Breathing hard, they dragged Heintz to the lee of their ship to shelter him from the fire. Then they waited. In the waning glow of the last of the sunlight the woods off to the right took on an ominous appearance. They could hear the sound of shooting quite plainly now, interspersed with faint shouting. It carried well in the air which had become bitterly cold. Pell strained his eyes in the direction of the firing and for an instant he fancied he could see flashes. But which side was which? Suddenly Gret grabbed at his arm and motioned violently behind them on the other side of the wrecked ship. Pell swore softly and crawled swiftly around the slag heap of the aft jets, blaster in hand. Dimly he could make out figures hurrying toward the ship in the cover of the trees. "Stop!" he called. A bomb exploding among them could have had no greater effect. They began to run helter-skelter for the ship, the weapons in their hands leaping into life. The ragged hack and roar of their machine-guns and pistols momentarily stunned Pell, but, recovering, he let loose with his blaster. Its cone of blue radiance was bright in the gathering dusk and Pell knew he had given up his position immediately, but he had no choice. The running figures seemed to falter and fall in heaps--then his blaster failed! Rapidly he checked it and found to his dismay that the tiny thing needed recharging. All at once the attackers were on top of him--and behind him! The thunderous bark of Gret's automatic was suddenly stilled and on the heels of that knowledge, Pell was dealt a staggering blow on the head from behind. Rough hands dragged him to his feet and dimly he realized he was surrounded by a group of ragged, heavily-armed men. They looked at him curiously, fingering their weapons uneasily. Finally a large man with gimlet eyes came up to the group. He had an air of authority and the men fell back with deference. The large man looked at him closely and smiled. "Pell! I might have known they'd have hired you. What did you bring us, Pell?" Pell reeled. This man was Raul Gutridge, the man who had crushed him out of business for the DIC. As a reward, DIC gave him what was thought to be a soft job, that of commander of the colonial garrison on Centaura. Before he could answer, however, the large man had turned on his heel and was surveying the demolished ship. "Wrecking ships as usual, I see," he remarked with mock pleasantry. "No wonder your license was revoked." Pell realized one thing and only that. He must keep Gutridge out of the ship! He could not let him find the U-235. Because with it, Gutridge, in spite of his few numbers, could mop up the planet in only a few days. The big man had ruined him once before; he must not be allowed to triumph again. "Times are tough for unlicensed space pilots on Earth," Pell began casually. "You've got to work to eat. So I took the job of running these two through the blockade." "What two?" Gutridge asked, seeing only Gret.