"But, Matt, how can you make _them_ work?" Lynn's eyes were enormous. "Did you ever hear of chain gangs?" he asked savagely. "Of slave labor and overseers with blacksnake whips?" "But, Matt, surely you wouldn't...." "I'd do anything to get this fort sealed in time! Anything! Is that clear?" * * * * * Clang! Clang! Clang! Sparks showered from the anvil as Steve Babcock, stripped to the waist and sweating, his bare chest protected by a black apron, hammered the band of iron. Steve, the square-faced, sandy-haired chief engineer, was the only man who had any practical knowledge of blacksmithing. Matt watched him silently. The chief's shoulders and arm bulged like gnarled tree burls. The hammer came down--_clang!--clang!_ They had set up the forge in the corridor outside the cells where the twenty-three women were lodged. The chief straightened and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "All right," he said. "Fetch the first one out." Matt nodded at Captain Bascom. There were three other men in the corridor, silent and uneasy. They were all armed. They stiffened as Captain Bascom inserted a key in the lock on Margot Drake's cell door. The door swung inward. "Come along now," said Matt gruffly. "No fuss." "Go to hell!" said Margot Drake. The lithe red-head regarded him defiantly. She was standing beside her cot, small fists clenched, her red hair like a halo about her imperious features. Matt's mouth thinned, not enjoying the prospect, but he went into the cell. The girl struck at him. He dodged and grabbed her wrist. In a trice they had her out of the cell. Margot kicked, screamed and called down imprecations on their heads, but to no avail. They hoisted her onto the table and tied her left leg across the anvil. The chief spit on his hands, a grin cracking his face. "Regular devil, isn't she?" When they released her, a heavy iron band encircled her left ankle. Panting and exhausted, she flung herself on the cot in her cell. Captain Bascom shut and locked the door. "O.K.," said the chief. "Bring on the next one." Captain Bascom opened the next cell in line. The tang of ozone, engendered by the blue electric-arc furnace was faint in Matt's nostrils, and the peculiar smell of burning iron. He thought grimly of the morrow when the besieging Amazons would have to be liquidated. They could convoy the trucks through the Amazon's lines with a couple of the tanks that were stored in the basement. But he dismissed the plan as soon as it presented itself. That way, they would have to divide their strength, using precious manpower to guard the workers when they needed everyone to convert the fortress into a sealed bastion against the alien life form. The girl on the table yelled sharply. Matt glanced at her. She was a statuesque blonde. The iron, he realized, must have been too hot and burned her ankle. The chief flicked the sweat out of his eyes. "Fetch the next one," Matt heard him say.