. Blade stripped the body of the chain and medal and hung it about his own neck. The authority it carried might come in handy when his disguise was put to the test.

That was not long in coming. He was nearing the Hall of Entertainment, slipping from door to door, when a Gnoman emerged from a building ahead of him. The man was laden with loot and was dragging a female Morphi along by the hair. Blade hailed him. Might as well know now if his disguise worked. The Gnoman did not look drunk and it would be a fair test.

«You, there,» he called in a voice of authority, «why are you lagging behind your group? Where are the others?»

The Gnoman, startled, dropped his loot and whirled to face Blade. He clutched his bar in one hand and with the other held fast to the hair of the woman sleeper. He peered at Blade with red-brown eyes. His tone was bellicose.

«Who are you? What is it to you what I do?»

«I am Yorick,» Blade improvised, «and I am a subchief. I act on the orders of Jantor. There are too many strays and skulkers and I am sent to round them up. How are you called, man?»

The Gnoman stared at the iron chain and medallion and became less sullen. «I am Tortat, from the far outer sewers. My group has gone to the Government Building on orders.»

«Why are you not with them? And why do you carry that female sleeper with you?»

The man let go the hair and the body slumped to the street. He grinned at Blade. «I took a fancy to her. She is best of all I have found and so I carry her with me. When the notion takes me again I will have her handy.»

Blade pushed it a bit, wanting to test matters still further. «Leave her and be off to your group, Tortat. You can take the rest of your loot. Cause no more trouble and I will forget this. Go now.»

The Gnoman glowered and narrowed his eyes at Blade. Blade moved his bar into thrust position.

The advantage fell to Blade. The Gnoman grumbled and fell back. «You are big for a Gnoman. How came you by all that blood? It masks your face.»

Blade pushed his advantage. «Go, I said. Never mind the blood. I carry out my orders and kill Morphi instead of looking for loot and females. Now, if you are not gone by a three count your name goes to Jantor for punishment.»