e stars above him when he awoke, and his back was wrenched
and aching. He tried to move, to call, but found that the paralysing
effect of the gas still held him fast. He was lying on the ground, he
knew: a door was open in a building beyond, and the light in the room
showed him men, a small group of them, standing silent while
someone--yes, it was McGuire--shouted into a phone.

"... The squadron," he was saying. "... Lost! Every plane down and
destroyed.... Blake is living but injured...." And then Blake
remembered. And the tumbling, helpless planes came again before his
eyes while he cursed silently at this freezing grip that would not let
him cover his face with his hands to shut out the sight.

The figure of a man hurried past him, nor saw the body lying helpless
in the cool dark. McGuire was still at the phone. And the enemy
ship--?

His mind, filled with a welter of words as he tried to find phrases to
compass his hate for that ship. And then, as if conjured out of
nothing by his thoughts, the great craft itself came in view overhead
in all its mighty bulk.

It settled down swiftly: it was riding on an even keel. And in silence
and darkness it came from above. Blake tried to call out, but no sound
could be formed by his paralyzed throat. Doors opened in silence,
swinging down from the belly of the thing to show in the darkness
square openings through which shot beams of brilliant yellow light.

There were cages that lowered--great platforms in slings--and the
platforms came softly to rest on the ground. They were moving with
life; living beings clustered upon them thick in the dark. Oh God! for
an instant's release from the numbness that held his lips and throat
to cry out one word!... The shapes were passing now in the shelter of
darkness, going toward the room.... He could see McGuire's back turned
toward the door.

Man-shapes, tall and thin, distorted humans, each swathed in bulging
garments; horrible staring eyes of glass in the masks about their
heads, and each hand ready with a shining weapon as they stood waiting
for the men within to move.

* * * * *

McGuire must have seen them first, though his figure was half
concealed from Blake where he was lying. But he saw the head turn;
knew by the quick twist of the shoulders the man was reaching for a
gun. One shot echoed in Blake's ears; one bulging figure spun and fell
awkwardly to the ground; then the weapons in those c