"Gimme th' Chief!" His fingers tattooed excitedly on the panel. "Chief? This's Rick. Got th' biggest story since the ice age. Molly Borden's escaped with a Martian. What? No! Don't start an extra yet!" He paused for breath. "Gimme a Mercury-to-Pluto hook up. I've got Molly and her accomplice here—for a personal interview."

"Jupiter's jumpers!"

Ricker had never heard the Chief so gone wild before. "Yep. That's right." He laughed. "Do I get that raise? Just a moment and I'll put Molly Borden on the ether...."

He turned half-way around, half rose from his seat—and froze.

Beside him, outside the glass, was a huge glistening shape, like a space beast swimming in the void. It gleamed bright silver in the light from the cabin and as he stared, mouth open, it THUMPED against the side of the boat.

Panic jumped in Ricker. He almost fell over the instrument panel.

Then he made out a row of darkened ports, a shark-like prow. He realized then slowly. The shadowed bulk outside was a space ship. It showed no lights, no life....

The ship drifted past like a falling leaf, a ghostly hulk floating aimlessly down toward Neptune. As it disappeared below the glass, Ricker caught a number and an insignia.

It was the liner they had just left.

"Chief," Ricker spoke to the transmitter. "Stand by! There's something wrong! The Jupiter-Pluto Liner—the one we were on—it just passed without signaling." He grabbed the controls, eased down on the throttle. Top-jets humming, it was but a moment till the liner came in view again.

Ricker circled the falling ship, saw no trace of a light. Its jets were off but the gyro-brake must be working because it wasn't falling fast. He moved closer alongside, shot out a spotlight. The white beam glowed weirdly on the silver hull, its dead staring windows. He flicked the light through the glass of the liner's control room—and his heart jumped.

It wasn't a Negro or a Mercurian. He could tell by the features which still clung to the face. It was an Earthian, in the stained uniform of Stellar Liners, lying on his back across the instrument board. His arms stuck out stiffly, crumbling hands palm up, and one pipe-like leg swung with the motion of the wallowing ship. His face was black, black as a charred hunk of steak—as if his 

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