There was no argument on that. And each of the officers normally carried one small heat gun. Here in the chart room we had perhaps a half dozen of the heat ray projectors; a few old-fashioned weapons of explosion; powder rifles and automatic revolvers; a small collection of miscellaneous glass bombs--loaded with gas; darkness bombs; a few of the "fainting bombs," as they are popularly called--detonators, with tiny shrapnel impregnated with acetylcholine, which, when introduced into the blood stream by a fragment of shrapnel, instantly lowers the blood pressure so that the victim faints but is not otherwise damaged. And we had two or three small hand projectors of the Benson curve-light, with a device by which we could project the heat ray in a curve as well. "Well, if I don't turn back, then I'll helio my owners for instructions," Mackensie was saying. It sounded futile. What could financiers back at their desks in Great-New York have to do with us, embattled out here in Space, barricaded in our little chart room? "Send a helio for the Interplanetary Patrol," I suggested. "A call for help. If we could contact one of the roving police vessels--" "Not a one in telescopic sight," Mackensie murmured. "I had a routine report on that a few hours ago." "Well, we might as well try anyway." Would the pirates be aware of our efforts? Would it bring an attack from them? My only idea was to stall the situation here, whatever it might be. That, and summon help. Then I had another thought: young Len Smith, the helio man--could he be trusted? "Why--I suppose so," Mackensie stammered. And then he jerked himself out of his terror; his huge hamlike fist banged down on the chart room table, making his calipers and compasses jump. "Damnation, I'll find out quick enough which of my men are loyal. We'll fight this thing through. Penelle, you go tell Smith to get off a distress call. Blast the ether with it--call Interplanetary police. Tell Smith to keep at it till he raises one. You stay with him and see, by God, that he does it. You, Wilson, open up that cupboard--get out the weapons. I'll have my damned officers up here." * * * * * As I started for the door I gripped him, whispered: "Captain--where have you got the T-catalyst hidden?" It startled him. For a second I saw that he was wondering if he could even trust me with the knowledge. Then he gestured. "Over there," he murmured with his lips against my ear. "Little safe hidden in that wall-panel. You press a spring at the left molding. The catalyst is in a small lead cylinder--Gamma-ray insulated." I nodded. "Only one other man on board knows that," he whispered. "If anything happens to me--or him--"