He watched Lothar's monstrous bulk shuffle away into the crowd; suddenly he remembered the secret plan for escape that night. There would be five of them: Lothar, two Martians, a Venusian and Spike. Spike was from his own planet and his only friend here, if he might be called that. The short, chunky Earthian owed his life to Rusty. He had saved him from the Bugs a few days after his arrival, an exploit unheard of here where everyone saw to his own brief existence. But Spike had never forgotten. And when the little boat had been constructed from salvaged drift-tubes, he had inveigled the others into agreeing to take Rusty along. Rusty Carter felt a twinge of conscience at not confiding his now propinquent departure. He had tactfully avoided a direct refusal, knowing if word of his pardon got around his life would be worthless. A jealous horde would have made short work of him. The others didn't matter; but, whatever heartless creature Spike was, Rusty hoped he got away. * * * * * There came a shout from the upturned faces of the grisly crowd and Rusty saw a red dot, high in the dim sky. It was the jet-blast of the coming ship. It was coming for him! His heart leaped as he watched the crimson point grow, a line of flame, a dazzling comet upon the tinted moon glow. The light lengthened and a dark hulk appeared at its head. Then, with a roar, a burst of sparks, the ship entered the Plutonian atmosphere, floated gently downward on idling jets. The crowd of wretches clamored, jostled one another. Rusty stood apart, tingling with excitement. He planned his journey, his homecoming, with a child-like joy. First he would radio Skipper. Then he would take a long luxurious bath--he could feel the warm water now--then go to sleep, with no nightmare of yellow insects crawling unseen toward him. Then he would.... The ship lowered, drifted to a stop high above them. The smile slowly left Rusty's face and his eyes widened. Glistening in the dim light, the ship remained motionless. Three long objects came into view, gliding slowly from its underside--drift-tubes. Rusty started forward, eyes fixed to the shining hull, panic leaping into his heart. In a burst of flame, the ship zoomed upward. There was a faint tingle of ozone in the air, as it ascended, grew smaller in the glowing sky. Rusty wanted to scream at the disappearing light. He leaned weakly against the wall and a sickness within him was cold and numb, a deadening blow. Then he grinned faintly. Of course! They were sending a special plane--maybe Skipper was coming himself. Of course. The drift-tubes had landed and the crowd was gathered about them, encircling the newcomers, shouting questions about the outside worlds, inspecting the less formidable for chance possessions. Rusty pushed his way through the mass of foul bodies. At the edge of the group was a smaller, unopened tube--the Tele-news can.