And, once within their power, he would have no choice. They would take him and probe him and tear his mind apart and when they had done with him he would be eliminated as so much unwanted rubbish. To save his life he must escape the trap. And only the node could help him.

They reached it five hours later, inching forward through a narrow fissure, a chimney blown by some age-old venting of volcanic fury to crouch, helmets touching, staring at what lay below. A cavern as vast as the one they had first entered, the walls crusted with masses of crystalline protrusions which glowed with a cold, unwavering, greenish light. In it the sannaks feasted.

"God!" Kemmer's voice carried a stunned disbelief. "Look at those things!"

"Like worms," whispered Santis. "Giant worms."

But worms had no scales, no rasping, multi-toothed jaws, no eyes which gleamed like prisms beneath transparent protective membranes. And no worm could ever have been as large or as noisy.

"A feeding-node," said Hine. "I've heard of them but this is the first I've seen." His voice dimmed in the rasp of scales passing over scales, of jaws gnawing at the deposits. "Chitney," he said. "And, yes, elmish. See, over there. The dark purple stuff. That's what holds tranneks."

"Let's get them and go," said Kemmer. "Before those things spot us."

"They aren't to be found in a node-I told you that." The guide was impatient. "They don't void where they feed. We'll have to swing round and head out so as to search their runs."

"Go down among them? That's crazy." The trader appealed to Dumarest. "Earl, we can't do that. It's suicide!"

If not exactly that certainly an invitation for a quick and merciless end. Dumarest edged forward and looked over the area below. Sannaks ate to turn and plunge back into the sand; some lying coiled, others resting motionless half in and half out of their runs. In the cold, green light their scales shone with a winking, prismatic splendor.

"The runs," said Hine. "We've got to search their runs."

"Perhaps not."

"Earl?"

"Animals don't usually void at random," explained Dumarest. "Mostly their droppings form a marker to warn others to stay clear of their territory. My guess is that this particular node belongs to a section of the herd. If so they could well have set up void-points to isolate and identify the area."

"So?" Kemmer, no hunter, failed to understand. "What of it?"

"If Earl's right it means there could be heaps of tranneks just waiting to be collected," said the mercenary. "But what about the ones found in the runs?"

"Odd droppings," said Hine. His mind was dazzled with the possibility that Dumarest was correct. "And usually far from the node." His excitement grew as he thought about it. "It's possible! There are stories from the old days about big deposits having been found and, come to think of it, why else was the city founded? They must have harvested more than a few at a time like we do." And, with the passing of the years, the surface deposits had been cleaned, the sannaks driven deeper, the way to make an easy picking forgotten. He sobered as he looked below. "But how to reach it? A fortune could be waiting and we can't get near it."

"There might be a way," said Dumarest. "Well have to make a diversion."

Back in the cramped confines of the tent he explained his plan. Basically it was simple. They would provide bait to draw the sannaks away from the cavern, run down a selected tunnel, find and collect the tranneks and return before the creatures came back to resume feeding.

Kemmer, sweating, his torso marked with chafes and blood marking a spot rubbed raw by the collar of his suit, said, "What the hell could we use for bait?"

"Water and what food we can spare. Break the cans and let it spill. That and noise should do it."

"Timing?" Santis listened then nodded. "It's damned close but if we work in unison it could be done." He added, grimly, "If the sannaks take the bait."

And if the tranneks could be found before they returned.

Dumarest said, "It's a risk and I know it. I may have more reason than the rest of you to want big money fast so if you want out I'll understand. Carl?"

"Once in jail was enough. I'm in."

"Me too." Hine, eyes bright, rubbed hands together in anticipation. "One big strike and I'll be made for life. My kids'll be proud of me and-I'm in!"

"So how can I stay out?" Kemmer shook his head. "If I live through this I'm going to find a nice, quiet, well-watered world and settle down as far from mountains and sand as I can get." He became practical. "About the bait, Earl. One spot or two? If we can spare the water and food it might be wiser spread out a little. And the noise? How do we arrange that?"

"The run," said Hine. "We've got to pick the right run. One which leads to a void-point. How to decide?" He frowned. "Maybe we can figure it if we study them long enough."

"That'll be your job," said Dumarest. "You know them better than we do, but make sure the tunnel is firm and close. Maurice, break down the gear and make up emergency survival packs. Carl, you help me to arrange the diversions. Can you build time-fuses from what we have? Good. I'll want four with variable settings and what charges you can make up."

"Now?"

"Now." Speed was essential, both to minimize discovery by the sannaks but equally as important to avoid the others realizing just how slim the chances were. "We move as soon as set."

Waiting was never easy but during the course of his life Santis had learned how to wait. On Clemantis he had waited for three months before firing the twenty-seven shots which had been the sum total of his participation in a small but furious conflict which had divided a nation and had sent him to the hospital with burns on his legs and stomach. Regrafts had later removed the scars as tissue-plants had replaced an eye, a hand, the lower part of his jaw in the years which followed. Decades marked with pain and fury and the inevitable periods of waiting. But never before had the waiting seemed so hard.

The enemy, he thought. The creatures below which could attack at any moment. Would surely attack unless something happened soon. And what chance would he have with only a rocket-rifle as defense?

Below the mercenary, crouched with Hine in a fissure, Dumarest was just as strained. Mentally he counted the passing of seconds, wondering if the fuses had been as accurate as Santis had claimed, if the charges he had set could have been better placed. Wads of wrapped explosives culled from the rocket shells, set in crevasses, placed next to the cans of water and food sacrificed as bait. Now? Now?

A distant rumble as the first charge detonated. A growl as falling debris added to the vibration and, below, pointed snouts lifted, questing for the source of the scent which had attracted them, the odors of food and water which dominated all. Water, that contained in veins or cans, it was all the same.

A second quiver and now, the sannaks had moved to the side of the cavern, plunging into the sand, the mouths of tunnels gaping to show their passing. Twice more the ground shook and again Dumarest was mentally counting.

Seconds measured by him as by the others to unite their movements. Time carefully calculated to allow the sannaks to depart, to let the noise of their passage drown their own, the diversion to take full effect.

"Now!" Hine was on his feet and running. "Now!"

Dumarest followed, cursing the guide for his eager impetuosity. Seconds too soon-maybe they would make no difference but his life depended on that possibility.

"Maurice! Carl!" The need for silence was gone for these few, savage moments. "Into position! Fast!"

They were moving even as he shouted, Santis armed, the trader, like Hine, carrying a fabric bag and a lantern. They would search and collect while the mercenary and Dumarest stood watch. A double attack and a double chance of one team at least finding a void-point. Splitting forces was a weakness but, now, it didn't matter. Four could die in a run as easily as two.