A radabeam and an automatic pilot was in complete control. Moljar turned to the Terran mutant. Her taut face was trying to pierce the dense sheath of cloud.

"This is a strange dream, Mahra."

"Dream?" She turned her weird eyes on him briefly.

"What else? A half-breed, child of a Terran woman and a Martian outlaw, travels across the Sea of Death with an outcast mutant." He shook his head. "And for Alhone we fly. For Alhone, the she-monster whom no one knows, to Anghore where no one has ever been and returned."

"Is it far across this death trap?"

"I've heard that in miles it is only perhaps a hundred. But in perils—"

The girl said abruptly, angrily, "For Alhone! You're crazy! If we can take control from the automatic pilot, we could—"

"We can not do that," said Moljar. "We would only crash down there. It's bad ... down there."

She fell silent. The atomic motor whirred almost silently, driving them toward Anghore.

"There is great mystery here," said Moljar. "We seem guided by forces beyond our control. Some powerful, invisible wind."

Curious, nervous, Mahra's rummaging uncovered weapons beneath the gyro's seats. Two electro-blasters and a duelling dagger. They each took a pistol, and she gave the half-breed the long slim knife. Then, when she sat down, her bare shoulder rubbed slightly against him. And remained there.

His flesh tingled. His hand gripped the electro-gun tighter in his hand. "Why do the Terrans hate you mutants so much?" he asked. "Are the rumors about you mutant's deadly powers true?"

She sighed. "Perhaps some of them are true. Anyway the Normals are very scared of us. That's why they isolate and scourge us. We can rule them when we decide we want to."

"Will you want to?"

"Perhaps, someday. When the time is right."

"I am neither ruled, nor do I wish to rule," said Moljar.

"You half-breeds are a strange tribe. Too bad you must all be such barbarians, such savages."

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