He pressed the button which should send one of the cages hurtling to his level, then take him back to the surface. The first time he pressed the button, there was no response. Nor was there the second time. A third time his hand moved impatiently toward the red stud, only to freeze in the act as a familiar, hated voice began to crackle from some hidden speaker in the walls. It was Gutridge! "Pell! Pell! Can you hear me?" came the mocking voice. "You're trapped, Pell. The droppers don't seem to respond, do they?" The deep, penetrating voice chuckled, then went on. "Pretty soon your head will become heavy and your eye-lids will want to drop. You will want to sleep, Pell, because the gas is very powerful. Do you feel it yet? Its nice stuff, Pell. You will want to sleep so much ... so much." The heavy voice began to chuckle and its reverberations thundered evilly in the deserted corridors. Pell found the source of the laugh and blasted it furiously from its concealment high in the wall. But from somewhere far down the corridor the powerful laugh echoed ominously. Fear began to crawl at his throat, constricting it. He must find a stair-way. Surely there must be one! But would he have time? Frantically he ran down the empty corridors blasting open doors as he came to them. At last he found what he sought behind the gaping maw of a blasted panel. Through the coalescing haze of the vaporized door he saw stairs spiralling upward. He was about to enter when he saw the first tendrils of smoky whiteness reaching for him and plucking at him. Instantly he realized that the heavy stuff was being forced down the stairwell. Holding his breath, he retreated back down the corridor and let loose a blast from the weapon cradled in his arms in an effort to seal up the shattered door. As he retraced his steps back to the elevators, he realized that his head was getting heavy. Vaguely he noticed the milky smoke issuing from the corridor vents and he began to run. But with each step his body became heavier and heavier and only the greatest effort of will kept him from collapsing on his face. He knew he was trapped. Desperately he goaded his tired mind to discover a means to escape. Reeling, he reached the elevators, dimly conscious of Gutridge's mocking laugh far down the corridor. The white haze was thick and nauseating and it caressed his nostrils with cloying sweetness. Suddenly Pell saw a group of masked figures approach in the sound-deadening haze. In what seemed an eternity he brought the blaster up with tired hands and pressed the stud. As if in some horrible nightmare, the figures seemed to shimmer and explode.