Ron Barnard fought back with a defiant blast of his will and for a moment the creeping things stopped. He was suddenly sober, for he knew that this was where George Melvin had lost his mind. These creatures—whatever they were—possessed all of George's thoughts.

And those thoughts included Lansfer. Lansfer was the man behind the neoin organization.

The things were back. He stiffened his knees, made himself rigid against the wall. Sharp pain lanced through his temples as the weird struggle continued. Desperately he fought the hungry tentacles that wiggled into his thought centers.

One after another, he forced back the alien thrusts. But each time, the creatures took something with them ... some part of him.

He was losing. Soon he would be another George Melvin ... a drooling idiot. Already he was slipping. The feelers pushed themselves inexorably in. He noticed vaguely that his light was gone—somehow he knew that they had drained the juice from his battery. In the dark he stood swaying, waiting for the end.

Suddenly he was aware that it was light. He gazed dully toward its source, saw that a silver-helmeted figure was approaching. Lansfer. The officer's hard face relaxed a little in a short chuckle.

"So you've found my secret, Ron Barnard. And you're wishing you hadn't—if you still have the wits to wish."

His eyes behind the faceplate were mocking. "My little friends were hungry. They aren't of this solar system, Barnard—they're true energy creatures, barely visible if you have good eyes. I was attacked by them while alone in a patrol ship—fortunate for me that I found out in time that silver renders them inert."

Barnard's slow moving mind noted the silver covering over Lansfer's helmet. He found himself on his knees, clutching unintelligently at the neoin dust on the floor. The struggle in his mind had died out, as if the creatures had retreated unwillingly before the silver.

"I brought them to this cave," Lansfer went on. "You see the rocket motor in the corner—they live on energy and for the cost of a little fuel I get neoin by the ton! Neoin is the waste product of their life cycle! Matter from energy—with living machines!"

The officer motioned toward the door. His stubby gun was in his hand. "You'll come back here, Barnard. A human mind is a rare treat for my helpers. But get out now and let your girl 

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