d job of destruction on this metropolis.

The broadcast would be a shattering experience to men who had reconciled
themselves to subjugation by the rulers of Mekin. The planet Tralee was
now governed for the benefit of Mekin by the kind of men who would do
such work. They knew that they could stay in office only so long as
Mekin upheld them. To hear their protectors denounced if only by a
single voice....

There was a monstrous roaring outside. The cargo-ship took off for the
skies. It was a thousand feet high before the weapons on the _Isis_
stirred. It seemed to those below that the pirate crew was taken
unawares by the cargo-ship's escape. That was part of Bors's plan.

A weapon of the grounded _Isis_ roared. A missile hurtled after the
fugitive, and missed. It went on past its apparent target and did not
even detonate at nearest proximity, as it should have done. It vanished,
and the cargo-ship continued to rise in seemingly panicky fashion. It
slanted from its headlong lift, and curved away and darted for emptiness
at its maximum acceleration. A second missile from the fighting-ship
missed. The cargo-ship dwindled, and dwindled, and now the _Isis_
appeared to take deliberate measurements of the distance and
acceleration of its target. It might be assumed that its radars needed
to be readjusted from the long-range-finding required in space, to the
shorter-range measurements called for now.

Something plunged after the fleeing cargo-boat, by now merely a
pin-point in the blue. The rising object moved so swiftly that it was
invisible. Then it detonated, and the fumes of the explosion blotted out
the fugitive. When they cleared, the sky was empty.

There had now been a lapse of less than ten minutes from the first
sighting of the _Isis_ screaming toward the spaceport. The guard-ship
had been destroyed and the cargo-ship which seemed to flee had
apparently been destroyed. When someone had leisure to think, it would
appear that the cargo-boat's crew had overcome the armed party which
entered it and then taken the foolish course of flight.

Bors waited, listening absently. A voice:

"_All clear on board the prize, sir. The cargo seems to be mostly
foodstuffs, sir. Proceeding to rendezvous as ordered. Off._"

Bors nodded automatically and resumed listening to the broadcast.
Matters were going well. Everything had gone through with the precision
of clockwork, which meant simply that Bors had planned in detail
somet