uld
seep out. It was leaking now: we could see the magnetic radiance of it
all up the length of the ten foot crack. The leak would change the
pressure of the Erentz system, constantly lower it, demanding steady
renewal. The Erentz motors would overheat; some might go bad from the
strain.

Grantline stood gripping me. "Damn bad."

"Yes. Can't we repair it, Johnny?"

"No. Would have to take that whole plaster section out, shut off the
Erentz plant and exhaust the interior air of all this bulkhead. Day's
job--maybe more."

And the crack would get worse, I knew. It would gradually spread and
widen. The Erentz circulation would fail. All our power would be
drained struggling to maintain it. This brigand who had unwittingly
committed suicide by his daring act had accomplished more than he had
perhaps realized. I could envisage our weapons, useless from the lack
of power. The air in our buildings turned fetid and frigid; ourselves
forced to the helmets. A rush out to abandon the camp and escape. The
building exploding, scattering into a litter on the ledge like a
child's broken toy. The treasure abandoned, with the brigands coming
up and loading it on their ship.

Our defeat. In a few hours now--or minutes. This crack could slowly
widen, or it could break suddenly at any time. Disaster, come now so
abruptly upon us at the very start of the brigand attack....

Grantline's voice in my audiphone broke my despairing thoughts.

"Bad. Come on, Gregg. Nothing to do here."

We were aware that our other four men had run along the building's
other side. They emerged now--with the running brigands in front of
them, rushing out toward the stairs on the ledge. Three giant Martian
figures in flight, with our four men chasing.

A brigand fell to the rocks by the brink of the ledge. The others
reached the descending staircase, tumbled down it with reckless leaps.

Our men turned back. Before we could join them, the enemy ship down in
the valley sent up a cautious searchbeam which located its returning
men. Then the beam swung up to the ledge, landing upon us.

We stood confused, blinded by the brilliant glare. Grantline stumbled
against me.

"Run, Gregg! They'll be firing at us."

We dashed away. Our companions joined us, rushing back for the port. I
saw it open, reinforcements coming out to help us--half a dozen
figures carrying a ten foot insulated shield. They could barely get it
through the port.

The Martian searchray