Siblin's message stopped in the middle of a word. The eye had developed and in its weirdly hypnotic grip the Valeronian was helpless to do anything of his own volition. Obeying the telepathic command of the Great One, he stepped out into the larger room and divested himself of his scanty clothing. One of the monstrosities studied his belt briefly, recognized his communicator instruments for what they were, and kicked them scornfully into a corner--thus rendering it impossible for either captive or captors to know it when that small receiver throbbed out its urgent message from Quedrin Radnor. The inspection and examination finished, it did not take long for the monstrosities to decide upon a course of action. "Take this scum back to its own planet as soon as your cargo is unloaded," the chief Great One directed. "You must pass near that planet on your way to explore the next one, and it will save time and inconvenience to let it carry our message to its fellows." Out in space, speeding toward distant Valeron, the captain again communicated with Siblin: "I shall land you close to one of your inhabited cities and you will at once get in touch with your Bardyle. You already know what your race is to do, and you have in your cage a sample of the ore with which you are to supply us. You shall be given twenty of your days in which to take from the mine already established by us enough of that ore to load this ship--ten thousand tons. The full amount--and pure mineral, mind you, no base rock--must be in the loading hoppers at the appointed time or I shall proceed to destroy every populated city, village, and hamlet upon the face of your globe." "But that particular ore is rare!" protested Siblin. "I do not believe that it will prove physically possible to recover such a vast amount of it in the short time you are allowing us." "You understand the orders--obey them or die!" XVIII. Very near to Valeron, as space distances go, yet so far away in terms of miles that he could take no active part whatever in the proceedings, Quedrin Radnor sat tense at his controls, staring into his powerful visiplates. Even before Klynor Siblin had lifted his rocket plane off the ground, Radnor had opened his throttles wide. Then, his ship hurtling at full drive toward home, everything done he could do, he sat and watched. Watched, a helpless spectator. Watched while Siblin made his futilely spectacular attack; watched the gallant plane's destruction; watched the capture of the brave but foolhardy pilot; watched the rolling up and compression of the Chloran dome; watched in agony the obliteration of everything, animate and inanimate, pertaining to the outlying village; watched in horrified relief the departure of the invading space ship.