Inspector of yourrotten Service.
"But we have been preparing against the day for years. Here on thisisland that we built we worked, hidden from interference. We are readynow. Our fleets will sail out, in your own ships, to smash thecombined space navies of the solar system."
In spite of himself Grant could not hide a sudden grin of relief. Theman was mad, to think of pitting a few liners against armored battlecraft. Miro saw that grin.
"You think I'm mad, don't you?" he gloated. "Just listen to this,then. We have found a substance that no ray, no electro-bullet canpenetrate. Every ship will be coated with it. And the Gorm here"--hepointed to the oily lake--"will draw your proud cruisers down todestruction, or thrust them far out into the uncharted spaces,helpless, just as it pleases us. You wonder how it works? Look! Now itattracts, and powerfully. But when I reverse the current passingthrough it like this"--he leaned over and pulled a switch set in therock right by the edge--"it repels everything. We'll just stand off inspace and pick off your proud warships one by one, without a scratchto ourselves. See?" He fairly hissed the last word.
Grant saw, and the cold sweat burst out on his forehead. His brainraced desperately in a vain effort to find some way out, some methodof foiling this beast.
"You sure talk big, Miro," he said in bored fashion, feigningindifference; "but it means nothing to me. The point is, what do youintend doing with us?"
* * * * *
The Ganymedan's lips writhed. "Nothing at all to your pretty friend,"he leered. "I have plans for her. But as for you--see these creaturesall about?"
"Well?"
"You are going to be one of them. They are passengers and crews whohad the misfortune to be alive when the captured ships were sprayedwith our gas. It does not kill. Oh, no! It just numbs their faculties,paralyzes them. Then our surgeons get busy. They know how to removethe memory and reasoning areas of the brain and leave just machines,automata, to do our bidding. Clever, aren't they? When Earth iscaptured, I intend subjecting all your damned breed to the operation.They make very willing slaves, I've found. Two blasts on this toy"--heraised the whistle to his lips--"and an Earth-Doora comes for you."
Nona sprang forward. "No, no, Miro. Please do not touch Mr. Pemberton.I'll--I'll--"
"What will you?" The Ganymedan's pig-eyes devoured her.
"I'll--" Then, to Grant's eternal horror, she sank into Miro's arms.The surprised look on Miro's face changed slowly to one of passion, ashe held her close to him with his great hairy arm.
"Nona!" Grant gasped and saw red. Heedless of the unwavering weapon athis breast, he sprang. Miro snarled as he saw him coming. His fingerpressed down. But at that instant the Earth girl struck out with allthe power of her slender arm. It was not much of a blow, but itmanaged to jar the weapon aside. The blue flame leaped hissing throughthe air.
Miro roared with rage, and flung her yards away, to lie, an unmovingpathetic bundle. Then he swung his ray back into play.
But he never had a chance to use it. All the strength and fury ofGrant's lithe, steel sinews and bone were behind the solid smash thatlanded squarely on the Ganymedan's chin. He went down in a slump,completely out.
* * * * *
Grant stooped to pick up the fallen pencil-ray, thrust it in the sideflap, then hurried over to the limp figure of Nona.
"Darling," he cried, "if anything's happened to you, I'll--"
The still form stirred, sat up.
"Say that again." She was smiling weakly, but happily.
Grant flushed. "As many times later as you'll want," he said, "but nowthat you're not hurt, we can't waste any time in trying to get out ofhere."
He walked over to Miro, who was just coming to.
"Listen, you rat," he told the Ganymedan, who was rubbing his chin andgroaning: "you do exactly as I say, if you know what's good for you."He shook the pencil-ray significantly.
"You can't get away with it," Miro snarled, muttering a string ofcurses. There was baffled rage in his red pig-eyes.
Grant surveyed him coldly.
"We'll see about that," he snapped. "Get up." He reinforced his demandwith a well-placed kick. The huge Ganymedan came quickly to his feet.
"Walk to the wall," was the next order, "and open the trick door."
