"Ahh, you always were a soft-hearted fool," Mussdorf snarled. "Why's he going to all this bother to save us? It doesn't add up. This is some fool scheme of his mad brain. He's no altruist. Not that black octopus. Gad, what a shape!" Nichols smiled wryly, "I believe we're just as peculiar to him as he is to us. He talks and we can't even hear his voice. He may hear us, but it's a cinch he doesn't know what we're talking about. Huh, it's somewhat of a 'Never the twain shall meet' angle. East and West, and that sort of thing." "Only it's solar and star system," agreed Emerson, walking toward the intricate control panels on the wall. He stretched an arm toward a dial-- He paused, staring. His arm. Good Lord, his _arm_! "Nichols! Mussdorf," he shouted, leaping for them. "Let me see your arms, your faces. Yes, you see? Mine, too. Free. Free of the lumps. They're _gone_! The bumps that mean cancer--gone. We're cured!" They stared in awed fascination at themselves. Nichols ripped at his jacket, pulled it open, ran exploring hands over his skin. He sobbed suddenly; began hysterically to cry, shoulders shaking. "Whatever it is, it's cured us," whispered Emerson, turning to stare upwards at the great glittering cones, that towered high above him. "Ada and the kids," Nichols sobbed. "If they were here we could cure them too." "The world can be freed from the Plague," Emerson breathed. "A fortune," grinned Mussdorf, eyes glinting. Emerson said, "If we knew how this thing worked, we could set it up on Earth. Duplicate it." Mussdorf slid a hand over the butt of his solar gun. He smiled grimly. "At a price, commander. Think of it. We'll be billionaires. That girl in New Mars--bah! I could have girls ten times better than her, just throwing themselves at me." "We came to do a job," Emerson said flatly, "and we're going to see it through." Mussdorf tugged at his gun, lifting it, aiming it at Emerson's broad chest. "I'm tired of these damned ideals of yours," he grated savagely. "You'll never change. Neither will I. The time for words is past. I'm acting--" His finger tightened on the trigger. And Emerson dove in at him, like a fullback at the line. The bolt of yellow never left the muzzle of the gun. It was smothered in a cobalt-dark spray of angry color. Color that sizzled. * * * * * Emerson brought his fist up hard, caught the big adventurer alongside his jaw, snapping his head back viciously. With hard lefts and rights, Emerson banged his fists mercilessly, swarming over Mussdorf, bruising his ribs, thudding home his big fists on jaw and belly. Mussdorf dropped, rolled over: lashed upward with both feet. Emerson sideswayed, drove in. His fists battered Mussdorf's jaw, rolling his head from side to side. His knuckles gashed the tight skin and drew blobs of blood. Mussdorf staggered dizzily, and pitched forward as Emerson hammered his head again.