*

Chet saw the deadly tableau. He knew with a conviction that gripped his
heart that here was the end. Walt would die and he would be next. Diane
would be left defenseless.... The flashing thought that followed came to
him as sharply as the crack of any pistol. It seemed to burst inside his
brain, to lift him with some dynamic power of its own and project him
into action.

He threw himself sideways from under the pilot's hand, out from beneath
the heavy metal bar--and he whirled, as he leaped, to face the man. One
lean, brown hand clenched to a fist that started a long swing from
somewhere near his knees; it shot upward to crash beneath the pilot's
outthrust jaw and lift him from the floor. Max had aimed the bar in a
downward sweep where Chet's head had been the moment before; and now man
and bar went down together. In the same instant Chet threw himself upon
the weapon and leaped backward to his feet.

One frozen second, while, to Chet, the figures seemed as motionless as
if carved from stone--two men beside the half-opened port--Harkness in
convulsive writhing between two others--the figure of Diane, strained,
tense and helpless in Schwartzmann's grasp--and Schwartzmann, whose aim
had been disturbed, steadying the pistol deliberately upon Harkness--

"Wait!" Chet's voice tore through the confusion. He knew he must grip
Schwartzmann's attention--hold that trigger finger that was tensed to
send a detonite bullet on its way. "Wait, damn you! I'll answer your
question. I'll tell you what we'll do!"

In that second he had swung the metal bar high; now he brought it
crashing down in front of him. Schwartzmann flinched, half turned as if
to fire at Chet, and saw the blow was not for him.

* * * * *

With a splintering crash, the bar went through an obstruction. There was
sound of glass that slivered to a million mangled bits--the sharp tang
of metal broken off--a crash and clatter--then silence, save for one bit
of glass that fell belatedly to the floor, its tiny jingling crash
ringing loud in the deathly stillness of the room....

It had been the control-room, this place of metal walls and of shining,
polished instruments, and it could be called that no longer. For,
battered to useless wreckage, there lay on a metal table a cage that had
once been formed of curving bars. Among the fragments a metal ball that
had guided the great ship still rocked idly from its fall, until it,
too, w