"_Hollow!_" Jean said. "So this is the Pirate's Base!" She frowned. "But if it is hollow, why doesn't gravitic stress rip it to pieces?" The Falcon still peered from the port. "We use a neutron-weld invented by Schutler. Using the weld, the skin of the Base could be but a foot thick, and still would not rupture nor permit the atmosphere to leak." "Schutler! But he was executed five years ago." Curt Varga shook his head. "No, Schutler is still alive; his twin brother took his place before the firing squad." Horror was in the girl's eyes. "You mean that you _forced_ him to sacrifice his life?" The Falcon's tone was grimly brooding. "A man does what he thinks is right." "But such a thing _isn't right_," Jean Harlon said defiantly. Curt Varga turned, his face like chiseled granite. "Do you know why Schutler was sentenced to be executed?" "Of course--treason." The Falcon's grin was raw savagery. "He invented a growth-stimulator which brought plants to full maturity in five days from seed-planting. The Food Administrators' empire might have toppled." Jean Harlon stepped back, anger in her face. "I don't believe it," she declared. "I happen to know the true factor." The Falcon shrugged, glanced again through the port. Slowly the anger fled Jean's face--and a brooding puzzlement remained. The cruiser settled with a tiny jar, lurched slightly, came to rest. Metal rasped outside, and the entrance port began to open. The Falcon came from his seat, nodded toward the port. "Was that the truth?" Jean Harlon asked. "Of course! I have no reason for lying. Now, let's get out of here; I've a report to make." * * * * * Three men waited outside the open port; and the first, a massive bearded giant, caught Curt in a casual hug that whitened his smeared face. "You lucky devil!" he roared. "Been in another scrap--and got away by the skin of your teeth. Damn, but I'd like a good fight!" The Falcon grinned, shoved his way from the giant's arms. "Damn it, Schutler," he snapped affectionately, "you'll kill me some day with those hugs of yours!" Schutler laughed, tugged at his beard. "Come on," he said. "I've got an experi--" "Wait a minute, squirt," the second man said. "Now, listen, Curt, did you make the contacts you--" The negro brushed the others impatiently aside, tugged at Curt's arm. He smiled, and his teeth were a solid bar of white across ebony. "Come on with me, Boss," he ordered. "You've got some cleaning up to do." "Dammit, Curt--" Schutler began petulantly. "Curt, those reports mus--" the second man said impatiently. The Falcon gestured wearily. "That can wait for a time, Crandal. Right now, I need food and a bit of medical care." He grinned. "Anyway, I've a guest to show around the Base." "A guest?" Schutler asked. "Come out, Jean," Curt Varga called. Jean Harlon stepped from the lock, utterly lovely and feminine. She stared with puzzled eyes at the men standing with the Falcon.