Then Lynne felt the switch move slightly under the force of the mental shaft she and Rolf were directing upon it. Instantly, she almost blacked out under the countering wave of black anguish that threatened to blanket her thoughts. She wavered, felt for Rolf’s mind, found it. She drew strength from it, felt it push with hers against the switch, felt the switch move further, further, then all the way to _off_--just as a tremendous blast of leviathan outrage knocked her flat on the frozen atmosphere while the rim of the revetment above was seared and shattered by an appalling blast of purple power. Then the mental pressure was gone, and the pulsing retreated to a soft throb that was almost a purr. There was no gratitude. The entity, whatever it was, had far outgrown such puerile emotion. But the physical turmoil its reaction had created was far from over. Even as Lynne watched, the rock revetment crumbled from the force of the blow it had received. She felt mounting horror as huge pieces of rock broke off in a mounting torrent that fell without sound in the airless void about them. She saw one of the E.I.A. ships struck and sent toppling on its side, the other’s nose shattered by a grey, wedgelike piece of stone. Then she and Rolf were tumbling, leaping toward the ships. It was a time of terror, though the source of the terror was under control once more. Frantically, they tugged at the rocks about the toppled ship, seeking to clear the emergency doorway. _Poor Suzuki! Poor Goldberg!_ she thought and Rolf’s thoughts seconded hers. “Here--let us use the instruments.” The voice came through the earphones, not her mind. Shaken, she looked around to see a trio of space-suited figures behind her, carrying odd-looking instruments. It was MacDougald and the crew of the other E.I.A. ship. A half-hour, Mars-time, and they had cut their way into the toppled ship. Lynne had to fight against being physically sick inside her spacesuit at what they found. Suzuki and his four-man crew were dead. The ship had been splintered as she fell and their bodies had burst in the airlessness. When the mess had been cleaned up and they were back at the other E.I.A. ship, MacDougald revealed his Gaelic practicality when he told them, “You did a good job--you licked it. I’m sorry about Suzuki, but he knew what the odds were. We all do. I had one of the men look at your little ship and she’s all right. You’d better be getting the lady back to Mars, Mr. Marcein.” “But what about you? This ship of yours is in no shape to take off,” Rolf protested. “Thanks to you, help is on the way,” said MacDougald. Then, eyeing Lynne keenly, “You’d better get the lady off Callisto.” V