to detect by radar and
infra red.

In the depths of his mind he knew they were not of the Martian Princess.
Nor were there any crewmen within them. They were robot craft of some
kind, and they had come from the great black ship.

He felt their searching beams upon him and waited for a deadly, blasting
burst of heat or killing radiation. He was not prepared for what
happened.

* * * * *

They closed swiftly, and the nearest robot came within a dozen feet,
matching Mel's own velocity. Suddenly, from a small opening in the
machine, a slender metal tentacle whipped out and wrapped about him like
the coils of a snake. The second robot approached and added another
binding. Mel's arms and legs were pinned. Frantically, he manipulated
the jet control in the glove of the suit. This only caused the tentacles
to cut deeply and painfully, and threatened to smash the shell of the
suit. He cut the jets and admitted the failure of his frantic mission.

In short minutes they were near the ships again. Mel wondered what kind
of reprimand the crewmen of the Martian Princess could give him, and
what fantastic justification they might offer for their own actions.

But he wasn't being taken toward the Martian Princess. He twisted
painfully in the grip of the robot tentacles and confirmed that he was
being carried to the black stranger.

Soundlessly, a port slid open and the robots swept him through into the
dark interior of the ship. He felt himself dropped on a hard metal
floor. The tentacles unwound. Alone, he struggled to his feet and
flashed a beam of light from the suit flashlight to the walls about him.
Walls, floor and ceiling were an indistinguishable dark gray. He was the
only object in the chamber.

While he strained his sight to establish features in the blank metallic
surfaces a clipped, foreign voice spoke. "Remove your suit and walk
toward the opening in the wall. Do not try to run or attack. You will
not be harmed unless you attack."

There was no use refusing. He did as commanded. A bright doorway opened
in the wall before him. He walked through.

It reminded him of a medical laboratory. Shelves and cabinets of hand
instruments and electronic equipment were about. And in the room three
men sat watching the doorway through which he entered. He gazed at the
strangers as they at him.

They looked ordinary enough in their white surgeons' smocks. All seemed
to be of middle age, with d