danger as we, how great a danger, you do not even dream. Only Klalmar-lan can pilot this crippled ship. This he can, and will, refuse to do. Now here are our terms. We will take you to Mars alive, where we will turn you over to the authorities." Art was loath to reveal as yet that they could set their course for Earth and arrive there in perfect safety. "You do not dare kill any of us."

"Don't I?" sneered the scientist. "Watch me. If Klalmar-lan does not get into that pilot seat before I count ten, I will blast Elene to a cinder. Then I will kill you, Art. Then Denny. When only Klalmar-lan is left, I will destroy him by inches, burning away a hand or foot at a time." The electronic pistol swung toward Elene and he began counting. White-faced, Art motioned despairingly to Klalmar-lan. The Martian's black eyes were obsidian as he silently strapped himself in the seat. The rest followed, Doctor Theller last, his pistol covering them. Suddenly there was a sickening lurch, a numbing crash, and blackening oblivion.

VII

Through a dull, throbbing ache, Art began to wonder where he was. His body seemed first to be spinning in a vast void, and yet again seemed to be pinned against a hard cold surface. He felt repeated small shocks, as of missiles striking him. From a distance a voice was calling insistently. Rubbing sticky blood from his eyes, he saw a greater flat expanse stretching away above him. Then his eyes focused. It was the deck of the flier! And there at its far end sat Klalmar-lan in the pilot seat! He was looking over his shoulder, calling, "Art! Art! Get that ray pistol! Quickly!" Art looked about him sluggishly. He saw the gun lying only a few feet from his face. But beyond it, there was a crawling figure—a mad ravening thing whose clawlike hand was even now extended to grasp the weapon! Art tried to move—he could not budge. Something was pinning him down—the body of Denny. He heaved desperately, but the man seemed to weigh tons. The truth of the situation came to Art. The ship was still within the gravity of Venus, and accelerating at a rate far beyond that of normal flight. The inexorable force of the acceleration was pressing the four passengers against the rear panel of the ship. Klalmar-lan could not leave his pilot's seat, for he would never be able to return! And even then, Theller's hand was closing on the grip of the pistol. The rocket ship spun on its longitudinal axis like a giant gyroscope. Art felt himself thrown from wall to wall, battered and bruised, but miraculously retaining consciousness. He was free now, of the encumbrance. The whirling stopped, and he drew himself painfully to a 

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