bargaining with us!"

"Meaning?" asked Coburn.

"If they're here," said the colonel angrily, "and if they do mean to
meddle in our business, they may set up a sort of auction with us
bidding against the Iron Curtain gang for their friendship. And _they'd_
make any deal!"

The Greek general agreed drily. He said that free people were not
practical people. They were always ready to die rather than cease to be
free. Surely the Greeks had proved themselves ready to die. But people
like the Bulgarians thought that to continue to live was the most
important thing in the world. It was, of course, the practical
view-point....

"They can have it!" growled Coburn.

Janice said hesitantly: "But the Invaders haven't killed anybody we know
of. They could have killed the Bulgarians. They didn't. The one who
called himself Dillon stopped one man from killing them. And they could
have killed us, earlier today at the airport. Could they want to be
friends?"

"They're starting the wrong way," said Coburn.

The Greek general stirred in his seat, but he was pointedly silent.

The pilot snapped abruptly from up at the bow of the plane: "Colonel!
sir! Two of the fighters are climbing as if they've spotted something.
There go the rest."

Coburn leaned across Janice to stare out the window. When the fighters
were below the transport, they could be seen in silhouette against the
clouds. Above, their exhaust flames pin-pointed them. Small blue flames
climbed steeply.

The big ship went on. The roar of its motors was steady and unvarying.
From a passenger seat it was not possible to look overhead. But suddenly
there were streaking sparks against the stars. Tracer bullets. Fighters
swerved and plunged to intercept something....

* * * * *

And a Thing came down out of the sky with a terrific velocity. Tracer
bullets sprayed all around it. Some could be seen to ricochet off its
sides. Flashings came from the alien craft. They were not explosions
from guns. They were lurid, actinic, smokeless blasts of pure light. The
Thing seemed to be made of polished metal. It dodged, trying to approach
the transport. The fighters lunged to prevent it. The ghastly game of
interception seemed to rush here and there all over the sky.

The strange object was not possibly of human design or manufacture. It
had no wings. It left no trail of jet fumes or rocket smoke. It was
glittering and mirror-like, and it was shaped