"A hell of a way to spend my last days," he growled. "I'm dying on my feet, and I've got to be a martyr to a billion people who don't know I'm alive." "You know a better way to die, of course," replied Emerson. "You bet I do. There's a sweet little redhead in New Mars. She'd make dying a pleasure. In fact," he chuckled softly, "that's just the way I'd let her kill me." * * * * * Emerson snorted, glancing down at the controls. Beneath his steady fingers, the ship sideslipped into the gravity tug of the looming orb, shuddered a moment, then eased downward. "Tell Gunn to come up," ordered Emerson. "No need for him to be below." Mussdorf dropped to the floor, lowered his shaggy head through the open trap, and bellowed. A hail from the depths of the ship answered him. A moment later, Gunn stood with the others: a little man with a wry smile twisting his features to a hard mask. "Think she's got the stuff, skipper?" he asked Emerson. "The spectroscope'll tell us. Break it out." "You bet." The ship rocked gently as Emerson set it down on a flat, rocky plain between two high, craggy mountains that rose abruptly from the tiny valley. It was just lighting as the faint rays of the suns that served this planet nosed their way above the peaks. Like a silver needle on a floor of black rock, the spacecraft bounced once, twice; then lay still. Within her gleaming walls, four men bent with hard faces over gleaming bands of color on a spectroscopic screen. With quivering fingers, Emerson twisted dials and switches. "Hell!" exploded Mussdorf. "I might have known it. Not a trace." Emerson touched his forearm gently, and shuddered. Nichols bit his lips, and thought of Marge and the kids; Gunn licked his lips with a dry tongue and kept looking at Emerson. With one sweep of his brawny arm, Mussdorf sent the apparatus flying against the far wall to shatter in shards. No one said a word. Something whispered in the ship. They jerked their heads up, stood listening. The faint susurration swept all about them, questioning, curious. It came again, imperative; suddenly demanding. "Gawd," whispered Gunn. "Wot is it, guv'nor?" Emerson shook his head, frowning, suddenly glad that the others had heard it, too. "Maybe somebody trying to speak to us," stated Nichols. The whispers grew louder and harsher. Angry. "Take it easy," yelled Mussdorf savagely. "We don't know what you're talking about. How can we answer you, you stupid lug?" Gunn giggled hysterically, "We can't even 'alf talk 'is bloomin' language." The rustle ceased. The silence hung eerily in the ship. The men looked at one another, curious; somehow, a little nervous. "What a radio _he_ must have," said Emerson softly. "The metal of our hull is his loudspeaker. That's why we heard him in all directions." Mussdorf nodded, shaggy brows knotted. "We'll see what his next move is," he muttered. "If he gets too fresh, we'll try a sun-blaster out on him."