"Djorn tells me that I had it figured right: they plan an invasion of the earth when next the two planets approach. He has told me of their armies and their fleets of ships that will set off into space. I can't prevent it; I am helpless! But if I knew what their leader was thinking--" "Torg!" she exclaimed. "You want to know the mind of that beast of beasts!" "Yes," said the man. "It might be of value. Particularly if I could know something of their great gun--where it is and what it is--well, I might do something about that." The girl averted her eyes from the savage determination on his face. "No--no!" she exclaimed; "I could not. Not Torg!" McGuire's own face fell at the realization of the enormity of this favor he had demanded. "That's all right," he said and held her soft hand in his; "just forget it. I shouldn't have asked." But she whispered as she turned to walk away: "I must think, I must think. You ask much of me, Tommy; but oh, Tommy, I would do much for you!" She was sobbing softly as she ran swiftly away. And the man in khaki--this flyer of a distant air-service--strode blindly off to rage and fume at his helplessness and his inability to strike one blow at those beings who lived in that world above. * * * * * There were countless rooms and passages where the work of the world below went on. There were men and women whose artistic ability found outlet in carvings and sculpture, chemists and others whose work was the making of foods and endless experimentation, some thousand of men and women in the strength of their endless youth, who worked for the love of the doing and lived contentedly and happily while they waited for the day of their liberation. But of fighters there were none, and for this Lieutenant McGuire grieved wholeheartedly. He was striding swiftly along where a corridor ended in blackness ahead. There was a gleaming machine on the floor beside him when a hand clutched at his arm and a warning voice exclaimed: "No further, Lieutenant McGuire; you must not go!" "Why?" questioned the lieutenant. "I've got to walk--do something to keep from this damnable futile thinking." "But not there," said the other; "it is a place of death. Ten paces more and you would have vanished in a flicker of flame. The projector"--he touched the mechanism beside them--"is always on. Our caves extend in an endless succession; they join with the labyrinth where the red ones used to live. They could attack us but for this. Nothing can live in its invisible ray; they are placed at all such entrances." "Yet Djorn," McGuire told himself slowly, "said they had no weapons. He knows nothing of war. But, great heavens! what wouldn't I give for a regiment of scrappers--good husky boys with their faces tanned and a spark in their eyes and their gas masks on their chests. With a regiment, and equipment like this--" And again he realized the futility of armament with none to serve and direct it.