projector; Carter crouched beside
me. But before I could press the trigger, from somewhere down the
starlit deck an electro-beam hit me. The little rifle exploded, burst
its breech. I sank back to the floor, tingling from the shock of the
hostile current. My hands were blackened from the exploding powder.

Carter seized me. "No use! Hurt?"

"No."

* * * * *

The stars through the dome-windows were swinging. A long swing--the
shadows and starlit patches on the deck were all shifting. The Planetara
was turning. The heavens revolved in a great round sweep of movement,
then settled as we took our new course. Hahn at the turret controls had
swung us. The earth and the sun showed over our bow quarter. The
sunlight mingled red-yellow with the brilliant starlight. Hahn's signals
were sounding; I heard them answered from the mechanism rooms down
below. Brigands there--in full control. The gravity plates were being
set to the new positions; we were on our new course. Headed a point or
two off the Earth-line. Not headed for the moon? I wondered.

Carter and I were planning nothing. What was there to plan? We were
under observation. A Martian paralyzing ray--or electronic beam, far
more deadly than our own puny police weapons--would have struck us the
instant we tried to leave the chart-room.

My swift-running thoughts were interrupted by a shout from down the
deck. At a corner of the cabin superstructure some fifty feet from our
windows the figure of Miko appeared. A barrage-radiance hung around him
like a shimmering mantle. His voice sounded:

"Gregg Haljan, do you yield?"

Carter leaped up from where he and I were crouching. Against all reason
of safety he leaned from the low window, waving his hamlike fist.

"Yield? No! I am in command here, you pirate! Brigand--murderer!"

* * * * *

I pushed him back. "Careful!"

He was spluttering, and over it Miko's sardonic laugh sounded. "Very
well--but you will talk? Shall we argue about it?"

I stood up. "What do you want to say, Miko?"

Behind him the tall, thin figure of his sister showed. She was plucking
at him. He turned violently.

"I won't hurt him! Gregg Haljan--is this a truce? You will not shoot?"
He was shielding Moa.

"No," I called. "For a moment, no. A truce. What is it you want to
say?"

I could hear the babble of passengers who were herded in the cabin with
brigands guarding them. George