Carter was fumbling with the chart-room weapons. "Here, Gregg, help me. What have you got? Heat-ray? That's all I had ready." It struck me then as I helped him make the connections that Carter in this crisis was at best an inefficient commander. His red face had gone splotchy purple; his hands were trembling. Skilled as captain of a peaceful liner, he was at a loss now. Nor could I blame him. It is easy to say we might have taken warning, done this or that, and come triumphant through this attack. But only the fool looks backward and says, "I would have done better." * * * * * I tried to summon my wits. The ship was lost to us, unless Carter and I could do something. Our futile weapons! They were all here--four or five heat-ray hand projectors that could send a pencil-ray a hundred feet or so. I shot one diagonally up at the turret where Johnson was leering down at our rear window, but he saw my gesture and dropped back out of sight. The heat-beam flashed harmlessly up and struck the turret roof. Then across the turret window came a sheen of radiance--an electro-barrage. And behind it, Hahn's suave, evil face appeared. He shouted down: "We have orders to spare you, Gregg Haljan--or you would have been killed long ago!" My answering shot hit his barrage with a shower of sparks, behind which he stood unmoved. Carter handed me another weapon. "Gregg, try this." I levelled the old explosive bullet projector; Carter crouched beside me. But before I could press the trigger, from somewhere down the starlit deck an electro-beam hit me. The little rifle exploded, burst its breech. I sank back to the floor, tingling from the shock of the hostile current. My hands were blackened from the exploding powder. Carter seized me. "No use! Hurt?" "No." * * * * * The stars through the dome-windows were swinging. A long swing--the shadows and starlit patches on the deck were all shifting. The Planetara was turning. The heavens revolved in a great round sweep of movement, then settled as we took our new course. Hahn at the turret controls had swung us. The earth and the sun showed over our bow quarter. The sunlight mingled red-yellow with the brilliant starlight. Hahn's signals were sounding; I heard them answered from the mechanism rooms down below. Brigands there--in full control. The gravity plates were being set to the new positions; we were on our new course. Headed a point or two off the Earth-line. Not headed for the moon? I wondered. Carter and I were planning nothing. What was there to plan? We were under observation. A Martian paralyzing ray--or electronic beam, far more deadly than our own puny police weapons--would have struck us the instant we tried to leave the chart-room.