From here the Terran could count
at least four levels under him, with perhaps another. The bottom two
ought to be supplies and general storage. Then the engine room, tech
labs above, and next to the control cabin the living quarters.

Through the fabric of the ship, shivering up his body from the soles of
his feet, he could feel the vibration of engines at work. One such must
control the force field which ringed this canyon, perhaps even powered
the weapons the invaders could turn against any assault.

Ross whirled about, his Foanna cloak in a wide swing. There was one
control which he knew. Yes, again the board was the same as the one he
was familiar with. His hand plunged out and down, raking the lever from
one measure point to the very end of the slit in which it moved. Then he
planted himself with his back to the wall. Whoever came up the well
hunting the cause for the failure would be facing the other way. Ross
crouched a little, pushing the cape well back on his shoulders to free
his arms. There was a feline suppleness in his stance just as a jungle
cat might wait coming of its prey.

What he heard was a shout below, the click of foot-gear on the rungs of
the level ladder. Ross's lips drew back in a snarl which was also
feline. He thought that would do it! Spacemen were ultra-sensitive to
any failure in air flow.

White head, bare of any hair, thin shoulders a little hunched under the
blue-green-lavender stuff of the Baldies' uniforms.... Head turning now
so that the eyes could see the necessary switch. An exclamation from the
alien and--

But the Baldy never had a chance to complete that turn, look behind him.
Ross sprang and struck with the side of his hand. The hairless head
snapped forward. His hands already hooked in the other's armpits, the
Terran heaved the alien up and over onto the deck of the control cabin.
It was only when he was about to bind his captive that Ross discovered
the Baldy was dead. A blow calculated to stun the alien had been too
severe. Breathing a little faster, the Terran rolled the body back and
hoisted it into the navigator's swing-seat, fastening it with the
take-off belts. One down--how many left?

He had little time to wonder, for before he could reach the well once
again there was a call from below--sharp and demanding. The Terran
searched his victim, but the Baldy was unarmed.

Again a shout. Then silence--too complete a silence. How could they have
guessed trouble so qu