ely
the three who swept on towards him, his hand at a raygun in his belt.
The same questions were in the minds of all three of the raiders.
Would he recognize something as being different, or suspicious? Would
he summon others of his kind from the small guard-box he had come out
of?

But the coolie evinced no alarm. It would have been difficult for
anyone to have discerned distinguishing features inside the cumbersome
helmets, behind the instruments clamped to the faces of the men who
wore the suits. He called no others, but merely watched.

Soon the opaque metal plates of the small lock's outer door had neared
to within a few feet of Hawk Carse, and he stopped short, Ban and
Friday following suit. They hovered there outside the door, gently
swaying like flies against the great gleaming sweep of the dome, the
craggy rock face dropping sickeningly down for miles beneath them.
And, like flies, they were powerless to open the door to gain
entrance. Only the coolie inside could do that; and he, through the
dome to one side, was peering at them.

Apparently he was satisfied with his scrutiny. After a moment, bolts
shifted and the door stirred and swung out, revealing the all-metal
atmosphere chamber and the inner door at the far side. Immediately
Carse floated into the chamber, and the two others pressed in behind.
They saw the outer door swing shut, and heard its locks thud over.

They were sealed from sight inside the port-lock's atmosphere chamber.

"Looks to me," whispered Ban Wilson, "like a very sweet trap. If that
fellow inside wants to--"

The Hawk's cool voice cut him off.

"We can take off the glasses now," he said casually. "Keep alert."

And for a full minute they waited.

* * * * *

At length a circle of light showed around the rim of the inner door,
and it grew quickly into the full flood of Jupiter-light as the door
opened.

Carse floated through, no longer attempting to avert his face.

The coolie, standing just outside the chamber, saw the adventurer's
features and remembered--and drew the raygun in his belt.

Carse did not shoot. He never killed unless he could not avoid it;
this was as much a part of his creed as his remorseless leveling of a
blood-debt. He struck with the suit. Under a quick turn of the
control, the great heavy bulk of fabric-joined metal lunged forward.
The move was quick, but not quite quick enough, for just before the
coolie was bowled he