"Therefore I deserted from the Galactic Guard." A malicious grin lit the face of the Earthman, and he pushed back his thick yellow hair. "I took the private space launch of the Admiral, Gugon Kul. It was a swift, space-worthy craft. It outran all his fleet. It is now the _Barihorn_! "Everywhere I have found men discontent with slavery, stirring under the iron heel of Malgarth. I have sought to aid them. Our raids have been for money and food and arms, to aid the rebellion. "Chance has given me three kindred companions. Jeron, the scholar, the strategist of revolt--I took him from a cathode squad of the Space Police. Rogo Nug, the spy--he has been through the private papers of Gugon Kul, on his own flagship! He came aboard the _Barihorn_ to steal our instruments, and stayed when he found that we were also against the robots. Zerek Oom I found in a concentration camp, subsisting on half a cup of synthetic slop every other day. Sober, he is silent enough. But make him half drunk, and his oratory could lift the dust of the dead to fight Malgarth!" Kel Aran shook his yellow head. "Three loyal companions." His voice was weary. "Jeron has made a hundred plans. Zerek Oom has fanned revolt on a hundred planets. I have led a hundred raids. But we are beaten everywhere. We can't fight the Corporation and the Empire, too--not unless the Stone will aid us. "Your return, Barihorn, is our first good fortune--" * * * * * Sudden interruption. Rogo Nug burst in upon us, trembling, his dark scarred face oddly ashen. "Kel!" he gasped. "Come to the bridge--Jeron wants you! It is the Earth--that haze again! Still we cannot pass the fleet--by the brazen beak of Malgarth, there was never such a blockade! And the Earth, Kel--it is dropping into the Sun!" "I must leave you, Barihorn!" And Kel Aran rushed forward. Still unable to leave the bunk, I knew from muttered words and tense white faces and the racing drone of the engines that we were making a desperate attempt to run the blockade, darting up through the Earth's cone of shadow. And I knew when we were halted by the fleet. The generators stopped. And Zerek Oom, slipping forward, whispered that the commander of a Galactic Guard cruiser had challenged us on the telescreen communicator. Faintly, down the silenced corridor, I heard the voice of Kel Aran: "But, Commander, we are only a gang of space-rats. We've been mining the drift off beyond Pluto. Our supplies are gone, all but a few tins of syntholac, and a few mouldy space biscuits." His tone had an assumed whining ring. "We're only putting in to this planet, sir, to trade our metal for food and grog and a breath of fresh air." Then a gruff voice thumped from the communicator: "Drift miners? Your ship is very trim and swift for a space-rat's crate! And why were you running up the shadow?--I'd hold you on suspicion, if there weren't bigger business afoot."