fed through the swirling crowd,
barely missing several people, and skidded to a dusty stop directly in
front of Mantor.

"_Radar signal!_" the driver yelled. "The search receiver picked up a
signal that sounds like a destroyer's radar. It suddenly came in strong.
Probably sneaked up on us from behind that damn moon. It's coming in
fast and braking hard!"

There was a mad scramble as the looters raced for their ship.
Heavy-handed horseplay was forgotten. They knew they were helpless
against a Navy destroyer. Their only hope lay in a fast getaway. Seconds
could easily spell the difference between safety and defeat.

In less than ten minutes the ship's locks were sealed and they fired
off. As the flames roared out and the huge ship lifted swiftly it was
obvious that they were throwing on all the fuel their jets could take.

Marc Polder had faded back into the crowd at the first sound of the
siren. As he stood watching the blastoff Lee joined him, hands in her
pockets, looking more than ever like a boy.

"Maybe my idea of asking for help wasn't so far-fetched," she said
quietly. "Maybe the patrol might have been here in time. Maybe you
wouldn't have had to tell them about the H.D.T."

"Maybe," Marc answered without turning his eyes from the dwindling point
of reddish light high in the dark sky.

"And just by way of keeping the record straight," the girl went on in a
voice that began to rasp, "you know as well as I do that the files don't
list any H.D.T. It's under a code name."

"Maybe," Marc replied in a noncommittal tone.

The point of light in the sky suddenly turned blue. Lee was staring at
it too, now. And she knew also what the change of color meant. Mantor
had started to use the new fuel!

* * * * *

Suddenly there was a blinding flash. Lee cried out and staggered back,
covering her eyes. Marc, who had closed his eyes when the color change
came, took hold of the girl's arm.

"I told you what would happen if they used the stuff," he said gently.
"It's too hot for their jet chambers. It melts the walls. A lot of gas
piles up in the tubes. The pressure pushes the fire back. And when it
gets shoved back into the recoil chamber and you lose the protective
layers of cold gas there--well, then you've got to look for your ship
with an ionization gauge!

"I told you all that long ago. The trouble is, you're too idealistic,
Lee. That's not the same as _having ideals_. I admire ide