The Valerians were fighting furiously and were coming fast. Those two words, when applied to members of that race, mean something starkly incredible to anyone who has never seen Valerians in action. They average little less than seven feet in height; something over four hundred pounds in weight; and are muscled, boned, and sinewed against a normal gravitational force of almost three times that of Earth. VanBuskirk's weakest warrior could do, in full armor, a standing high jump of fourteen feet against one Tellurian gravity; he could handle himself and the thirty-pound monstrosity which was his space-ax with a blinding speed and a devastating efficiency literally appalling to contemplate. They are the deadliest hand-to-hand fighters ever known; and, unbelievable as it may seem to any really highly advanced intelligence, they did and still do fairly revel in that form of combat. The Valerian tide reached the battling Gray Lensman--closed around him. "Hi ... you little ... Tellurian ... wart!" Major Peter VanBuskirk boomed this friendly thought, a yell of pure joy, in cadence with the blows of his utterly irresistible weapon. His rhythm broke--his frightful ax was stuck. Not even dureum-inlaid armor could bar the inward course of those furiously driven beaks; but sometimes it made it fairly difficult to get them out. The giant pulled, twisted--put one red-splashed boot on the battered breastplate--bent his mighty back--heaved viciously. The weapon came free with a snap that would have broken any ordinary man's arms, but the Valerian's thought rolled smoothly on: "Ain't we got fun?" "Ho, Bus, you big Valerian baboon!" Kinnison thought back in kind. "Thought maybe we would need you and your gang--thanks for the ride. But back, now, and fast!" Although the Valerians did not like to retreat, after even a successful operation, they knew how to do it. Hence in a matter of minutes all the survivors--and their losses had been surprisingly small--were back inside the _Dauntless_. "You picked up my speedster, Frank." It was a statement, not a question, directed at the young Lensman standing beside the Chief Pilot's board. "Of course, sir. They're massing fast, and without any hostile demonstration, as you said they would." He nodded unconcernedly at the plate, which showed the sky dotted with warlike shapes. "No maulers?" "None detectable as yet." "QX. Original orders stand. At detection of one mauler, execute Operation Able without further instructions. Tell everybody that, while the announcement of Operation Able will put me out of control instantly and automatically, until such announcement I will give instructions. What they will be like I haven't the foggiest notion. It depends on what His Nibs upstairs decides to do--it's his move next." * * * * *