Fire began rising from the ground forces now and the scooter riders were forced to dodge and twist to avoid being hit. At the same time they dived close to the ground and sprayed the attackers. From above, however, the third flier joined with devastating fury. Two more scooters dropped. Underwood ordered the remaining scooters to the attack. Simultaneously, they poured from the ship, swept over the remaining flier in a wave of destruction and dropped it onto the ground forces. The latter spread out now and hunted for cover before the mounting destruction of the scooter riders. "Align cargo hatch number one by the repository shelter," Underwood instructed the Captain. "We'll load that first." The ship settled to the surface without a jar. The immediate area around the shelter was cleared. Mason, taking charge of the loading, ordered the hatch swung open. Portable cargo units were passed out and strapped to the periphery of the huge, faceted artifact, whose bulk almost filled the hatchway. Sporadic fire continued from the hidden police, but the scooter riders were holding it below an effective level without losing any more of their own number. Mason turned the current into the cargo units, and slowly the huge mass rose from the spot where it rested. Then a G-line attached to it began reeling in, drawing the repository toward the ship. As the hatch clanged shut over it, Underwood exhaled heavily. "That's the main part of our job! Another half hour to scoop up the records in the building and we'll be through." Illia gave a sudden shrill cry. "Del! The building--it's on fire!" The men stared. From the museum where the Stroid records lay, there rose billows of smoke and licking flames. "They must have known what we were after," said Phyfe, "and they fired the building. There's no chance now of getting any of them." "Yes, there is! Most of the records are metallic." Underwood stepped to the interphone. "Every man but the takeoff crew in spacesuits. Carry sidearms and be ready to enter the museum at once." "What are you going to do?" Illia cried. * * * * * Already he was at the nearest locker, struggling into the ungainly spacesuit. "These will be enough protection from the fire to enable each man to bring out one load, perhaps." The old building, as if symbolic of the times, was submitting willingly to the flames. Its ancient, only partly fireproofed construction was giving way, and the fire protection system had failed completely. Rapidly, Underwood went over the plan Phyfe had given him locating the bulk of the records, then raced toward the cargo hold where the others were nearly ready. He ordered each pair of men to tow a cargo carrier. It was a weird procession of unworldly figures that made their way clumsily from the ship and up the steps of the burning building.