le and it was above his reach but....

Raf measured distances and planned his effort. The mouth of a junction
tunnel ran less than two feet away from that grille. The opening was
outlined with a ledge, which made a complete arch from the floor. He
stopped and triggered the gravity plates in his space boots. Made to
give freedom of action when the ship was in free fall, they might just
provide a weak suction here. And they did! He was able to climb that
arch and, standing on it, work loose the grille which had been
fashioned to open. Now....

The pilot flashed his hand torch up into that dark well. He had been
right--and lucky! There were holds at regular intervals, something
must have been serviced by workmen in here. This was going to be easy.
His fingers found the first hold, and he wormed his way into the
shaft.

It was not a difficult climb, for there were niches along the way
where the alien mechanics who had once made repairs had either rested
or done some of their work. And there were also grilles on each level
which gave him at least a partial view of what lay beyond.

His guess was right; he recognized the main hall of the Center as he
climbed past the grid there, heading up toward those levels where he
was sure the leaders of the aliens had their private quarters. Twice
he paused to look in upon conferences of the gaudily wrapped and
painted civilians, but, since he could not understand what they were
saying, it was a waste of time to linger.

He was some eight floors up when chance, luck, or that mysterious
something which had brought him into this venture, led him to the
right place at the right time. There was one of those niches, and he
had just settled into it, peering out through the grid, when he saw
the door at the opposite end of the room open and in marched a party
of warriors with a prisoner in their midst.

Raf's eyes went wide. It was the captive he sought; he had no doubt of
that. But who--what--was that prisoner?

This was no fur-covered half-animal, nor was it one of the
delicate-boned, decadent, painted creatures such as those who now
ringed in their captive. Though the man had been roughly handled and
now reeled rather than walked, Raf thought for one wild instant that
it was one of the crew from the spacer. The light hair, showing rings
of curl, the tanned face which, beneath dirt and bruises, displayed a
very familiar cast of features, the body hardly covered by rags of
clothing--t