ched with Earthlight and shadow. We could see the vague outline of
the brigand ship backed up at the foot of the opposite crater wall.
The form of its dome over the illuminated deck was visible, and the
line of its tiny hull ovals.

On the rocks near the ship, helmet lights of prowling brigands
occasionally showed.

Whatever activity was going on down there we could not see with the
naked eye. Grantline did not use our telescope at first. To connect
it, even for local range, drew on our precious ammunition of power.
Some of the men urged that we search the sky with the telescope. Was
our rescue ship from Earth coming? But Grantline refused. We were in
no trouble yet. And every delay was to our advantage.

"Commander, where shall I put these helmets?"

A man came wheeling a pile of helmets on a small truck.

"At the manual port--in the other building."

Our weapons and outside equipment were massed at the main exit locks
of the large building. But we might want to go out through smaller
locks too. Grantline sent helmets there; suits were not needed, as
most of us were garbed in them now.

Snap was still in the workshop. I went there during this first
half-hour of the attack. Ten of our men were busy there with the
little flying platforms and the fabric shields.

"How goes it, Snap?"

"Almost all ready."

He had six of the platforms, including the one we had already used,
and more than a dozen hand shields. At a squeeze, all of us could ride
on these six little vehicles. We might _have_ to ride them! We planned
that, in event of disaster to the buildings, we could at least escape
in this fashion. Food supplies and water were now being placed at the
ports.

Depressing preparations! Our buildings uninhabitable, a rush out and
away, abandoning the treasure.... Grantline had never mentioned such a
contingency, but I noticed, nevertheless, that preparations were being
made.

Snap's voice was raised over the clang of the workmen bolting the
gravity plates of the last platform:

"Only that one projector, Gregg?"

"They gave us four blasts; but just the one projector. Their
strongest."

He grinned. He wore no Erentz suit as yet. He stood in torn grimy work
trousers and a bedraggled shirt, with the inevitable red eyeshade
holding back his unruly hair. Around his waist was the weighted belt,
and there were weights on his shoes for gravity stability.

"Didn't hurt us much."

"No."

"When I get the tube pane