ered--broken wreckage, in which the litter of two or three
projectors seemed strewn. And the gruesome deflated forms of several
helmeted figures. Others seemed, to be running, scattering--hiding in
the rocks and pit-holes. Twenty brigands at least were outside the
ship. Some were running over toward the base of our camp-ledge. The
darkness bombs were spreading like a curtain over the valley floor;
but it seemed that some of the figures were dragging their projectors
away.

We sailed off toward the opposite crater-rim. I remember passing over
the broken wreckage of Grantline's little space-ship, the _Comet_.
Miko's bolts momentarily had vanished. We had hit some of his outside
projectors; the others were abandoned, or being dragged to safer
positions.

* * * * *

After a mile we wheeled and went back. I suddenly realized that only
four platforms were in the re-formed line ahead of us. One was
missing! I saw it now, wavering down, close over the ship. A bolt
leaped up diagonally from a distant angle on the rocks and caught the
disabled platform. It fell, whirling, glowing red--disappeared into
the blur of darkness like a bit of heated metal plunged into water.

One out of six of our platforms already lost! Three men of our little
force gone!

But Grantline led us desperately back. Anita caught his signal to
break our line. The five platforms scattered, dipping and wheeling
like frightened birds--blurring shapes, shifting unnaturally in flight
as the Benson curve-angles were altered.

Anita now took our platform in a long swoop downward. Her tense,
murmured voice sounded in my ears:

"Hold off: I'll take us low."

A melee. Passing platform shapes. The darting bolts, crossing like
ancient rapiers. Falling blue points of fuse-lights as we threw our
bombs.

Down in a swoop. Then rising. Away, and then back. This silent warfare
of lights! It seemed that around me must be bursting a pandemonium of
sound. Yet I heard nothing. Silent, blurred melee, infinitely
frightening. A bolt struck us, clung for an instant; but we weathered
it. The light was blinding. Through my gloves I could feel the tingle
of the over-charged shield as it caught and absorbed the hostile
bombardment. Under me the platform seemed heated. My little Erentz
motors ran with ragged pulse. I got too much oxygen; my head roared
with it. Spots danced before my closed eyes. Then not enough oxygen. I
was dully smothering...