air chamber, he managed to close and lock them against his pursuers. Then he staggered over to the control panel.

He cut the switch, pressed the starter. The jets roared behind him as he shot away from his own plane.

The jets had left a vapor trail miles long before he could look back. He saw the flare of his own ship as it started in pursuit but he knew they'd never overtake him with the busted fuel pump and he wasn't worrying now about their following his trail later with a blast analyzer. He wasn't worrying about anything that would happen later. All he was thinking about now was Greeno and the girl.

His own ship was no longer in sight when he swept into the outskirts of the Ring. He remembered to step up the air pressure to avoid the bends. Then, a little grimly, he smiled. There on the control panel was his ice pistol where the patrolman had left it. He stuck it in his empty holster. His luck was turning.

Whipping in and out of the rough-hewn worlds, the police clock had ticked off only ten minutes when in the distance ahead he could see the sagging cable between the two little globes that were Greeno's domain. He remembered Greeno's words that very day, "You, my friend of many seasons." He remembered the way Karen Vaun looked with her hair trailing on her shoulders, her blue eyes....

If only it wasn't too late.

He flashed over the twin planetoids, circled around their far side. It was easy to tell the bat had been there. For miles around, the jungle was criss-crossed with splintered tree tops where its wing tips had brushed them like a hurricane. Then, coming round to the spot where Greeno's shack was, Flint saw the real scene of violence. What had been a small clearing in the brush, not even large enough to land on, was an area big as a football field. And in the center of it lay the bat.

The thing lay there like a blotch of spilled ink, grotesque and horrible. It was using horny claws on the tips of its wings to slam Greeno's space-ship house back and forth like a nut. Greeno and Karen must be inside.

Flint streaked down, thumbs trembling on the triggers of the police plane's guns. He held his screaming dive till he was within yards of the thing. Then into its back he poured his stream of liquid fire. Kicking the controls, he zoomed away, head craned back to watch the result.

The bat came up like a volcano 

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