With Spike before him and the cold fin of the Venusian to the rear, they were led for hours into the darkness. Rusty's head vaguely ached. He walked with closed eyes, almost slept. He bumped into something--Spike. Had he slept? Lothar grunted, "Settlement." Rusty strained his tired eyes, could see nothing. They marched on. A faint glow appeared in the distance, slowly widened, became dots of light. It was one of the smaller moon settlements, Spike said; chiefly populated by rich farmers who raised the delicious _cavote_, luscious fruit cultivated for the interplanetary trade. They halted on the outskirts of the city. The city was dark. There were few lights but Rusty looked at the shadowed windows and knew people were asleep there, peacefully in a commonplace existence. For a moment he revered their simple lives, and the ordinary held no memory of monotony but a yearning for its rest as his heart went into the city and softly cried for admission. But there was no response to his pleas, only the black windows, and his longings were but a hollow mockery of his weary soul. He was a fugitive, a convicted murderer in the eyes of all he might meet--he was as these with whom he had fled just punishment. Trapped by a laughing fate, he felt little hope for peace ever again. His loneliness flamed to rage. "Where's the space port?" asked Spike. "I take," said Lothar, who had been there before. He led them around the cluster of dimly lighted buildings, past the mud-flats of cavot plants. The city was voiceless, the streets were vacant. As they turned a corner, a great clearing spread before them, a landing field dotted with the shadowed shapes of space liners, and smaller craft. The field was sparsely lighted. They paused. "Spread out. See what's about," Spike whispered. "Meet here in ten revs." The men slowly faded into the darkness. Rusty saw a flat, lighted building at a near corner of the field. Moving stealthily to a glowing window, he peeped over the sill. The walls were filled with space-station equipment. In the center of the room was a table around which nine men were seated, Martian pilots and a native watchman. As Rusty looked, the watchman arose, strapped a gun about him and left the room. Rusty heard an outside door open and close, fled silently. He returned, found the Venusian and Lothar. Spike had not come back. * * * * * They waited, staring into the darkness. The night was suddenly torn by the staccato hiss of a vib-ray. Spike appeared, breathless. "Watchman saw me!" he panted. "Found a ship. Come on!" He sped again into the shadows, led them to a big space liner which nestled in the darkness of a hangar. The door was open. Spike motioned for them to enter. A form materialized at the stern of the ship. A vib-ray spat.