"A Terran pursuit ship," the Pilot said. "Let's jump. They'll pick us up. Suits--" He ran to a supply cupboard and turned the handle. The door opened and he pulled the suits out onto the floor. "Hurry," Gross said. A panic seized them. They dressed frantically, pulling the heavy garments over them. Winter staggered to the escape hatch and stood by it, waiting for the others. They joined him, one by one. "Let's go!" Gross said. "Open the hatch." Winter tugged at the hatch. "Help me." They grabbed hold, tugging together. Nothing happened. The hatch refused to budge. "Get a crowbar," the Pilot said. "Hasn't anyone got a blaster?" Gross looked frantically around. "Damn it, blast it open!" "Pull," Kramer grated. "Pull together." "Are you at the hatch?" the toneless voice came, drifting and eddying through the corridors of the ship. They looked up, staring around them. "I sense something nearby, outside. A ship? You are leaving, all of you? Kramer, you are leaving, too? Very unfortunate. I had hoped we could talk. Perhaps at some other time you might be induced to remain." "Open the hatch!" Kramer said, staring up at the impersonal walls of the ship. "For God's sake, open it!" There was silence, an endless pause. Then, very slowly, the hatch slid back. The air screamed out, rushing past them into space. One by one they leaped, one after the other, propelled away by the repulsive material of the suits. A few minutes later they were being hauled aboard the pursuit ship. As the last one of them was lifted through the port, their own ship pointed itself suddenly upward and shot off at tremendous speed. It disappeared. Kramer removed his helmet, gasping. Two sailors held onto him and began to wrap him in blankets. Gross sipped a mug of coffee, shivering. "It's gone," Kramer murmured. "I'll have an alarm sent out," Gross said. "What's happened to your ship?" a sailor asked curiously. "It sure took off in a hurry. Who's on it?" "We'll have to have it destroyed," Gross went on, his face grim. "It's got to be destroyed. There's no telling what it--what _he_ has in mind." Gross sat down weakly on a metal bench. "What a close call for us. We were so damn trusting." "What could he be planning," Kramer said, half to himself. "It doesn't make sense. I don't get it." * * * * * As the ship sped back toward the moon base they sat around the table in the dining room, sipping hot coffee and thinking, not saying very much. "Look here," Gross said at last. "What kind of man was Professor Thomas? What do you remember about him?" Kramer put his coffee mug down. "It was ten years ago. I don't remember much. It's vague." He let his mind run back over the years. He and Dolores had been at Hunt College together, in physics and the life sciences. The College was small and set back away from the momentum of modern life. He had gone there because it was his home town, and his father had gone there before him.