With a glance of savage hate, Miro obeyed. Grant followed him with hispistol in readiness. The poor mindless creatures paid no heed to whatwas going on, but dully continued their appointed tasks.
Pemberton hid himself behind the wall to one side. Nona did likewise,having picked up the electro-gun meanwhile. Only Miro stood before theopening.
"Now tell your cutthroat friends out there we want one of the linersbrought directly over the Gorm, you understand. Not the Althea,though--that's still full of holes. And only one Ganymedan to guideher over the wall. Be very explicit, and not a false move out of you,or it'll be your last."
With the knowledge that two deadly weapons were pointing squarely athim, Miro shouted unwillingly the necessary instructions to hissubordinates outside. Then Grant leaned over and kicked the slideshut.
* * * * *
There followed tense moments of waiting. Would the workers beyond obeytheir leader? Had they become suspicious, and were even now massingfor a surprise attack? Grant had no means of telling.
Then to his ears came the most welcome soft roar of muted rockets. Ahuge shape swept over the high wall, soared directly over the Gorm,and nestled down in little jets of flame until the stern rested on thesolid rock, and the bow swung idly over the brilliant pool.
"Keep your gun trained on this bird," Grant told Nona swiftly. Shenodded. The air-lock door on the ship was already sliding open. AGanymedan, space-suited, was coming through. He saw them, tried tospring back into the shelter of the ship. But a blue ray stabbed outand caught him in mid-flight. There was a spatter of dust, and thehapless creature disintegrated into thin air.
"Sorry I had to do it, but I couldn't afford to let him give thealarm. Now for the dirty work, Nona. You hustle this big bully intothe ship, and keep him covered. I'll be right along."
The girl cast him a look of anxiety. "What do you intend doing?"
"Don't worry," he assured her; "I won't get hurt."
After he had seen them within the liner, he got to work. First hebrought out from the ship coils of wiring and jumbles of instruments.He took them over to the edge of the Gorm, to the place where he hadseen Miro pull the switch, and for the next ten minutes was busyconnecting wires, attaching batteries, putting his instruments inplace. Then, when he was satisfied that everything was ready, hereversed the switch. The great space-ship, some fifty feet away, wasalready trembling in every line.
Just as he was rising to sprint for the slowly moving liner, he hearda smooth rushing noise. He whirled. The slide was opening in the wall.A mob of Ganymedans were pouring through. They paused uncertainly amoment, then, as they spied him, there was a concerted rush forward.
Grant acted quickly. Already the space-ship was off the ground,soaring upward. He had not an instant to spare. He dove toward it. Themob yelled, and raced forward to cut him off. His pencil-ray wasuseless--the distance was too great for its limited range. But then,that applied equally to the weapons of the Ganymedans.
* * * * *
The blue rays snapped forward at him angrily, but fell short. The shipwas moving faster now. It was already several feet off the ground.Grant's heavy space-suit impeded his progress. The charging Ganymedanswere dangerously close now. That last beam had missed him by inches.The ship was gathering speed. He was five feet away from the openair-lock when they got the range. A sharp searing pain right acrosshis shoulder. The creatoid material of his suit was cut away as with aknife. A layer of flesh lay exposed. The skin had been whiffed intonothingness.
But that very instant he was leaping off the ground with a mightyeffort. The ship was going upward with a rush now. His fingers claweddesperat
ely at the edge of the air-lock. For one breathless instant heclung; then, to his horror, the smooth creatoid covering refused tohold. Slowly he slipped, in spite of every effort, as the surface ofthe hull refused purchase to his bleeding hands, then down he wentwith a thud.
A cry of triumph arose from the onrushing Ganymedans as Grantscrambled to his feet, bruised and shaken. He cast a swift, despairingglance upward. The huge liner was a hundred feet up now, gatheringspeed swiftly. To one side was the Gorm, a place of dread and menace.The gloating enemy were almost upon him. Even the comfort of a weapon,the grim satisfaction of taking some of his foes to death with him,was denied him.
The pencil-ray had been jarred out of his hand by the