y installations in the ship. A lot of damage done there. Or
even if the ship lifted--" He was not sure of what he could do; this was
a venture depending largely on improvisation at the last moment.

"You propose to send off the ship?"

"I don't know whether that is possible. No, perhaps I can only attract
their attention, break through the force shield so the rest may attack."

Ross knew that he must attempt this independent action, that in order to
remain the Ross Murdock he had always been, he must be an actor not a
spectator.

The Foanna did not argue with him now. "Where--?" Her long sleeve
rippled as she gestured to the canyon. Dull as the skies were overhead,
there was light here--too much of it for his purpose as the ground about
the ship was open. To appear there might be fatal.

Ross was grasped by another and much more promising idea. The Foanna had
transported them all to the deck of Torgul's cruiser after asking him to
picture it for her mentally. And to all outward appearances the Baldy
ship before them now was twin to the one which had taken him once on a
fantastic voyage across a long-vanished stellar empire. Such a ship he
knew!

"Can you put me in the ship?"

"If you have a good memory of it, yes. But how know you these ships?"

"I was in one once for many days. If these are alike, then I know it
well!"

"And if this is unlike, to try such may mean your death."

He had to accept her warning. Yet outwardly this ship was a duplicate.
And before he had voyaged on the derelict he had also explored a Wrecker
freighter on his own world thousands of years before his own race had
evolved. There was one portion of both ships which had been
identical--save for size--and that part was the best for his purpose.

"Send me--here!"

With closed eyes, Ross produced a mental picture of the control cabin.
Those seats which were not really seats but webbing support swinging
before banks of buttons and levers; all the other installations he had
watched, studied, until they were as known to him as the plate bulkheads
of the cabin below in which he had slept. Very vivid, that memory. He
felt the touch of the Foanna's cool fingers on his forehead--then it was
gone. He opened his eyes.

No more wind and gloom, he stood directly behind the pilot's web-sling,
facing a vista-plate and rows of controls, just as he had stood so many
times in the derelict. He had made it! This was the control cabin of the
spacer. And