Who has the syringe and the sleep-drug
ampoules?"
Somebody had, it developed, who was still on the First Level, to come
up with the second conveyer load. Verkan Vall swore. Something like
this always happened, on any operation involving more than half a
dozen men.
"Well, some of you stay here: patrol around, and use your paralyzers
on anybody who even twitches a muscle." Ultrasonics were nice,
effective, humane police weapons, but they were unreliable. The same
dose that would keep one man out for an hour would paralyze another
for no more than ten or fifteen minutes. "And be sure none of them are
playing 'possum."
He went back through the door under the plinth, glancing up at the
decorated wooden screen and wondering how much work it would take to
move the new Yat-Zar in from the conveyers. The five priests and the
archer-captain were still unconscious; one of the policemen was
searching them.
"Here's the sort of weapons these priests carry," he said, holding up
a short iron mace with a spiked head. "Carry them on their belts." He
tossed it on the table, and began searching another knocked-out
hierophant. "Like this--_Hey!_ Look at this, will you!"
He drew his hand from under the left side of the senseless man's robe
and held up a sigma-ray needler. Verkan Vall looked at it and nodded
grimly.
"Had it in a regular shoulder holster," the policeman said, handing
the weapon across the table.
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