“Take it easy, folks, and nobody’ll get hurt. If any of you’ve got guns, don’t go for ’em. That’s a specialty that. . . .” One of his DeLameters flamed briefly. Cloud’s right arm, almost to the shoulder, vanished. The man behind him dropped—in two different places. “Take it easy, I said,” the pirate chief went calmly on. “You can tie that arm up, fella, if you want to. It was in line with that guy who was trying to pull a gun. You nurse over there—take him to sick-bay and fix up his wing. If anybody stops you tell ’em Number One said to. Now, the rest of you, watch your step. I’ll cut down every damn one of you that so much as looks like he wanted to start something.” They obeyed. In a few minutes the looting parties returned to the saloon. “Did you get it, Six?” “Yeah. In the mail, like you said.” “The safe?” “Sure. Wasn’t much in it, but not too bad, at that.” “QX. Control room! QX?” “Ten dead,” the intercom blatted in reply. “Otherwise QX.” “Fuse the panels?” “Natch.” “Let’s go!” They went. Their vessel flashed away. The passengers rushed to their staterooms. Then: “Doctor Cloud!” came from the speaker. “Doctor Neal Cloud! Control room calling Doctor Cloud!” “Cloud speaking.” “Report to the control room, please.” “Oh—excuse me—I didn’t know you were wounded,” the officer apologized as he saw the bandaged stump and the white, sweating face. “You’d better go to bed.” “Doing nothing wouldn’t help. What did you want me for?” “Do you know anything about communicators?” “A little—what a nucleonics man has to know.” “Good. They killed all our communications officers and blasted the panels, even in the lifeboats. You can’t do much with your left hand, of course, but you may be able to boss the job of rigging up a spare.” “I can do more than you think—I’m left-handed. Give me a couple of technicians and I’ll see what we can do.” They set to work, but before they could accomplish anything a cruiser drove up, flashing its identification as a warship of the Galactic Patrol. “We picked up the partial call you got off,” its young commander said, briskly. “With that and the plotted center of interference we didn’t lose any time. Let’s make this snappy.” He was itching to be off after the marauder, but he could not leave until he had ascertained the facts and had been given clearance. “You aren’t hurt much—don’t need to call a tug, do you?” “No,” replied the liner’s senior surviving officer. “QX,” and a quick investigation followed. “Anybody who ships stuff like that open mail ought to lose it, but it’s tough on innocent bystanders. Anything else I can do for you?” “Not unless you can lend us some officers, particularly navigators and communications officers.” “Sorry, but we’re short there ourselves—four of my best are in sick-bay. Sign this clearance, please, and I’ll get on that fellow’s tail. I’ll send your copy of my report to your head office. Clear ether!”