A momentary surge of elation swept Mart. Tar Norn must have been bluffing! Then he remembered: a Venusian might murder his own family, but he would never swear to an untruth by the Eternal Varga. That one superstition, or religion, as they looked upon it, was binding beyond all else. And Tar Norn had sworn by that oath that Leah Barrows would die at nine-thirty unless-- Mart looked at the chronometer. It was twenty-six minutes past nine. He caught a glimpse of Director Barrow's face. It looked like the face of a dead man. Barrow had obviously given up all hope and waited only for the four minutes to pass. The carrier wave hummed. All of them started, but the voice from the communicator merely reported, "All Comprotown reports in. All negative. Giros report nothing. Foot parties five miles out. Reports negative." Three minutes to go. Mart could see by the attitude of the others that they were bracing themselves for the sound of an explosion. All of them had liked, or loved, Leah Barrows. Mart had a momentary vision of her again, and remembered the electric thrill that had run through him when she had placed her hand on his arm, just a few days ago, and told him that she did care for him, well, a little anyway-- But, if Tar Norn couldn't have rigged a time-bomb, how could he have arranged for Leah to die at nine-thirty? He saw again the corpse-like face of the Director. Yes, they had all been wrong in thinking that nothing mattered to Barrow more than the schedules--_Schedules_! There had been departure schedules among the papers in Tar Norn's ship. Could he have-- With a sudden intake of breath that was almost a gasp, Mart whirled and ran to the communicator. The others looked at him, startled. Mart was yelling at the mike even before he got near enough to it to talk in a normal voice. "Control! Emergency! Get _Jupe Freighter One_! _Tell him not to test his tubes._ Not to touch a lever!" * * * * * Then he was racing out of the door and across the field to where the big ugly freighter was up on the racks over the blasting pits. He wasn't counting on that message through the communicator. Out of breath, he hammered on the steel door and yanked at the handle until the pilot opened it from within. "Hold everything," Mart yelled at him. "Don't try the test blasts!" Whether Mart was right or wrong, there needn't be any hurry now, but he was already lowering himself into the ash-filled blasting pit under the rocket tubes of the freighter. Carefully, he groped among the ashes from previous blast-offs, ignored the light soft ash that flew up into his face. A hand touched heavy cloth, and the other found smooth transpariplast, the helmet of a spacesuit. Gently, he lifted the unconscious body of Leah Barrow and handed her up to the men looking down from the rim of the pit.