"The report is in; it is almost beyond belief. They say the liner is empty, that no human body, alive or dead, is in the ship. She was stripped of crew and passengers in the air. "We await confirmation. Danger apparently centered over arctic regions, but traffic has been ordered from all upper levels--" The voice that had been held rigidly to the usual calm clarity of an official announcer became suddenly high-pitched and vibrant. "Stand by!" it shouted. "An S. O. S. is coming in. We will put it through our amplifiers; give it to you direct!" * * * * * The newscaster crackled and hissed: they were waiving all technical niceties at R. N. Headquarters, Harkness knew. The next voice came clearly, though a trifle faint. "Air Patrol! Help! Position eighty-two--fourteen north, ninety-three--twenty east--Superliner Number 87-G, flying at R. A. plus seven. We are attacked!--Air Patrol!--Air Patrol!--Eighty-two--fourteen north, ninety-three--twenty--" The voice that was repeating the position was lost in a pandemonium of cries. Then-- "Monsters!" the voice was shouting. "They have seized the ship! They are tearing at our ports--" A hissing crash ended in silence.... "Tearing at our ports!" Harkness was filled with a blinding nausea as he sensed what had come with the crash. The opening ports--the out-rush of air released to the thin atmosphere of those upper levels! Earth pressure within the cabins of the ship; then in an instant--none! Every man, every woman and child on the giant craft, had died instantly! The announcer had resumed, but above the sound was a guttural voice that shouted hoarsely in accents of dismay. "Eighty-seven-G!" Schwartzmann was exclaiming, "--Mein Gott! It iss our own ship, the Alaskan! Our crack flyer!" * * * * * Harkness heard him but an instant, for another thought was hammering at his brain. The position!--the ship's position!--it was almost above his experimental plant! And Chet was there, and the ship.... What had Chet said? He would fly it in two days--and this was the second day! Chet had no radio-news; no instrument had been installed in the shop; they had depended upon the one in Harkness' own ship. And now-- Walt Harkness' clear understanding had brought a vision that was sickening, so plainly had he glimpsed the scene of terror in that distant cabin. And now he saw with equal clarity another picture. There was Chet, smiling, unafraid, proud of their joint accomplishment and of the gleaming metal shape that he was lifting carefully from its bed. He was floating it out to the open air; he was taking off, and up--up where some horror awaited.