ed arm fell limp. This was no Llott: it
was Tom Farley! Good Lord, he would have killed him in another second!

He tried to shake him; to bring him to. But he couldn't get hold of the
bulging suit anywhere without danger of slashing it with one of those
hooks. What if that fall had been fatal! Ulana was at his side now and
he stared at her, white-faced, trembling in his uncertainty and horror.

And then Tommy opened his eyes. They saw him shake his head to clear it
and then he, too, stared in horror. How close a call! Friend killing
friend, out here in the air-less cold on the shivering shell of the
dying alien world!

They helped him to his feet and through the entrance manhole. His mind
awhirl with emotion, Blaine saw that Ulana was inside and then followed
as in a dream. He bolted the outer cover and turned the valve that
would admit air to the lock. Soon they would be inside. With their
protecting coverings discarded there would be the fresh air of the
interior; light; warmth. Safety for Ulana. Away from the copper-clad
world, they'd be on their way--home.

* * * * *

A little later, Blaine Carson sat at the controls of the RX8, Ulana at
his side. Tommy was below, polishing and oiling and fondling his
beloved machines. The surface of Antrid was visible through the
viewing port, twenty miles beneath them and receding rapidly. Swinging
in its new orbit, Antrid was gasping its last.

Over there, a few miles to the east, there spouted a column of white
vapor that rose from a heaped up crater of ice which extended in a
circle now many miles in diameter. Heavily laden with moisture as it
was, the artificial atmosphere of Antrid provided a vast storm of
frozen particles as it escaped into the absolute zero of space. For
many days this would continue and the pressure within would drop
gradually, down, down, until the air was so rare it would no longer
sustain life. And there was no hope of repairing the break: the
mountain of ice prevented getting at it from outside, and the rush of
air from within made the handling of patch plates and brazing torches
impossible. Besides, an area of supporting columns of more than a mile
diameter had been wrecked by the blast of the rocket-tube. It would
require an Earth year to make such a repair, even if they could retain
that atmosphere. Antrid was done for, this time.

Abruptly, Blaine turned his head from the port and gave his attention