George pulled her roughly from the seat. She moaned but she did not open her eyes. His hard muscles against her were deadly and threatening, and her knees were so weak that, had she wanted to, she could not have supported herself. She heard a starman's feet on the steel ladder that descended from the spider ship. She felt herself scooped up and dropped over his shoulder. In the background she heard her brother's voice, "Child of...." The agony of the voice was almost unendurable. "You must tell her what I did to save her." And she was jolted harshly upon the starman's shoulder as he swung her up the ladder. George's feet clanged behind her on the steel, and she heard the sharp, laboring hiss of the breath of the man carrying her. They were at the port. They entered, and the starman dropped her roughly to the floor, and George clanged the door. "You attended to the other ships?" George asked in the alien tongue of Brionimar. "Yes," the starman said. "They will both explode shortly after takeoff." "The others are all aboard? We are the only ones on this one?" "Yes." "Good. I will remember this. You have done a good day's work. You follow instructions well. I won't forget." "Thank you." "Watch the girl. I'll give the signal to leave." "What do we do with her?" "Dump her out as soon as we hit open space." George's feet went forward. It was over, he was done. The issue lay between Bud and himself and between Bud and Herb, an exciting and dangerous situation that held, in its solution, the Oligarch's (and the Oligarchy's) fate: the fate of two worlds. The stakes were high. The Oligarch, thinking how free he was of the final responsibility, went first to wash the Earth germs from his contaminated hands. Norma had not understood the conversation that muttered above her. But her terror was replaced by a sense of desperation. She moaned and opened her eyes. The starman, looking down at her with a cold, impersonal gaze, grunted something unintelligible. Norma struggled to her feet. He made no move to prevent or assist her. She steadied herself against the wall. Near her hand, in a clip holder, was a short, steel fire extinguishing rod. When the starman drew back his hand to hit her, she cringed away. Instinctively she found the rod and jerked it loose. Before she was aware of the action with her conscious mind, the starman sank to the floor, and the bar clattered from her nerveless fingers. Heart racing, she turned for the door. A moment later, she was outside, clambering down the ladder. * * * * * There were no taxis in sight. A jeep, driven by a uniformed messenger, drew to the curb. Herb, holding his breath, crossed to it. The driver cut the motor and got out. When he disappeared in the building across the street, Herb slipped behind the wheel. He was a technician. He began to experiment. Recently acquired knowledge came to his aid.