"Change your tune," Case snarled at the instrument. But the voice was going on. "If your own life means nothing, perhaps you value another more. Turn on your video and you will see something of interest to you." That got him, brought him bolt upright in his seat. The voice could mean only one thing--Karin! Somehow they had got to her! Maybe this was a trick. Only five minutes or less now. They might be trying to distract him. But he couldn't take the chance. With fingers that were icy cold, Case Damon flicked on the video. A wall was what he first saw. Only a wall. It was a trick. But wait. That wall was familiar, rough, unpainted. The focus was shifting to a section that showed a mounted fish. Now down the wall and across to a familiar couch. The fishing cabin! "Karin!" Case blurted. Then he was mouthing incoherent curses. Her figure had been flung across the screen, on the couch. She had put up a fight. Her face was scratched, her blouse ripped. There was a gag in her mouth and her hands were tied behind her. "She dies unless you turn back!" the voice said. It meant every word. Karin had guts. She was shaking her head, imploring him with her eyes not to turn back. If he only had time to think! What did the rest of the world mean to Case Damon? Nothing, if it was a world without Karin. Yet, she was his own kind, this girl he had married. Were their positions reversed, it would have been Case who shook his head. Better to die than live in a world dominated by a murderous, merciless power. And yet, she was ... Karin. Without her there was nothing. Already Case's hands were busy, throwing switches that would cut in the retarding jets, swinging the responsive craft about. He had to give in. He didn't have time to think. "All right," he started to say. * * * * * His right hand reached out to turn on his transmitter. His lips framed the words again. But it was too late! The video was distorting into a mass of wavy lines, the audio brought nothing but a jumble of sound. Interference was scrambling the telecast waves beyond hope of intelligibility. He couldn't get through. The first rumble rose to audibility and made the ship shiver. "Too late," Case said, and was beyond cursing. Too late to turn back now. But not too late to go ahead. Air waves were pitching the ship like a cork. He fought to control, and finally swung back on course. Case took a last quick look at Cranly's chart, and flicked his eyes ahead to the vision plate. Only blackness yet, but the sound was growing and rising in pitch past the point where he could hear it. There was the sense of enormous strain, of the tug of unbelievably powerful and overwhelming contending forces. And then the blackness split! First, he could see only a pinpoint of light. It grew larger, widened, spread until it became a cleft in the void. Case flung his ship forward.