Hastily Hartman left the _godown_ and headed for the island’s beach near by. The camouflaged amphibian was gliding across the lagoon—a quick flight, that had been, from the Polar Circle to the South Pacific! Hartman’s eyes focused blearily on the plane as it slid toward the rough dock. Two men got out—Olcott and Duncan. “Everything’s ready,” Hartman said. His tongue was thick, and he steadied himself with an effort. “Good!” Olcott glanced at his wrist-chronometer. “There’s no time to waste.” “When do I take off?” “Immediately. You’ll pick up the _Maid_ this side of the Moon, but it’s a long distance.” Hartman was blinking at the convict. “You’re Saul Duncan. Hope you’re a good pilot. This is—um—ticklish work.” “I can handle it,” Duncan said shortly. Olcott was already moving toward a trail that led inland from the beach. The other two followed for perhaps half a mile, till they reached the dead-black hull of a small cruiser-type spaceship, camouflaged from above with vines and _pandanus_ leaves. The boat showed signs of hard usage. Duncan walked around to the stern tubes and carefully examined the jointures. “Crack-up, eh?” he said. Olcott nodded. “How do you suppose we got our hands on the crate? It was wrecked south of here, near a little islet. There weren’t any survivors. It cost me plenty to have the ship brought here secretly, where Hartman could work on it. But it has been put in good shape now.” “She—um—runs,” the scientist said doubtfully, blinking. “And she has strong motors. Unless they’re too strong. I spot-welded the hull, but there is—um—a certain amount of danger.” Olcott made an impatient gesture. “Let’s go in.” * * * * * The control cabin showed signs of careful work; Duncan decided that Hartman knew his job. He moved to the controls and examined them with interest. “Made any test-runs?” “Without a pilot?” Olcott chuckled. “Hartman says it’ll fly, and that’s enough for me.” “Uh-huh. Well, I see you’ve painted the ship black. That’ll make it difficult to spot. I’ll have only occlusion to worry about, and a fast course with this little boat will take care of that.” Duncan pulled at his lower lip. “I noticed you put rocket-screens on, too.” “Naturally.” Rocket-screens, like gun-silencers, were illegal, and for a similar reason. The flare of the jets are visible across vast distances in space, but a dead-black ship, tubes screened, would be practically invisible. “Okay,” Duncan said. “What about the Plutonians.” It was Hartman who spoke this time. “Just what do you know about the Plutonians?” “No more than anyone else. No ship’s ever landed on Pluto. The creatures are mental vampires. They can reach out, somehow, across space and suck the energy out of the brain.”