d guide through a power room where great
crude generators whirred ponderously, pouring out gross electric current
into arm-thick cables. They were nearing the bow of the ship when they
passed by another open port and Farrell, glancing out over the lowered
rampway, saw that his fears for Stryker and Gibson had been well
grounded.

The _Marco Four_, ports open, lay grounded outside.

* * * * *

Farrell could not have said, later, whether his next move was planned or
reflexive. The whole desperate issue seemed to hang suspended for a
breathless moment upon a hair-fine edge of decision, and in that instant
he made his bid.

Without pausing in his stride he sprang out and through the port and
down the steep plane of the ramp. The rough stone pavement of the square
drummed underfoot; sore muscles tore at him, and weakness was like a
weight about his neck. He expected momentarily to be blasted out of
existence.

He reached the _Marco Four_ with the startled shouts of his guide
ringing unintelligibly in his ears. The port yawned; he plunged inside
and stabbed at controls without waiting to seat himself. The ports swung
shut. The ship darted up under his manipulation and arrowed into space
with an acceleration that sprung his knees and made his vision swim
blackly.

He was so weak with strain and with the success of his coup that he all
but fainted when Stryker, his scanty hair tousled and his fat face
comical with bewilderment, stumbled out of his sleeping cubicle and
bellowed at him.

"What the hell are you doing, Arthur? Take us down!"

Farrell gaped at him, speechless.

Stryker lumbered past him and took the controls, spiraling the _Marco
Four_ down. Men swarmed outside the ports when the Reclamations craft
settled gently to the square again. Gibson and Xavier reached the ship
first; Gibson came inside quickly, leaving the mechanical outside making
patient explanations to an excited group of Alphardians.

Gibson put a reassuring hand on Farrell's arm. "It's all right, Arthur.
There's no trouble."

Farrell said dumbly, "I don't understand. They didn't shoot you and Xav
down too?"

It was Gibson's turn to stare.

"No one shot you down! These people are primitive enough to use metallic
power lines to carry electricity to their hamlets, an anachronism you
forgot last night. You piloted the helihopper into one of those lines,
and the crash put you out for the rest of the night and