unnecessary for health, and undesirable for comfort. Since the Hans did
not have the secret of inertron, none of them wore anti-gravity belts.
Yet in spite of the fact that they had to bear their own full weights at
all times, they were physically far inferior to the Americans, for they
lived lives of degenerative physical inertia, having machinery of every
description for the performance of all labor, and convenient conveyances
for any movement of more than a few steps.

Even from the twisted wreckage of this ship I could see that seats,
chairs and couches played an extremely important part in their scheme of
existence.

But none of the bodies were overweight. They seemed to have been the
bodies of men in good health, but muscularly much underdeveloped. Wilma
explained to me that they had mastered the science of gland control, and
of course dietetics, to the point where men and women among them not
uncommonly reached the age of a hundred years with arteries and general
health in splendid condition.

I did not have time to study the ship and its contents as carefully as I
would have liked, however. Time pressed, and it was our business to
discover some clue to the deadly accuracy with which the ship had
spotted the Wyoming Works.

The Boss had hardly finished his arrangements for the ring barrage, when
one of the scouts on an eminence to the north, announced the approach of
seven Han ships, spread out in a great semi-circle.

Hart leaped for the hillside, calling to us to do likewise, but Wilma
and I had raised the flaps of our helmets and switched off our
"speakers" for conversation between ourselves, and by the time we
discovered what had happened, the ships were clearly visible, so fast
were they approaching.

"Jump!" we heard the Boss order, "Deering to the north. Rogers to the
east."

But Wilma looked at me meaningly and pointed to where the twisted plates
of the ship, projecting from the ground, offered a shelter.

"Too late, Boss," she said. "They'd see us. Besides I think there's
something here we ought to look at. It's probably their magnetic graph."

"You're signing your death warrant," Hart warned.

"We'll risk it," said Wilma and I together.

"Good for you," replied the Boss. "Take command then, Rogers, for the
present. Do you all know his voice, boys?"

A chorus of assent rang in our ears, and I began to do some fast
thinking as the girl and I ducked into the twisted mass of metal.

"Wilma,