to the
bottom of the pot.

"Grab hold, Cap!" he said, taking the end of the rope.

Taylor loosened his tunic and seized the rope.

"Heave!" Masters chanted.

The two men strained. Slowly the pot tilted.

Pember, standing at a window, called out over his shoulder:

"They're coming back!"

Above the creak of the pulleys rose the murmuring whisper of the
spheres.

"Heave!" Both men joined in the rhythmic call, putting their
weight on the rope. The pot tilted more.

The half-formed sphere whistled loudly and the spheres circling
over the plant answered.

"Hurry!" Pember urged.

"Heave!" chorused the men on the ropes. The pulleys creaked.

The room suddenly blazed with a brilliant orange glow as a
maddened sphere floated through the hole in the roof. It hung in
the air, pulsating, scanning what was taking place below.

"Heave!" cried the two men. The pot was at an angle. The hatching
sphere screamed to the globe above.

The floating sphere shrieked. Flame danced over its surface.

"It--It's got--eyes!" Masters said, spacing his words with tugs
on the ropes.

"Don't look!" Taylor warned. "Heave!"

Pember faced the sphere. He patted his Garand.

"Give 'im hell, boy!"

He swung the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The bullet whined
off the sphere as if it were steel. Pember jerked his head in
despair. Angrily he fired again. His tin hat slid to one side of
his head at a rakish angle.

"You spawn of hell!" he cried.

Pember lowered his gun. The sphere pulsed ominously. Then the
doughboy charged.

Beneath the brim of his helmet Pember's jaws were set. His
half-closed eyes, glazed by the dazzling light from the sphere,
were two slits of savage determination.

There was something glorious in that charge. It was a soldier
going into battle against hopeless odds. And it was more. The
army of human civilisation at that moment consisted of one buck
private, pitting everything he had against something that even
science could not analyze.

The sudden attack seemed to surprise the sphere. It bounded back,
moving swiftly out of the way of the advancing one-man army.

Pember roared. There were no words in what he shouted. It was
just a cry, the battle cry of humanity.

"Heave!" chorused Taylor and Masters.

They too had a battle cry. Every man was doing his best and would
die doing it, if necessary.

There was a crack and a hiss. A flicker of flame flashed over the
charging soldier. An odor of charr