Then Don Denton saw Jim Palmer lift a heavy strip of leather belt, swing it with a brutal viciousness at the slender shoulders of his daughter. Don Denton whipped around, a white hot rage blazing in his mind, his breath a choking mass in his throat, as he dashed for the port door. He uncogged it with trembling hands, pushed it open, dropped through, the ati-guns cold in his sweaty hands. He ran toward the silent group, conscious that Palmer's arms was lifting for another blow. His hand swept up for a snap-shot. "Drop that gun, Denton," Palmer snapped. Don Denton snarled soundlessly, squared the muzzle of the ati-blaster on Palmer's broad chest, squeezed the firing stud. Then a great paralysis seemed to fill his rangy body. He came to a dead stop, his guns still jutting before him, but utterly without the will to press the firing studs. "Holster both guns, Denton," Jim Palmer barked. Instantly, without a word, the trouble shooter's hands flicked the twin guns back into their sheaths. He stood rigidly, great veins ridging his temples, then all resistance went from his body as he waited for the other to approach. * * * * * Jim Palmer halted but a few feet from the trouble shooter, the leather strap dangling from his right hand, his feet wide-braced. He bent forward a trifle, stared directly in Don Denton's eyes. "Can you hear me, Denton?" he asked quietly. Don Denton fought the unbreakable control that held his mind and body in complete abeyance. Veins stood in high relief on his forehead, and perspiration rolled down his cheeks. He gagged a bit from the noxious air, tried to turn his head from Palmer's piercing gaze. "I can hear you, Palmer," he said woodenly. "Fine." There was still that _something_ far back in Palmer's eyes, but there was absolutely no expression on his face. "Now, this is what you are to do: You will act as the pilot on the _Moonstone_ for the rest of us men. We are turning pirates, and intend to set up our headquarters here. You will get your instruments and whatever else you need from your ship; we leave within the hour." Don Denton turned without volition, and even the hypnotic control that directed him could not keep the gasp of astonishment from his throat. For there on the edge of the clearing, exactly as they had been before, were the two freighters that had vanished so mysteriously thirty minutes before. But the astonishment was immediately erased from his mind, and he turned robot-like toward the _Comet_. He caught one flashing glimpse of the emotionless faces of the men and Jean Palmer, then he paced slowly toward the gaping port of the scouter. Jim Palmer walked quietly at his side, staring straight ahead, no emotion touching his ruddy features.