cked the power which makes this ship's power
possible.

"But, in space, what could these things feed upon? What--if not those
troublesome bodies, meteorites? And meteorites, as we know, are largely
metallic in composition. And ships are made of metal.

"Here are the only proofs, if proofs you can call them, that these are
not wild ideas: first, the disintegrator rays, working upon an
electrical principle, reacted upon but did not destroy these things, as
might be expected from the meeting of two not dissimilar manifestations
of energy; and the fact that I did, from the port, see one of these
space-things, or part of one, flattened out upon the body of the
_Ertak_, and feeding upon her skin, already roughened and pitted
slightly from the thing's hungry activities."

* * * * *

Hendricks fell silent, staring down at the floor. He was only a
youngster, and the significance of his remarks was as plain to him as it
was to the rest of us. If these monsters from the void were truly
feeding on the skin of our ship, vampire-like, it would not be long
before it would be weakened; weakened to the danger point, weakened
until we would explode in space like a gigantic bomb, to leave our
fragments to whirl onward forever through the darkness and the silence
of outer space.

"And what, sir, do you plan to do when we reach this N-127?" asked
Correy. "Burn them off with a run through the atmosphere?"

"No; that wouldn't work, I imagine." I glanced at Hendricks inquiringly,
and he shook his head. "My only thought was to land, so that we would
have some chance. Outside the ship we can at least attack; locked in
here we're helpless."

"Attack, sir? With what?" asked Kincaide curiously.

"That I can't answer. But at least we can fight--with solid ground under
our feet. And that's something."

"You're right, sir!" grinned Correy. It was the first smile that had
appeared on the faces of any of us in many minutes. "And fight we will!
And if we lose the ship, at least we'll be alive, with a hope of
rescue."

Hendricks glanced up at him and shook his head, smiling crookedly.

"You forget," he remarked, "that there's no air to breathe on N-127. An
atmosphere of nitrogen. And no water that's drinkable--if the reports
are accurate. A breathing mask will not last long, even the new types."

"That's so," said Kincaide. "The tanks hold about a ten-hours' supply;
less, if the wearer is working hard, or figh