It was an hour and a half before they saw the _Astral_ in their glasses once more. In their path they had dropped red fluctuating flares to guide the mother ship to the derelict. The scout sidled in beside the space-barge. Magnets sent out invisible tentacles and hauled them against the vessel with a stiff shock. Murphy's red head bobbed into view as his own craft made landing. Larry Wolfe snapped orders. Stoller and Cass tackled the job of cutting away the ragged metal to provide more room for the loading of the salvage ship. Jeff, Abe, and Murphy joined Larry in the back-breaking toil of moving the gold. And all the time they were conscious of the precious weapon that was slipping from their fingers ... _time_! Minutes, seconds, fleeing from them, while they wondered which ship would be first to return, the _Friar Bacon_ with its glittering silver hull, or the black tiger-shark of the void--the _Martian_. Without warning there was a terrific crash against the side of the derelict. The six sweating workmen were flung to their faces on the floor. One of the scout ships was torn lose and went rolling away. Larry ripped out his gun and crawled to the opening in the vessel's shell. What he saw caused him to sigh with new relief. "Meteor shower," he called to the others. "We took the biggest part of it right then. You can hear the dust pattering against us now. Nothing to worry about." _Nothing to worry about--!_ But right then another impact came that up-tilted the barge and hurled them from their feet, stunned. A shadow fell over the sunlight splashed room and a long, black shape glided past, a mile or two away. The _Martian_ was back and ready for war. * * * * * There was a second shot that sprawled them around. In the bow of the attacking cruiser winked a malevolent green eye. At Larry's signal, every man jammed the range setting on his pistol up to full. Even with the guns taxed to their utmost, they would be pitiful answer to the cannon aboard the other craft. "Murphy!" Larry yelled. "Take your men up to the bridge where you can keep your eye on 'em. Keep firing. Don't let 'em rest." But there was no slowing down Brand Haggard. With the cunning of a tiger, he swooped and curvetted about the _Astral_, never stopping long enough to let one of those pistol shots burn deep. There was not an instant when the derelict was still; constantly it rolled in a sea of searing, churning ether, burned fiercely by force-charges. From time to time a great hole was gashed through the barge. Then there came a blasting concussion that piled Larry, Jeff, and Abe in a corner like three rats in a box. Blood filtered down Larry's neck where his space suit had gashed him. Light spilled into the ship through the fore parts. With his heart hammering, he ran forward to the bridge.