Dynamon, watching the blood-red Carrier in the periscope mirror, felt a surging bitterness at the Martians. If they could only be reasonable, he reflected, if only they could be _human_, then he, Dynamon, would not now be floating away on a dangerous mission far from the Earth and the woman he loved. He tried to imagine what Keltry was doing at that moment. In his mind's eye he could see her on the stage of the Theater of Comedy, enthralling audiences with her youthful charm as she played a part in the latest witty comedy, or sang a gay ballad in a new revue. He broke out of his reverie and tossed a glance at the altimeter. The needle was moving much faster now, climbing steadily toward seventy thousand feet. "It's about time to go now, isn't it?" he asked Borion. The navigator nodded. "Just about," he said, and put his hand on a lever marked "gravity repellor." As the navigator pushed the lever smoothly forward, Dynamon turned back to the periscope mirror and saw the red ship behind suddenly dwindle in size. The new Cosmos Carrier was beginning to show its speed. Apparently, the Martians were momentarily caught off guard. The red Carrier diminished to a tiny speck against the dark background of the Earth. But then it began to grow in size again as the Martians unleashed the power in their great magnets. "Borion, how about friction?" Dynamon asked. "We don't have to worry about that yet," was the answer, "we're not going fast enough. And the temperature outside is about sixty-five below." Dynamon nodded and glanced again at the altimeter. The needle was steadily climbing, a mile every ten seconds. Once again he looked into the screen of the periscope. The Earth was now far enough away so that the young centurion could begin to make out the broad arc which was a part of the curving circumference of the globe. Silently he said a final good-bye to Keltry and turned to speak to Borion. At that moment the door of the control room burst open and an engineer stepped in and saluted the navigator. "Stowaway, sir," the engineer said. "Just found her in the munitions compartment." Dynamon stared out through the open door at the woman who stood out there between two soldiers. It was Keltry. * * * * * It was a harried and heartsick centurion who, a few minutes later, called a conference in his own quarters. Borion and Thamon sat regarding him gravely, while Mortoch, the second in command, lounged against the wall, a faint, derisive smile on his lean face. "We are faced with a situation," Dynamon said heavily. "I would like to hear some opinions." "Flagrant case of indiscipline," Mortoch said promptly; "that is, if we can regard this impersonally." "Personalities," said Dynamon sharply, "will have no influence on my final decision." "In that case," said Mortoch harshly, "it seems to me, you are bound to put back to Earth and hand the woman over to the right people for corrective action."