self down. He had forgotten
that there were no more bullets. The speeding flash scorched overhead.

Grim and Wat crouched low. Wat's tube, the one he had wrested from the
dead guard on the conveyor, was being slowly raised. The Mercutian saw
it, shifted the inanimate girl in front of himself, and backed
stealthily toward the splintered door.

"Don't shoot," Hilary cried sharply. "You'll kill Joan."

Wat lowered the tube disgustedly. Hilary groaned aloud. If only he had
had one more bullet. There was enough of the gigantic body exposed to
offer an excellent target to a steel slug without harming Joan, but
the sun weapon sent out its beam in a flat spray.

The Mercutian sensed their dilemma as they crouched on the stairs. He
laughed unpleasantly as he backed through the doorway, Joan's limp
body held straight in front of him.

"Good-by, Earth slaves," he taunted. "I take your pretty Earth maiden
with me. In five minutes I return, with others. You cannot escape.
Good-by."

He jumped clumsily through the door. The crouching Earthmen heard a
click. It had closed behind him.

* * * * *

Hilary and his companions cleared the stairs in almost a single bound.
He had snatched the sun-tube out of Wat's hand. Through the splintered
slide he saw the Mercutian climbing into his flier, but a great
crystal column of the portico intervened. Nevertheless, while Wat
fumbled for the button that released the slide, he took a chance.
Every split second was precious now. He aimed the weapon, pressed the
spring. A white dazzling ray darted fanwise from the orifice. It
touched the column, fused it into molten, running glass. But the
Mercutian was already in his seat, Joan limp beside him. He was
fumbling at the controls.

The door slid open at last. Hilary shot through like a bullet from a
rifle. The flier had already taken off on a long slanting rise. A
three-fingered hand waved mockingly down at him. Hilary raised his
weapon, then lowered it with a groan. The flier was well within range
yet, but if he aimed the terrible beam at it, there would be a crash
of fused twisted material, and--Joan was in it. What a dilemma! If he
didn't shoot, she would be borne away--he dared not think to what
horrible fate.

Grim's hand rested lightly on his shoulder as he watched the flier
become a faint black speck in the direction of Great New York.

"She was your sweetheart." His gruff voice was oddly gentle.

Hil