Gary Lane smiled, ashamed now of his earlier treatment of this staunch little scientist, of the near-accusations he had twice cast upon the little man. He said simply, "I would be proud and glad to have you with us, Dr. Anjers. Of course, we five will not be all. We must have a pilot, an experienced astrogator, and crewmen to handle the ship itself--" "Which brings up," interpolated Flick Muldoon with devastating casualness, "the first important question. Where you going to get this ship, Gary? And how are you going to talk the kingpins of our planet into giving you what you want?" Gary smiled. "Obviously, we must go to Geneva and there present our argument to the members of the World Council. But--" And his eyes took on a shining akin to that in the eyes of his feminine and first-spoken comrade--"but we cannot fail. What we do is not for ourselves alone; it is a completely unselfish thing without personal benefit or profit. A quest we must successfully fulfill--that worlds may live." And the girl's voice echoed softly, "That worlds may live...." CHAPTER IV Fugitives from Earth "What time is it?" asked Nora Powell. Dr. Bryant looked up from the black-and-white-squared table over which he and his companion were bent, engrossed in one of mankind's most ancient pastimes. "Er--I beg your pardon, my dear? What did you say?" "I asked," repeated Nora, "what time it is?" "Oh--time? Almost four o'clock." "Time," growled Flick Muldoon, from the other end of the balcony, "he was getting back." "Gary, you mean?" Dr. Boris Anjers, having placed his opponent destructively _en prise_, leaned back in his chair. "Have patience, my boy. These things take time, you know, and it is a difficult mission upon which our young friend has gone." "It's all right for you and Doc Bryant. You've got a chess game to occupy your minds. Me, I got little pink and green meemies running up and down my corpuscles. I'm going to take a walk. Want to come along, Nora?" Nora Powell said, "No, thanks, Flick. I'll wait here for him." Then, as the restless young cameraman stalked from the piazza and the two graybeards returned to their game, she wandered disconsolately to the far end of the balcony, for perhaps the dozenth time in the hour gazed out over the most heartbreaking beauty of the scene before and below her. This eyrie from which she looked was a modest but charming _pension_ in Geneva, a rustic famed for its beautiful surroundings and delightful old-world charm. To the south lay the valley of the Arve; beyond this the gray and barren rock of the Petit Salève rose like a wall, it, in turn, overtopped by the distant, imperial slopes of Mont Blanc. The sky was the bright and unbelievable blue of mountain country. From the vale below echoed the mellow lilt of a shepherd's yodeling.