or delivery, and trash
containers, going out, and bales and crates and cases of merchandise,
and empty delivery baskets and trash containers coming in. He pointed
this out to Yetsko.

"Sure," the big Literates' guards sergeant nodded. "They got control
of the opening from the terminal, and they probably got a gang up at
the other end, too," he shouted, over the noise of the conveyor belts.
"I hope they haven't got into the basement of the store."

"If they have, I know a way to get in," Ray told him. "You'd better
stay here for about five minutes, and let me scout ahead. We don't
want to run into a big gang of them ahead."

Yetsko shook his head. "No, Ray; the captain told me I was to stick
with you. I'll go along with you. And we better take another of these
kids, for a runner, in case we have to send word back."

"Ramon, you come with us," Ray said. "The rest of you, stay here for
five minutes, and then, if you don't hear from us, follow us."

"Mason, you take over," Yetsko told the guards corporal. "And keep an
eye out behind you. We're in a sandwich, here; they're behind us, and
in front of us. If anything comes at you from behind, send the kids
forward to the next conduit port."

Ray and Yetsko and Ramon Nogales started forward. Halfway to the next
conduit port, there was a smear of lubricating oil on the concrete,
and in it, and away from it in the direction of the store, they found
footprints. It was Ramon Nogales who noticed the oil on the ladder to
the next conduit port.

"You stick here," Yetsko told him, "and when Mason and the others come
up, hold them here. Tell Mason to send one of the guards forward, and
use the rest of the gang to grab anybody who comes out. Come on, Ray."

At the port beyond, they halted, waiting for Mason's man to come up.
They lost some time, thereafter, but they learned that the section of
conduit between the two ports was empty and that the main telephone
line to the store had been cut. Whoever had cut it had gone, either
forward or back away from the store. A little farther on, the sound of
shots ahead became audible over the clanking and rattling of the
conveyor belts.

"Well, I guess this is where we start crawling," Yetsko said. "Your
father's people seem to be holding the store basement against a gang
in the conveyor tunnel."

One of the boys scouted ahead, and returned to report that they could
reach the next conduit port, but that the section of both conveyor
bel