The plan had failed. Counter-spies had warned the Sirians. The little band of twelve had been permitted to penetrate deep into Sirian territory, then had been overwhelmed. And after that--Standish's fists clenched--he had been brought face to face with Drum Faggard. He was a renegade, this Sirian master of conquest. He had been born on Earth of low parentage, but at the beginning of hostilities he had wormed his way into the graces of the Sirians and by cunning and force of will had risen to Chief of Command. The Sirians were a wafter-headed race with featureless faces and short barrel-like bodies. Their legs were the same as those of the men of Earth, but their arms possessed tumor-like swellings above the wrists, secondary nerve centers. Faggard, a huge man with a gross face, pig-like eyes and thin lips, had smiled sardonically when Standish was brought before him. "So your little plan failed, eh?" he said, swallowing a glass of Sirian whiskey and wiping his mouth with the flat of his hand. "Well, Standish, you may as well realize it, you're quite in our power now, and you'll be treated with no more consideration than the rest of the prisoners, unless you answer a few questions." "What sort of questions?" Standish had demanded. Faggard smiled again. "Now that your connections with Earth have been forever severed, it can be of little concern to you what happens to that planet. What I want to know is this: How many anti-rocket guns has Earth located at its Omaha base? What is the number of strato-cruisers stationed at Powerville? How heavy are the reserves in the Electra City sector? "Answer those question, Standish, and you will be virtually a free man. You will be released on our colony planet of Pluto, with five hundred _planetoles_ in your pocket. That money will enable you to live a life of ease for the rest of your days." For a moment Standish had stood there, face emotionless. Then like an uncapped bottle spewing forth, he had given in to blind rage. He lunged across the room, seized Faggard's thick throat and pounded his right fist into the smirking lips. Twice he had struck before a guard had rushed forward and pulled him off. Then something hard and heavy had crashed down upon his skull, and he knew no more. He had awakened on this prison ship. But had not this accident occurred he knew well enough the fate that would have been in store for him. All prisoners captured by the Sirian army were transported back to Sirius where they were put to work as slaves in the marsh fields, extracting hydro-carbon gas for use in the food-distillation plants. It was said a terrestrial man could live only one year there. Only one thing puzzled the Earthman. Why had he been given special quarters on the prison ship instead of being placed in one of the cages with the other prisoners? To that he could give no answer, and as the ringing silence of space closed in on him, he got to his feet and made his way slowly back to the control room.