was glazing them. But she saw
me, recognized me.

"Gregg--"

"Yes, Moa, I'm here."

* * * * *

Her livid lips were faintly drawn in a smile. "I'm--so glad--you took
the helmets off, Gregg. I'm--going--you know."

"No!"

"Going--back to Mars--to rest with the fire-makers--where I came from.
I was thinking--maybe you would kiss me, Gregg--?"

Anita gently pushed me down. I pressed the white, faintly smiling lips
with mine. She sighed, and it ended with a rattle in her throat.

"Thank you--Gregg--closer--I can't talk so loudly--"

One of her gloved hands struggled to touch me, but she had no strength
and it fell back. Her words were the faintest of whispers:

"There was no use living--without your love. But I want you to
see--now--that a Martian girl can--die with a smile--"

Her eyelids fluttered down: it seemed that she sighed and then was not
breathing. But on her livid face the faint smile still lingered to
show me how a Martian girl could die.

We had forgotten for the moment where we were. As I glanced up I saw
that through the inner panel, past the secondary lock, the ship's
hull-corridor was visible, and along its length a group of Martians
were advancing! They saw us, and came running.

"Anita! Look! We've got to get out of here!"

The secondary lock was open to the corridor. We jammed on our helmets.
The unhelmeted brigands by then were fumbling at the inner panel. I
pulled at the lever of the outer panel. The brigands were hurrying,
thinking they could be in time to stop me. One of the more cautious
fumbled with a helmet.

"Anita, run! Try and keep your feet."

I slid the outer panel and pushed at Anita. Simultaneously the
brigands opened the inner porte.

The air came with a tempestuous rush. A blast through the inner
porte--through the little pressure-lock--a wild rush out to the
airless Moon. All the air in the ship madly rushing to escape....

Like feathers we were blown with it. I recall an impression of the
hurtling brigand figures and swift-flying rocks under me. A silent
crash as I struck.

Then soundless, empty blackness.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

_Triumph!_

"Is he conscious? We'd better take him back, get his helmet off."

"It's over. We can get back now. Venza, dear, we've won--it's over."

"He hears us!"

"Gregg!"

"He hears us--he's all right!"

I opened my eyes. I lay on the rocks. Over my helmet other helmets
were peering, and faint,