Finally an absolutely empty region was entered, the word to close up was given, and Prellin drank of the bitter cup which so many commanders of vessels of the Patrol had had to drain--the gallingly fatal necessity of engaging a ship which was both faster and more powerful than his own. The Boskonian tried, of course. His beams raged out at full power against the screens of the larger ship, but without effect. Three primaries lashed out as one. The fleeing vessel, structure and contents, ceased to be. The _Dauntless_ returned to the torn and ravaged city. The maulers had gone. The lumbering caterpillars--what were left of them--were clanking away; reeking, smoking hot in every plate and member. Only the firemen were left, working like Trojans with explosives, rays, water, carbon-dioxide snow, clinging and smothering chemicals; anything and everything which would isolate, absorb, or dissipate any portion of the almost incalculable heat energy so recently and so profligately released. Fire apparatus from four planets was at work. There were pumpers, ladder trucks, hose and chemical trucks. There were men in heavily insulated armor. Vehicles and men alike were screened against the specific wave lengths of heat; and under the direction of a fire marshal in his red speedster high in air they fought methodically and efficiently the conflagration which was the aftermath of battle. They fought, and they were winning. And then it rained. As though the heavens themselves had been outraged by what had been done, they opened and rain sluiced down in level sheets. It struck hissingly the nearby structures, but it did not touch the central area at all. Instead, it turned to steam in mid-air, and, rising or being blown aside by the tempestuous wind, it concealed the redly glaring, raw wound beneath a blanket of crimson fog. "Well, that is that," the port admiral said slowly. His face was grim and stern. "A good job of clean-up--expensive, but worth the price. So be it to every pirate base and every zwilnik hide-out in the Galaxy! Henderson, land us at Cominoche Spaceport." * * * * * And from four other cities of the planet four Boskonian observers, each unknown to all the others, took off in four spaceships for four different destinations. Each had reported fully and accurately to Jalte everything that had transpired until the two fliers had faded into the distance. Then, highly elated--and probably, if the truth could be known, no little surprised as well--at the fact that he was still alive, each had left Bronseca at maximum blast.