"Mich'l!" she cried, as soon as she saw him. "Lane Mollon has taken Nida!"
"And Father is under arrest. Lane came this morning, crazy with merclite gum. He had four or five soldiers with him. When Nida refused to see him they broke down the door and went to her room. They dragged her out to Lane's car, and he took her to his warren near the Presidential quarters."
"Yes. Father followed Lane's car. Guards kept him out of Lane's warren, so he went to see Mollon. That devil only laughed at him, offered to call another Referendum. Father had a small pocket needle-ray and--"
"No. But he managed to burn a hole through his arm. He was rushed off to one of the cells. And Mollon says he will call a Referendum to decide Father's fate."
"It would be just like that devil's sense of humor to let the people decree their only friend's death."
"They'll do it, too!" Mila exclaimed tragically. "Oh, how I wish Mother were alive!"
"And each one will feel deep within him that he has done a great, commendable and original thing!" Mich'l added, with keen insight.
"Go to your room," Mich'l said, gently stern. "Mollon and his gang have reckoned without the technies." A woman's image appeared, stooping commiseratingly over Mila--a friend of the family. Mich'l ordered her to care for Mila. Then, he took a deep breath. Gone was his feeling of helpless sorrow, leaving only an overwhelming, steadying, satisfying anger. He flung the telucid switch, barked cracking orders.
In half an hour every technical man of Subterranea was in a large storeroom near Mich'l's office. They were mostly young, keen and alert, their skins red or brown from the actinic lights, their hair showing more or less bleaching from the same cause. As Mich'l talked they became intent: they listened with a cold, deadly silence that would perhaps have made the smug millions of Subterranea quake with fear.
This affront put upon the only man in the Government who could speak their language, who could comprehend their ideals: the peril of the girl they all knew and loved: these things set their long-repressed resentment flaring to white heat. They were ready for desperate things. A turn of a valve and water would thunder through the maze of galleries; a mishap far, far down toward the earth's hot core, and steam would rush up--