"Won't take them but forty minutes, maybe, to get here," continued Hodge inexorably. "And after you've got your stroboscope, and killed the critters, it'll take thirty minutes to get pressure on the boilers. Not a chance your way. Better stow the gun and go along in the launches." It was like a pit opening before Kort's feet. Bitterly he realized his mistake--he had forgotten those all-important thirty minutes needed to get enough pressure for the anti-grid generators. Actually there remained perhaps ten minutes to defeat the sea monsters and regain the stokehole. He'd been making a fool of himself, delaying the men's last forlorn dash for life. Sheepishly he holstered his gun while the seamen stalked out. Seconds later came the groan of pulleys as the first launch swung out from the davits. Hodge slouched over the chart table, stared out at the activity on deck. The third launch splashed noisily into the sea. Men scrambled down the davit lines. Far in the bow swayed, unheeded, one of the blind, deadly creatures from the depths. "Few hours ago," Hodge rumbled, "all we worried about was getting a catch aboard. But the sea changes things before you know it. Take this ship--ought to be fit to ride out any _kilwanni_. Now she ain't, all on account of the sea. Kilwanni's part of the sea too--never get 'em over the land. Bolts fat as the mainmast and red hot, lastin' ten seconds, some of 'em. Melt the chocks right off the deck--" "Damn!" exclaimed Kort. "Why didn't I--" "Steady, son. Too late now. The last launch's gone." "Why didn't I think of it before?" asked Kort wildly. "How many drums has the captain got for that blaster?" Hodge chuckled. "If I know Spale, he's got twenty or thirty. Spale! Holy cheroot, we forgot all about _him_!" * * * * * Without a word they rushed together to the captain's cabin. Hodge flung the door wide. Spale lay as they had left him, motionless in his bunk. But at sight of his face Kort turned cold within. The normally flushed features were a dull purple. "Critters got him too," Hodge said calmly. "Probably never felt a thing, the shape he was in." He stooped over the desk in the far corner, tossed a jumble of bottles, pipes, pencils and other miscellany out of one drawer after another, at last uttered a triumphant grunt. "Here!" Kort snatched the squat black cylinder Hodge tossed to him. The first mate delved further. "Plenty more in here--sure you want 'em, son?" "All of them," said Kort breathlessly, tearing the discharged drum from the blaster and fitting the new one in its place. While the mate's back was turned he ripped away a small black box affixed beneath the weapon's chunky barrel, and twisted together the raw ends of the wires thus exposed. Furtively he looked up to see whether Hodge had noticed, but the latter was still bent over the desk.