parties or
details who swore bitterly when they were left behind. They surged up
and down on the melee of waves the fleet left behind in its hasty
departure.

On the fleet itself there was a brisk tenseness as it sped away from the
land. Vesuvius still loomed high, but the city dwindled to a mere
blinking mass of white specks which were its buildings. The sea was
aglitter with sunlight reflected from the waves. There was the smell of
salt air.

Men began to take cryptic measures for the future. They strung cables
across the deck from side to side. Arresting gear for planes which would
presently land.

Their special ensign found Coburn and Janice. "I'm supposed to stay with
you," he explained politely. "I thought I could be of use. I'm really
attached to another ship, but I was on board because of the hassle last
night."

Coburn said: "This would be invader stuff, wouldn't it?"

The ensign shrugged. "Apparently. You heard what the radar said.
Something at three hundred thousand feet, descending rapidly. It's not a
human-built ship. Anyway, we've sent up all our planes. Jets will meet
it first, at fifty thousand. If it gets through them there are ... other
measures, of course."

"This one beats me!" said Coburn. "Why?"

The ensign shrugged again. "They tried for you last night."

"I'm not that important, to them or anybody else. Or am I?"

"I wouldn't know," said the ensign.

"I don't know anything I haven't told," said Coburn grimly, "and the
creatures can't suppress any information by killing me now. Anyhow, if
they'd wanted to they'd have done it."

A dull, faint sound came from high overhead. Coburn stepped out from
under the shelter of the upper works of the island. He stared up into
the sky. He saw a lurid spot of blue-white flame. He saw others. He
realized that all the sky was interlaced with contrails--vapor-trails of
jet-planes far up out of sight. But they were fine threads. The jets
were up very high indeed. The pin-points of flame were explosions.

"Using wing-rockets," said the ensign hungrily, "since fifty-calibres
did no good last night, until one made a lucky hit. Rockets with
proximity fuses. Our jets don't carry cannon."

There were more explosions. There was a bright glint of reflected
sunshine. It was momentary, but Coburn knew that it was from a flat,
bright space-ship, which had tilted in some monstrously abrupt maneuver,
and the almost vertical sunshine shone down from its surface.