Action came to me. I gasped, "Miko, you stay here! The controls are dead! You stay here and hold Anita--" I ignored Moa's weapon. Snap thrust her away. "We're falling, you fool--let us alone!" Miko gasped, "Can you--check us? What happened?" "I don't know--" I stood clinging. This dizzying whirl. From the audiphone grid Coniston's voice sounded. "I say, Haljan, something's wrong. Hahn doesn't signal." The lookout in the forward tower was clinging to our window. On the deck below our turret a member of the crew appeared, stood lurching for a moment, then shouted and ran, swaying, aimless. From the lower hull corridors our grids sounded with the tramping of running steps. Panic among the crew was spreading over the ship. A chaos below deck. I pulled at the emergency switch again. Dead.... "Snap, we must get down. The signals." Coniston's voice came like a scream from the grid. "Hahn is dead. The controls are broken!" I shouted, "Miko, hold Anita! Come on, Snap!" We clung to the ladders. Snap was behind me. "Careful, Gregg! Good God!" This dizzying whirl. I tried not to look. The deck under me was now a blurred kaleidoscope of swinging patches of moonlight and shadow. We reached the deck. It seemed that from the turret Anita's voice followed us. "Be careful!" Once inside the ship, our senses steadied. With the rotating, reeling heavens shut out, there were only the shouts and tramping steps of the panic-stricken crew to mark that there was anything amiss. That, and a pseudo sensation of lurching caused by the pulsing of gravity--a pull when the Moon was beneath our hull to combine its forces with our magnetizers; a lightening, when it was overhead. A throbbing, pendulum lurch! We ran down to the corridor incline. A white-faced member of the crew came running up. "What's happened, Haljan? What's happened?" "We're falling!" I gripped him. "Get below. Come with us." But he jerked away from me. "Falling?" A steward came running. "Falling? My God!" Snap swung at them. "Get ahead of us! The manual controls--our only chance--we need all you men at the compressor pumps!" But it was instinct to try and get on deck, as though here below we were rats caught in a trap. The men tore away from us and ran. Their shouts of panic resounded through the dim, blue lit corridors. Coniston came lurching from the control room. "I say--falling! Haljan, my God, look!" Hahn was sprawled at the gravity plate switchboard. Sprawled, head down. Dead. Killed? Or a suicide? I bent over him. His hands gripped the main switch. He had ripped it loose. And his left hand had reached and broken the fragile line of tubes that intensified the current of the pneumatic plate-shifters. A suicide? With his last frenzy, determined to kill us all? Why? Then I saw that Hahn had been killed! Not a suicide! In his hand he gripped a small segment of black fabric, a piece torn from an invisible cloak!