He knew nothing of atomic power, did Flane, but the quick mind of him was alert to the power he held in his palms. Tentatively he pressed the button again, directed the lavender fire, watched it eat up whatever stood in its path. "This is a weapon that is a weapon," he breathed, patting its shining sides, his eyes dancing. With this in his hands, he could remake a world. Where the violet flame had been was an empty hole. Flane stared into it, seeing twisted girders and gaping hullsides, and black sands below. That was the desert, down there, and-- Something gleamed whitely beneath him. Stretching far out, he scrutinized it. A skeleton lay there, blasted into fragments, scattered apart. At one time that had been a man. From his position, Flane thought that the spaceship must have killed him; caught him on the sands, and crushed him, throwing his body. Something else shone and glittered down in the sands. Something long and bright, and with darkness at one end, although that darkness glittered. Flane gasped, "A sword!" He dropped from girder to girder until he stood in the darkness, bending and lifting the thing. In his hand the blade made a singing play, humming vibrantly. The blade was coated with runes, and figures carved in a delicate frieze in the steel. A craftsman had made that blade, ornamenting it without weakening it. With a big hand on the hilt, Flane danced it before him. The hilt was a dark blue, like a midnight sky. Set inside the translucent, crystalline stuff were seven tiny globules of light that glittered eerily. Five of them formed a star at the guard, and the other two were embedded in the pronged pommel. They made a queer design, and reminded Flane of a constellation he could see at night from Klarn. Saarl whinnied alarm somewhere outside. Flane sprang for the girders, sword in belt. He went up the twisted steel, hand over hand, and ran for the opening in the hull, snatching up the flame-weapon as he ran. A magniship was coming from the south. The only known mechanism that did not need the Machine to function was the magniship. It, too, was a discovery of the ancient genius, Norda. It utilized the polar magnetism that held the planet in its grip; the red balls that endlessly circled the rim of the ship drew on that stream of magnetism for its power, sent it toward the motors deep in the hull which whirled the propellors. Flane tightened his hands on the gun and waited, watching through thin-slitted eyes as the ship altered course, observing the great wreck. He thought, _with this in my hands, I could destroy that ship_. The knowledge made him feel like a god. Saarl nuzzled his back as he stood on the sand, watching men walk toward him. "Are you suspicious, too, Saarl?" he whispered. "We are alone, you and I. The Klarnva ran us out of Klarn, and there are no others that we know. It is best to be careful." He threw up a palm, calling out, "Stand where you are. You can come no closer."