slowly level their suddenly ponderous
weapons at the Earthmen.

Brand set his jaw and threw all his weight on the lever. It bent a
little, caught at the neutral point--and then jammed down an
appreciable distance beyond it.

* * * * *

Instantly the blue streamers, that had stopped their humming progress
from coil to coil with the movement of the switch to neutral, started
again in reversed direction. And instantly the invisible ocean pressed
down with appalling, devastating force.

Greca and Brand and Dex were flattened to the floor as if by blankets
of lead. And the scattered Rogans about them ceased all movement
whatever.

"Oh," sobbed Greca, fighting for breath. "Oh!"

"We can't stand this," panted Dex. "We've fixed the Rogans, all right.
But we've fixed ourselves, too! That lever has to go up a bit."

Brand nodded, finding his head almost too heavy for his neck to move.
Sweat beaded his forehead--sweat that trickled heavily off his face
like drops of liquid metal.

With a tremendous struggle he got to his knees beneath the
master-switch. There he found it impossible to raise his arms; but,
leaning back against the control board and so getting a little
support, he contrived to lift his body up enough to touch the
down-slanting lever with his head and move it back along its slot a
fraction of an inch. The giant coils hummed a note lower; and some of
the smashing weight was relieved.

"That does it, I think," Brand panted, his voice husky with exhaustion
and triumph.

He began to crawl laboriously toward the nearest street exit. "On our
way!" he said vibrantly. "To the space ship! We leave for Earth at
once!"

* * * * *

Slowly, fighting the sagging weight of their bodies, the two Earthmen
inched their way to the street, helping Greca as they went. Among the
sprawled forms of the Rogans they crept, with great dull eyes rolling
helplessly to observe their progress, and with feeble squeals of rage
and fear and malediction following their slow path.

On the street a strange and terrible sight met their eyes.

Strewn over the metal paving like wheat stalks crushed flat by a
hurricane, were thousands of Rogans. Not a muscle of their pipe-like
arms or legs could they move. But the gravity that crushed them
rigidly to the ground did not quite hold motionless the shorter and
more sturdily built slaves.

Among the thousands of squealing, pantin