Something flicked at Alan's mind with feathery tentacles; the knife drew blood and the feathery searching stopped. "That hurts," objected Mac. "It'll hurt worse. Take us to the nearest disk you know of." "How would I know of any?" "You can find them. Do it." "Don't push me too far," said the other icily. "Remember I'm infinitely stronger than you." "But very susceptible to a sliced-up jugular." "I won't wreck five hundred years of plans, even for you!" "Not for me," said Alan easily. "For the sake of your throat, Mac old boy." Mac sighed, and turned the ship gently, for fear of the deadly blade in Alan's remorseless hand, and sent it rocking over the hills inland. "I'm a weak link," he said bitterly. "A weak link like poor old Grady. I didn't know I'd be so afraid to die." CHAPTER XII They landed gently beside the two great silver disks, and Mac sat back and said, "Well," proudly, for it was his first landing in half a millennium. "Now what, Jack the Ripper?" "Now we go out and talk to them. First we let the gang out of the middle room, though." Mac flipped a switch. "They can open the door now." Brave and the others came to meet them in the corridor. They all had their rifles at the ready. "Put up the knife, Alan," said Rob Pope. "He's under control pretty well, I'd say. One phony move or thought and he's done." Mac looked at them all. "I liked you," he said sadly. "I suppose I'll have to kill you eventually, but I did like you." Then they marched him down the ramp to the ground. Alan and Win and Rob were aware at once of the amazement that ran through the alien forces like a chinook wind among pines. Alan could catch the thoughts plainly: _It is he, it is the leader!_ "Holy cats," he said, and Unquote stirred feebly but angrily on his shoulder. "Mac, are you the chief of your bunch?" "Yes. Oh, laddie, I'm a prize catch. They'll give you the Iron Cross for me. Or the Lead Casket." The outlanders, duplicates in form and clothing of the men slain by Alan and the others, clustered around them. Alan wondered if there were hatred in his brain to be found by these fellows. He did not actually know himself whether or not he hated them for their bombing. The destruction of New York had been such a gargantuan thing, such an incredibly huge blow, that the solution of smaller problems seemed to have driven it out of his thoughts entirely; perhaps it was a trick of his subconscious, to prevent his going mad with horror. He could hear them--if "hear" was the verb--talking mentally together. There was no language involved, evidently, for the thoughts were surely as plain to him as to the aliens themselves. "It's like listening in on an old-fashioned party line," he told Win. "Isn't it! I mean," she added hastily, "I'm not old enough to remember, but it must be." Alan grinned. "As I catch it, they're congratulating each other on capturing Mac. And by glory, they're thanking us!"