again
to the heights. The hands of Harkness, trembling slightly now, held
her to a vertical climb, while his eyes crept back to the unlit plate
where Chet's answering call should flash. But his own call would be a
guide to Chet; the directional finders on the new ship would trace the
position of his own craft if the new ship were afloat--if it were not
lying crushed on the ice below, empty, like the liners, of any sign
of life.

* * * * *

His despairing mind snapped sharply to attention. His startled jerk
threw the ship widely from her course. A voice was speaking--Chet's
voice! It was shouting in the little room!

"Go down, Walt," it told him. "For God's sake, go down! I'm right
above you; I've been fighting them for an hour; but I'll make it!"

He heard the clash of levers thrown sharply over in that distant ship;
his own hands were frozen to the controls. His ship roared on in its
upward course, the futile "E--L--29-X" of his broadcast call still
going out to a man who could not remove his hands to send an answer,
but who had managed to switch on his sending set into which he could
shout.

Harkness was staring into the black void whence the wireless voice had
come--staring into the empty night. And then he saw them.

The thin air was crystal clear; his gaze penetrated for miles. And far
up in the heights, where his own ship could never reach and where no
clouds could be, were diaphanous wraiths. Like streamers of cloud in
long serpentine forms, they writhed and shot through space with
lightning speed. They grew luminous as they moved living streamers of
moonlit clouds.... A whirling cluster was gathered into a falling
mass. Out of it in a sharp right turn shot a projectile, tiny and
glistening against the velvet black. The swarm closed in again....
There were other lashing shapes that came diving down. They were
coming toward him.

And, in his ears, a voice was imploring: "Down! down! The R. A.
tension may stop them!... Go down! I am coming--you can't help--I'll
make it--they'll rip you to pieces--"

The wraith-like coils that had left the mass above had straightened to
sharp spear-heads of speed. They were darting upon him, swelling to
monstrous size in their descent. And Walt Harkness saw in an instant
the folly of delay: he was not helping Chet, but only hindering....
His ship swung end for end under his clutching hands, and the thrust
of his stern exhaust was added to t