tered, and then lowered
them again as Sinclair appeared. Every eye turned to the Nationalist
leader as he marched across the floor of the cave, Tom and Roger walking
before him.

"You see," said Sinclair, "these wretched fools thought my organization
was a utopia until they learned that I was no better for them than the
Solar Guard. Unfortunately they learned too late and were sent here to
dig underground pits for my spaceships and storage dumps."

The small column of three marched across the floor of the cave toward
another small tunnel on the opposite side. The slaves were absolutely
still, and the guards smiled a greeting at their leader when he passed
them.

Sinclair ignored them all. "Beyond that tunnel," he continued, pointing
to the small opening ahead of them, "there is a spaceship. We will board
that ship and blast off. The three of us. Where we will go, I haven't
decided yet. Perhaps a long trip into deep space until the Solar Guard
has forgotten about you and me and the Nationalists. Then we will
return, as I said before, to Mars, or perhaps Ganymede, and I will start
all over again."

"You're mad!" said Tom through clenched teeth. "Crazy as a space bug!"

"We shall see, Corbett. We shall see!"

Suddenly Roger broke away and raced toward the mass of slaves. He
shouted wildly, "Get the guards! The Nationalists are beaten! The base
in the canyon has been destroyed! Hurry! Rebel!"

The emaciated men milled around the cadet, all asking questions at once.

Sinclair signaled to the guards. "Shoot him down!" Four guards took
careful aim.

"Roger! Look out!" warned Tom.

Roger whirled around in time to see the guards about to fire. He dived
for a mound of dirt and hid behind it. The energy shock waves licked at
the sand where he had stood a second before. Roger got up and ran for
better cover, the guards continuing to fire at him. Then, around the
cadet, the slave workers began to come alive. Some hurled stones at the
guards, others began climbing up the sides to the ledges where the
guards stood. Taking in the situation at a glance, Sinclair shoved the
ray gun in Tom's back and snarled, "Get going!"

The young cadet had no alternative. He turned and marched hurriedly
across the floor toward the small tunnel ahead of him. Several slave
workers tried to attack Sinclair, but in their weakened condition, they
were no match for the alert Nationalist leader who froze them instantly
with his paralo-ray gun.