in those red-flecked eyes; they softened
instantly and looked into his very soul, saw through and beyond him
into some far place where relief and happiness might be attained. And
then, suddenly, they were swimming in tears. The Zara dropped into a
seat and buried her sleek coiffured head in outstretched arms, her
shoulders shaking with sobs.

An incomprehensible anomaly, this queen of the Llotta; a strange
mixture of cruelty and tenderness, of cold hatred and the longing for
love. A dual personality hers, susceptible to the deepest emotion or to
utter lack of feeling as the mood might dictate.

Blaine tiptoed softly from the room.

* * * * *

They were in the corridor now, and Tommy was blowing off at a great
rate. Even Pegrani was stunned and shaken. But Tommy raved.

"Forget it!" Blaine growled. "Where do we go from here?" He couldn't
have explained his emotions then, even to himself.

"To our quarters, she said--damn her!" Tom Farley swore in picturesque
English. "And we," he wound up his expressive tirade, "are getting in
deeper and deeper. We can't do a thing. Why in the devil doesn't she
put us out of the way and get it over with? What's she keeping us
around for, anyway?"

Blaine was asking himself that very question. Pegrani regarded them
with something of understanding in his beady eyes. But he was nervous
and apprehensive and broke in on their conversation to urge them into
action. The Zara must be obeyed.

The corridor was deserted now and their footsteps echoed hollowly from
the bare metal walls. Pegrani was ahead, leading the way, when Blaine
was startled by an insistent tap on his shoulder. Another of the
Rulans, it was, repeating the gesture of the youth who had been killed
on the roof. But this one had no message; he was after something
else--telling them in pantomime to make a break for freedom and to
follow him.

Blaine caught Tommy's attention. And Pegrani, warned again by that
sixth sense of his, turned his head. With a bellow of rage he whirled
into action, ray pistol in hand. But Blaine was prepared for him this
time. He wasn't going to witness another murder--not now. Flinging Tom
Farley aside, he let loose a terrific jab that landed full on Pegrani's
mouth. The ray pistol crackled harmlessly, its deadly energy spending
itself in searing the metal of the ceiling.

* * * * *

Then he wrenched the weapon