Through a dull, throbbing ache, Art began to wonder where he was. His body seemed first to be spinning in a vast void, and yet again seemed to be pinned against a hard cold surface. He felt repeated small shocks, as of missiles striking him. From a distance a voice was calling insistently. Rubbing sticky blood from his eyes, he saw a greater flat expanse stretching away above him. Then his eyes focused. It was the deck of the flier! And there at its far end sat Klalmar-lan in the pilot seat! He was looking over his shoulder, calling, "Art! Art! Get that ray pistol! Quickly!" Art looked about him sluggishly. He saw the gun lying only a few feet from his face. But beyond it, there was a crawling figure--a mad ravening thing whose clawlike hand was even now extended to grasp the weapon! Art tried to move--he could not budge. Something was pinning him down--the body of Denny. He heaved desperately, but the man seemed to weigh tons. The truth of the situation came to Art. The ship was still within the gravity of Venus, and accelerating at a rate far beyond that of normal flight. The inexorable force of the acceleration was pressing the four passengers against the rear panel of the ship. Klalmar-lan could not leave his pilot's seat, for he would never be able to return! And even then, Theller's hand was closing on the grip of the pistol. The rocket ship spun on its longitudinal axis like a giant gyroscope. Art felt himself thrown from wall to wall, battered and bruised, but miraculously retaining consciousness. He was free now, of the encumbrance. The whirling stopped, and he drew himself painfully to a sitting position. He looked wildly around for the gun. It was nowhere to be seen; but Theller, pulling a long, bodkin-like dagger from his boot, was close upon him. The dagger was raised for the plunge into Art's unprotected heart, but there came a low hum from the front of the ship. Theller collapsed, his muscles constricted into taut bands of agony by the shock ray. And Art's pain-wracked body once more found the peace of oblivion. Sounds of laughter and conversation finally woke him again. Relaxed and refreshed, he knew that he had slept long. He sat up in the bunk. He was swathed in bandages, and medications had eased the pain of his bruises and burns. Elene and Denny, also heavily bandaged, were watching him smilingly. Klalmar-lan came toward him from the pilot's seat. "You're a fine pilot!" roared Art, in mock fury. "That was about the worst take-off I have ever seen!" Klalmar-lan ruefully had to admit that it was pretty bad.