The gun hissed outside, missed and struck into the bodies of his own fellows. He would fire again. Before he could turn the gun, Rusty was upon him. They crashed to the ground. Rusty's spring carried him over the man, who was on his feet instantly, gun poised. The gun was silent. Rusty rolled cautiously over. He saw the bulk of the Vulcanian looming behind the crimson man. A huge hand had crushed his shoulder. Lothar raised the Martian, bashed him against the side of the ship. He fell limply, did not move. Rusty got up. There were seven dead men in the plane. One was before him, broken and bleeding. Another lay somewhere in the shadows. The nine men he had seen at the table in the station were dead. Was it his fault? He had killed none of them. No? They had been protecting their rights, their property. They had died doing so. Fish climbed down from the ship. He kicked aside the body on the ground. Lothar laughed deep in his chest. "We're wasting time," said Spike with a grin. He turned to the designated ship. Rusty wondered if he could write of these things. The Tele-news seemed but a hazy memory. * * * * * The plane was a light cruiser, swift and well-armed. Probably the property of a wealthy merchant, it was luxuriously furnished. Rusty gave the ship no more than a tired glance, waited for the take-off. Jets roared in a steep ascension, then hushed to a restful drone. They passed out of the moon's heavy atmosphere. Rusty saw the stars cease to twinkle, change to a steady, burning light. They were in space, dim and shadowy--headed home. Rusty, Spike and the Vulcanian fell into berths as the ship was set on its course. Navigation was left to the Venusian. He did not sleep, gave no sign of fatigue. It was part of his nature. Rusty slept dreamlessly and when he awoke, he found almost two days had passed. Mars glowed redly behind them and the star of Earth was bright before the view Plates. Earth. Home. New York. He stared at the pin point of light, tried to locate the city. Millions of people there, at this distance--nothing. The Tele-news! A simple joy tingled within Rusty as he gazed at the distant planet. He was coming home. He had been far, he had a story to tell--one that had long outgrown its intended bounds. He saddened, however, as he remembered there would be no Skipper to hear his tale. Spike came in. "Gosh," said Rusty. "Is there anything to eat?" "Not much," he answered. "We'll have to catch another liner before long." "Buy food?" asked Rusty, sleepily. "_Buy_ it!" Spike roared with laughter. "What do you think we got this ship for? Buy it! We take it--and anything else they happen to have aboard. We scuttled one liner off Saturn while you slept."