It did. On a panel before him a dim light glowed. It gave place to a picture, clouded and cracked across the middle. They could see the square, with the Swamja swarming into it in ever-increasing numbers, with the twisted buildings rising in the background, and the tower-tube shining far away. Vanning caught his breath. "Listen," he said. "There's still a chance. A damned slim one--" "What?" The detective hesitated. If he took time to weigh this mad scheme, he knew it would seem utterly impossible. Instead, he snapped, "Brace yourselves! We're taking off for a crash landing!" Callahan looked at Vanning's set, haggard face, and whirled. He picked up Lysla's limp body and braced himself in a corner. Zeeth and Hobbs did the same. Before any of them could speak, Vanning had swung the power switch. He was praying silently that there was still a little fuel left in the chambers, just a little, and that it would still work. His prayer was answered instantly. With a roaring thunder of rocket-tubes the life-boat bulleted up from the ground! The bellow died. There was no more fuel. Vanning stared at the visi-plate. Beneath him the city of the Swamja was spread, the elfin lights glimmering, the coral palaces twisted like strange fungus growths. Automatically his hands worked at the corroded guide-levers that controlled the wind-vanes on the ship's hull. The space-boat circles--swept around-- The shining tower-tube loomed directly ahead. Jaws aching, teeth clenched, Vanning held steady on his course. The ship thundered down with wind screaming madly in its wake. The tube loomed larger--larger still. It blotted out the city. One glimpse Vanning had of the metal surface rising like a wall before him-- And the ship struck! Rending, ripping, tearing, the space-boat crashed through the tube, bringing it down in thundering ruin. Briefly the visi-plate was a maelstrom of whirling shards. Then the glare of an elf-light raced up to meet the ship. It exploded in flaming suns within Vanning's brain. He never knew when the ship struck. V He looked up into Zeeth's eyes. Blood smeared the Venusian's fat face, but he was smiling wanly. "Hello," Vanning said, sitting up. Zeeth nodded. "The others are all right. Still unconscious." "The crash--" "Hobbs has a broken arm, and I cracked a rib, I think. But the ship's hull was tough." Vanning stood up. His eyes was caught by the movement on the visi-plate, which had incredibly survived the shock of landing. He moved forward, bracing himself against the back of the pilot's chair. The city of the Swamja lay spread beneath him. The ship had lodged itself high on one of the towers, smashing its way into a sort of cradle, and then rolling down till its bow faced north. In the distance the jagged metal of the tube stood up forty feet above ground level. The rest of it wasn't there, though gleaming, twisted plates of metal lay here and there in the streets.