head had been sprayed with a blow torch....

Ricker spasmodically snapped off the light.

It was several moments before he turned it on again and played it through the ports of the lifeless cabin.

They were all the same. The other pilot lay in the aisle. The detective lolled restlessly near his seat. The old sourdough swayed, upright in his chair—with his head almost burned away.

Ricker clicked off the light, pulled away from the drifting tomb and bent over the transmitter. "Chief?" he said hoarsely. "Everybody on that liner's been murdered. They're black—burned. I don't know how. I think—"

"Do you think you're the only plane with a radio?"

Ricker looked around helplessly as his nerves turned to high tension wire. The very hair on his head tingled. It was a voice vibrating through the walls of the boat itself. An insane metallic voice from nowhere.

Suddenly little dots of fire began to rain over the boat, sparkled on the glass roof. Then a stream of crimson light gashed the blackness outside and a drone of rockets came softly into the cabin. He caught a glimpse of a space ship circling over. The light disappeared in a cascade of sparks again. The plane vanished behind him.

Ricker gripped the panel and his nails whitened. He began talking to the transmitter, very clearly and carefully.

"Chief!" The humming increased as the plane neared again, coming in from behind. "Can you hear me? There's another ship outside. They're using impact phones and it isn't a Patrol boat. I think I'm in for trouble." The little pointer on the transmitter dial quit vibrating.

"We burned off your aerial," chattered the mechanical voice through the walls. "Open your space-door and prepare for boarding. And no tricks! We have a sight on you."

With clenched fists, Ricker gazed into the blackness a moment, then resignedly walked over and opened the lock. The Martian stepped out with a smirk of malicious triumph. The woman's face was expressionless. Of course they'd heard the voice, too, probably recognized it, and Ricker made no pretense of covering them with the pistol. Doubtless, he was the prisoner now.

The Martian coughed behind his hand. "Soon," he said, "I shall repay you for this delay."

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