The slot had barely closed when the door clicked and was thrust open; the machine came in behind the opening door. Vinson was ready with a double handful of thick soup from the tray. He hurled the soup at the machine and at the same time darted back; he caught up a chair and brought it down on the top of the machine. It shattered--in futility. For the machine did not stop coming. It only tried to fumble for something near its top with both of its uppermost tong-and-grapple appendages while the other, lower pair spread wide to intercept him. Vinson almost cried out in triumph but caught himself in time. He had caught its--eyes--with thick, creamy soup. He had not caught the machine's ears with anything; but its eyes--orthicons, doubtless, served with standard lenses--were blinded. Vinson ducked under the out-stretched arm silently, still carrying the back runner of the chair. He thrust this under the left hand track, waited until the machine ran upon it and then levered the machine over on its side. He whirled in front and--rapier-like--thrust the chair-runner into the twin circles that were being sought by the upper tongs of the machine. He ran around the machine and headed for the door, made it safely, slammed the door and turned the lock from the outside. He paused briefly. Better to locate some of the directors of that incredible machinery and stop them; then he could use the radio in peace. And with that thought in mind, Vinson started to prowl the ship--carefully, for the microphones they used for 'ears' were capable of considerable amplification. The controllers could be warned of his wandering. They must know he was loose from evidence of the wrecking of the first machine. Cautiously, he tried several doors but found them locked. He wanted an open one; there he could burst in suddenly and grapple with the occupant. Doubtless, any group engaged in such undertakings would be well-armed, but he might be able to subdue the enemy and capture a gun. Then he could enter other cabins. He paused before one door and tried the knob. It turned and he thrust against it with his shoulders. It opened. Inside, Narina knew that something was at her door. It was no machine, for it did not just shove the door open and enter; undoubtedly, it was one of Them. Narina shuddered; her hand raised and unfastened her sharp little barette. She looked at it wistfully; a lifetime of training and teaching against suicide deterred her and she slumped back on the couch. Then, suddenly, the door swung open and he was there. Vinson burst into the room and stopped. Could this girl be the enemy? Could she be the brain behind the metal monsters? As he saw her, his mad, all-overwhelming rush ended. [Illustration: Vinson burst into the room and stopped. Could this girl be the enemy, the brain behind the metal monsters?] Narina caught herself at that moment, knowing the time had come; she lifted her little implement and made a slash at her throat.