Easier said than done. * * * * * Well, step number one, survey the situation and the terrain. A glance at his watch startled him. Though his combat experience had taught him how time could compress and stretch, the fact that only seven minutes ago he had been considering supper in his office came as a shock. He took no chances but left his house as he had come, by the back door. Then stepping quietly but quickly, he went to the south side of the Processing Building at the corner nearest the Administration Building. All the offices were dark. Only scratches of light--probably matches to cigarette tips--flickered briefly out of the windows of the second-story where the staff was housed. The mess hall was also dark but as Bennington watched, a short burst of submachine gun fire tracered across the darkness from the kitchen toward the armory. "Listen, you screws, listen to this!" The gigantic voice thundered through every corner of the compound. For a second Bennington was startled, then he remembered. The rioters controlled Message Center and the PA system. "Stop shooting at us. Don't forget that half your staff is in here. Every time you shoot one of us, we are shooting one of them." The words came through on only part of Bennington's attention. They registered, but he was also studying the seventy feet of open ground between him and the nearest door into the mess hall. The big voice again filled the compound. "We want to talk to the warden if he's still alive. Or whoever can take his place if he ain't. You got five minutes to call us on the intercom." I can talk to them from the kitchen if I can get there, Bennington thought. He glanced back over his shoulder. The moon, thought full, was only part-way up. _I'm sixty-five, but maybe I've got one fast run still left._ He did. He made it without a shot being fired. But he stayed on his belly just outside the door, remembering the submachine gun. From the shadow of the step into the mess hall, he used his command voice to get safe passage. "Thornberry!" "General Bennington!" The psychologist almost twisted Bennington's hand off before he could speak. Then his first words puzzled the general. "We've got to find Judkins." "Why?" "I want to know what went wrong--" "That can wait. Let's put the fire out first, then learn how it started. Who's here with you?" "The two guards. Rayburne! Householder! Come here!" "Only those two? Where's the kitchen staff?" "Dead," said Thornberry soberly. There was a roaring in the skies and through a window Bennington could see the compound was almost as brightly lit up as it was by day. "The riot-copter, and before I expected it," the general said, "I've been in touch with the State police. And the Army." There was another short burst of submachine fire. Bennington mentally placed it as behind the Administration Building. _Someone trying to sneak out the back way...._