His respect for Martians leaped! A peaceful race they had been, before they were attacked and conquered. But now they were showing how fast they could learn. They'd mastered one of the most effective stratagems of warfare, camouflage. The clothing of his Martian captors was the same color as the cloth that had covered them, even to masks over the face. One of them tugged at Barry's arm and spoke softly in Martian. They wanted him to go with them. He went gladly. If they took him to their headquarters, he'd have the chance he wanted--to ask their help, and offer them his! His heart was beating wildly. Grey and his followers would learn that Earth Government had an answer for fraud and injustice! His respect for the Martians increased again, when he was taken through a cleverly concealed passage into a sand-swell. Inside was a rough room, ingeniously hewn and held from collapsing inward. Here were three more Martians, garbed as his captors were. One sat before a visa-radio. This group of Martians was well organized! They'd salvaged equipment from wrecked and abandoned ships. * * * * * One of Barry's companions went to the radio and spoke rapidly in Martian, apparently reporting. The view screen was blank, but Barry heard the Martian use the word, "Deisanocta," and something clicked in his mind! The chanting he'd heard last night in the mist, "Day-ess-a-nocta!" Was it the name of the lovely Martian girl, she who seemed to be the leader of these men? One of them had spoken of her respectfully as the Mother of Mist. It was she he wanted to speak to, Barry Williams realized. And it was her voice that struck his ears a moment later, answering the report of the man! Her words were soft, gentle yet commanding. There was a timbre to her throaty voice that moved Barry, brought him a picture of her large, somber grey eyes against the clear white of her face. "Deisanocta," he cried, starting suddenly forward. "I must speak to you!" His captors seized him roughly. Their faces were horrified. Barry realized he had probably violated some form of Martian royal etiquette--for this girl was undoubtedly a Martian princess. There had been royalty on Mars when the Earthmen came, although the line had been believed destroyed during the conquest. Again the soft voice came into the room through the radio, still speaking in Martian. A few words, and the instrument clicked dead. "Wait!" cried Barry. But it was useless. The girl had ignored him, and cut the connection. Two of the Martians held Barry Williams firmly, although no longer roughly. Another had gone to a little cabinet. He came toward Barry, a hypodermic needle in his hand. Struggle was useless. Barry extended his arm with a smile, and saw admiration in the other's eyes.