A floodlight turned the area in front of the gate into a patch of daylight. An armed sentry challenged from a small building. The captain answered. "Sorry, but you can't come in. Strict Orders. After hours," the sentry said, when the captain asked to be allowed to pass. "But it's urgent--life or death. We've got to use your telephone. Or--you call the office. Tell the super there's a bomb in the plant--" The sentry's jaws gaped, but only for an instant. Down the road inside the plant came a running, bareheaded figure--screaming: "Let me out! Let me out of here!" "Halt!" shouted the sentry. The figure stumbled to a stop at the gate. The light showed the pale, sweating face trembling with fear. "What's the matter with you?" the sentry asked. "The metal pots! They're alive! Big, orange bubbles are floating from the cauldrons!" "Nuts!" said the sentry. "You're drunk." But as the soldier spoke there was a trembling movement of the ground beneath the feet of the men at the gate. Captain Taylor threw himself on the ground. But there was no blast. The red of the sky-glow suddenly faded to orange. Up through the roof of the casting room crashed a huge, glowing sphere then floated like a will-o'-the wisp in the moonlight. CHAPTER II THE SPHERES When the sentry faced the captain again, he stared into the mouth of a service pistol. "Sorry," said the officer, "but I've got to get inside." Captain Taylor turned to Masters. "Keep him covered. I'll be back unless the bomb goes off." "The bomb," whispered Norden, fearfully, "should have exploded. I was double-crossed. They sent me here to get caught! The dirty--" "Watch Norden, and you might keep your eye on Funky, here," Taylor said, pointing to the slobbering man who had dropped to his knees at the sight of the orange sphere. "I'm going inside." The captain moved through the gate. The silence was uncanny. Since the war began this factory had never been idle. Thousands of cannon made; contracts for countless more! But now quiet, save for an undescribable, whispering overtone that seemed to permeate the air. Something glowed in the semi-darkness ahead like a pile of hot ashes on the ground. Taylor entered the long forge room. A white hot splinter of metal hung from the crane. There were a dozen heaps of the glowing ashes scattered about the room, but no sign of life. He moved on into the finishing room, where the long tubes of howitzers and field pieces lay in various stages of construction. Still there was silence. The whispering grew louder, like a breeze stirring dry cornstalks. The silence suddenly was broken by a scream. Then another. There was a sound of running footsteps. Taylor dropped behind a lathe. Through the door came an orange glow. Sharply outlined against the eerie light ran a human figure, a man in overalls, carrying a hammer. On the fellow's face was frozen fear. He halted, turned and looked behind him.