head like a pole striking cement. Trexel's gun fell from his hand, thudded on the floor. He sagged down beside the wall.

The Martian didn't pull his gun. He stood, staring, listening to the cries, the sound of the planes and the guns outside. He didn't appear to see what was going on in the room. Suddenly he whirled, bolted to the door.

In the heat of his fury, Ricker flew after him.

Vanger dashed down the corridor, Ricker ten feet behind. He went through the door, started out upon the field. As Ricker reached the door, he saw Vanger stop suddenly, look up. The din of the Patrol boats was thunder in the echoing hollow. The air was filled with them. The field was littered with men running, falling and lying still. A boat swooped down toward the lone Martian standing there, fell like a bird of prey. Vanger started to run back toward the building. Tat, tat, tat! A long flaming line followed him, slowly, like a curse. Little puffs of dust spurted around him. The puffs stopped. The Martian halted. He stared at Ricker in the doorway and his face was puzzled. He coughed and his chin, his shirt became cherry-red. Then he crumpled to the ground.

Ricker turned, walked slowly back to the room.

At the door, he paused. He saw Dorothy Adison standing over the motionless hulk of Trexel. She swayed, one hand at her throat. In her other hand was Trexel's gun. Where the head of the fat man had been was a dark, dripping ball of horror.

The woman dropped the pistol. It struck the man's body, rolled to the floor.

Then she was suddenly in Ricker's arms.

Lounging deep in his red-leather chair, Bill Ricker squinted out at the port as the sleek space ship streamed through the darkness. He could see nothing outside but a big, humorous-eyed young man who was his own reflection and the green tinted star that was Earth—home.

"I hear you got a raise," said the tall blonde women in the seat beside him.

"Yep," said Ricker. "The Chief tried to get out of it but since the government offered his star reporter twice as much, he had to give in." He stared at the woman queerly. With her golden hair, her clear emerald eyes and perfect features she possessed a strange loveliness.

"Madam," he said. "What do you plan to do with your life? Have you no aims, no ideals, no guiding light?"

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