Almost instantly, it seemed, the door opened. The only light came from the interior of the elevator. It shone on an uncountable number of enormous crates, stacked three high and set in rows extending beyond the range of the minimal light. Though the walls of the room could not be seen, there was a distinct feeling that the open space was huge--larger than a gymnasium, perhaps larger than a stadium. No one said a word. No one moved. Suddenly Zip grabbed the laser pistol that Joe was carrying and leaped out of the elevator. He whipped around and fired at the control panel next to the large central elevator. The panel flared red for a second and then sparked like fireworks. Zip released the activation trigger on the pistol and stepped back. A few pops echoed in the darkness against a background of the soft sizzling sound of molten metal dripping down the wall. Zip ran to the third elevator, calling out, “Move away from the elevator! Mark, destroy the controls!” Simultaneously Mark and Zip demolished the control panels of the remaining two elevators. When the controls were obliterated, the lights in the elevator went out and the fourteen erstwhile prisoners stood in the utter darkness of the immense chamber. The sole illumination was provided by the fading red glow of the superheated panels that had been their targets and a few bright orange dots in the gaping holes that remained. “I don’t know if that’ll prevent the pirates from stopping at this floor, but every elevator on Earth I know about can’t move beyond any floor where the controls are inoperable. George! Where do we go?” Zip asked. “Does anyone have a light?” responded the asteroid miner. Just then a pale glow like early dawn rose around them and filled the chamber. “What’s that?” cried a frightened voice. “Automatic lighting, probably,” answered Joe. “When someone moves far enough away from the elevator, or when its light goes out, the automatic lighting goes on.” “Follow me,” directed George. He led the procession to the right of the elevator shafts. On one side was a blank wall at least 25 feet high. On the other were row upon row of crates. Each box had a mark on it, but none of the Starmen could recognize its meaning. Far down the rows was the opposite wall of the chamber, at least 200 yards away. George St. George was hurrying, leading the band of fourteen onward. There was no opportunity for conversation, but Mark stepped up close to Zip, who had taken the last position in the march. “Think what this place is, Zip!” the mystically-oriented Starman breathed, his eyes alight with excitement. “This was made by an intelligent, extra-terrestrial race we’ve never heard of! The Titanians certainly didn’t make it! And whoever made it was shaped just like us! As George said before, the controls, the beds, the chairs--all are designed for people like us! Same size! And _imagine_ what must be in these storage units!”