ther building--a room with metal walls, one window with a
balcony beyond, high above the ground--a door that clanged behind
them; and the two men, looking one at the other with dismayed and
swollen eyes, knew in their hearts that here, beyond a doubt, was
their last earthly habitation.

They said nothing--there was nothing of hope or comfort to be
said--and they dropped soddenly upon the hard floor, where finally the
heavy breathing and nervous starts of Professor Sykes showed that to
him at least had come the blessed oblivion of exhausted sleep. But
there was no sleep for Lieutenant McGuire.

There was a face that shone too clearly in the dark, and his thoughts
revolved endlessly in words of reproach for his folly in allowing
Althora's love to lead her to share his risk. From the night outside
their window came a ceaseless clatter and hubbub, but to this he was
oblivious.

Only with the coming of morning's soft golden light did McGuire know
the reason for the din and activity that echoed from outside--and the
reason, too, for their being placed in this room.

* * * * *

Their lives should end with the sailing of the fleet, and there,
outside their window, were the ships themselves. Ships everywhere, as
far as he could see across the broad level expanse, and an army of men
who scurried like ants--red ones, who worked or directed the others,
and countless blues and yellows who were loading the craft with
enormous cargoes.

"Squawk, damn you!" said Lieutenant McGuire to the distant shrieking
throng; "and I hope they're ready for you when you reach the earth."
But his savage voice carried no conviction. What was there that Earth
could do to meet this overwhelming assault?

"What is it?" asked Sykes. He roused from his sleep to work gingerly
at his aching muscles, then came and stood beside McGuire.

"They have put us here as a final taunt," McGuire told him. "There is
the fleet that is going to make our world into a nice little hell, and
Torg, the beast! has put us here to see it leave. Then we get ours,
and they don't know that we know that."

"Your first way was the best," the scientist observed; "we should have
done it then. We still can."

"What do you mean?" The flyer's voice was dull and lifeless.

Sykes pointed to the little balcony and the hard pavement below.

"Althora," he said, and McGuire winced at the name, "seemed to think
that we were in for some exquisite tortur