His Survivors were better equipped now. They had gained blasters. The feint on the slave compartment had won them the oxygen-making equipment. It had diverted the enemy from Rod’s main objective. And the men of the feint-party now stood ready to reinforce him. A courier dashed to him. Bunny was reporting that all space ship hangars had been immobilized. He had then turned to assist in the communications clean up. He wanted further orders. The orders were brief: to explode all tetrarchians encountered while proceeding to the science building. His own men waited in silence. They waited before a quiet, ominous building. It stood--a squat, sullen pile--a citadel of science perverted--of infamous torture. And from it--through a door quickly opened and as quickly shut--a human emerged. A human who limped and snuffled as he crossed the clearing toward the Survivors. “Harrow,” he called, “I’m an emissary to Rod Harrow. I want to speak to Rod Harrow.” “All right. What is it?” Rod strode forward despite Williamson’s restraining hand. The whimpering slave gathered himself together and spoke as if he had memorized his piece. “The tetrarchs say if you’ll surrender yourself they’ll spare the rest of the humans.” “Bluff! A miserable bluff!” Williamson had come forward blazing with indignation. His contempt at the servile gestures of the slave was mounting. “We’ll kill every tetrarch on the planet--and you with them, if you’re not careful. You can sniffle on back there and tell them that their position is hopeless.” “But don’t you see,” the coward was almost in tears, “they’ve got the catalyst.” The tears, no longer denied, streaked down his face. “At first it would work in eight hours no matter what our age. Now, Latham Koler’s got it so it can work in five min--O-oh! I’ve been hit!” Rod caught a quick glimpse of Latham Koler’s saturnine grin. He had appeared at the building opening for a moment and fired. Rod couldn’t see the weapon he had used but its results were plain. A tiny dart had pierced the coward’s helmet. It protruded from the back of his neck. Williamson plucked the dart and held it in his hand. “It doesn’t look dangerous,” he said. But Jerry had collapsed. Rod pointed to the fallen coward. A familiar pallor was spreading over his features. “The glow! Rod! Look at it! It’s working already!” “It’s a stepped-up catalyst all right.” Rod was thoughtful. “That dart is really a hypo needle. Lets get to cover and see what we can do about it.” When Rod outlined his plan Williamson was adamant. They couldn’t go through with it. He, Williamson, wasn’t going to permit it. But Rod had his way. They picked the best marksmen arbitrarily. There were volunteers in plenty to storm the building if the ruse worked. It took a little time to stuff their clothes with sand. Williamson checked them personally to make sure that the layer under their clothes was at least three inches thick.