Olcott’s gun was never fired. The three men’s senses blacked out instantly, mercifully, as the stress of abnormal gravities lifted the cruiser bullet-fast from the islet. Three figures lay motionless on the plasticoid floor, while the rockets’ bellow mingled with the shrieking of the atmosphere. The insulated hull scarcely had time to heat before the ship was in free space, shuddering through all its repaired beams and joists, the dull, heavy thunder of the screened tubes vibrating like a tocsin of doom in every inch of the cruiser. The hull was dead black, the jets screened. No eye detected the swift flight of the ship. Toward the Moon it plunged, rockets bellowing with insensate fury.... Duncan was first to awaken. Space flight was nothing new to him, and his body had been hardened and toughened by five years at Transpolar. Nevertheless, his muscles throbbed with pain, and he had a blinding headache as he dragged his eyelids up and tried to remember what had happened. Realization came back. Spaceman’s instinct made Duncan look first at the controls. The chronometer on the board told him that he had been unconscious for many hours. Watching the star-map, he figured swiftly. Fair enough. They were off their course, but the cruiser had been traveling at breakneck speed. It was still possible to keep the rendezvous with the _Maid_. Duncan readjusted the controls. After that, he turned to Olcott and the scientist. Neither was seriously injured. Duncan relieved Olcott of his gun; Hartman was unarmed. Then he took a drink and sat down to wait. Presently Olcott stirred slightly. His lashes did not move, but without warning his hand streaked toward his pocket. “I’ve got your gun,” Duncan said gently. “Stop playing possum and get up.” Olcott obeyed. There was a streak of blood on his cheek, and he swayed a little as he stood, straddle-legged, facing the pilot. “What’s the idea?” Duncan grinned. “I’m carrying out your orders. I just thought I’d like company.” Olcott fingered his mustache. “You’re the first man who ever played a trick like that on me.” For answer Duncan stood up and waved negligently at the controls. “Take over, if you like. Head the ship back to Earth.” The irony was evident. In free space, almost anyone could pilot a cruiser. But emergencies and landings were different matters. Years of training in split-second, conditioned reactions were necessary to make a pilot—and only Duncan had had that training. Olcott could easily turn the ship around, but he probably could not control it in atmosphere, and he certainly could not make a safe landing. Olcott was in a prison, and Duncan held the only key. “What do you want?” “Not a thing. I’m going through with the job. I’ll get the radium-for you, and pick up Andrea. But if the Plutonians harm her, without a Helmet, she won’t die alone. We’re all in the same boat now.” Olcott came to a decision. “All right. You’ve got aces. Later, we can settle things—not now.”