The danger ahead, the hunters who would still be seeking him, Wales ignored. What was there anywhere but danger, on an Earth rocking toward Doomsday? CHAPTER VIII Thunder rolled and bellowed across the night sky, mounting to a deafening crescendo. Up into the starry heavens rose a great black bulk, climbing starward on a column of fading fire. And hardly had its echoes ebbed than the dull explosions came again, and another rocket-ship took off in the unending Marslift. Crouching with Martha in the darkness of an old pier, with the murmuring black vagueness of the Upper Harbor in front of them, Wales looked over his shoulder at the fiery finger that pointed out to man's new home in the sky. He turned back to Martha, as she whispered to him. She was staring out over the dark water. "I don't see any lights, Jay. Not one." "They wouldn't show lights," he said. "They'd not advertise the fact that they're there." "_If_ they're there," she said. "If Lee's there." He took her roughly by the shoulders. "Martha, don't lose your nerve now. Think what depends on this." He jerked his head in the direction of the distant New Jersey Spaceport, as still another Mars-bound ship rode up in majestic thunder and flame. "There should be twice as many ships, twice as many evacuees, going out now as there are! All the people who doubt, who hold back, who refuse to go--Lee is the key to saving them." "But if we only had _help_, Jay! The authorities--" Wales said, "Fairlie, as regional Evacuation Marshal, _is_ the top local authority here now. And don't you see--if that story is true, Fairlie is the last man we dare let know we're here." He took her hand. "Come on. We've still got to find a skiff of some kind." They started along the dark waterfront. They were, Wales figured, somewhere in the southern Jersey City docks. Out in the dark harbor lay Bedloe's Island, and it was past midnight and there was little time. He and Martha, with their prisoner, had come across Pennsylvania by unused, deserted back roads during the day. The circuitous route had taken time, and a few hours of sleep snatched in a thicket off the road had taken more time. But Wales had not dared to risk being seen. If Pudgy's story was true, Fairlie was the enemy. Fairlie was the man who had sent hunters after him. And it would be so easy for the Evacuation Marshal, with his regional authority, to have Wales proclaimed an outlaw on some phony charge, and set every Evacuation Police post around New York looking for him. They dared seek aid of no one. If Kendrick was a prisoner on the little island, they must attempt the rescue themselves. And that would not be easy, judging from what Pudgy had said. Wales had driven into an alley in deserted Jersey City, and had dragged their bound prisoner into an empty store. "Now," said Wales, "we're going to leave you here."