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Jim reached for the sending key and pounded out his acknowledgement: “K; M-E-R … K; M-E-R … K; M-E-R.” He listened again, heard Venus answer, and Jupiter. Across five hundred million miles of space ITA men were responding to the roll-call of Earth. A reminiscent smile crossed Jim’s face as he recognized the stuttering fist of Rade Perrin, on Eros. Rade always sent as if he were afraid the instrument would snap at his fingers.

M-I-T-A was signalling again, and now came the message: “S-W-A. All trading posts, mines and colonies are warned to prepare for possible attack. The Earth Government has just announced the receipt of an ultimatum from–” A raucous howl cut across the message and drowned it out. The siren blast howled on and on, mocking Jim’s straining ears. “Well I’ll be–Interference! Deliberate blanketing! The rats! The–” He blazed into a torrent of profanity whose imaginativeness was matched only by its virulence.

Mac was clutching his shoulder, stirred for once out of his vaunted “deegnity.” “What is it, mon, what is it?”

“War, you bloody Scotchman, war! That’s what it is!”

“War! Foosh, man, ’tis eempossible!”

“The hell it’s impossible! Damn, and Darl not here! Take over, Mac; I’ve got to go up an’ get him!”

* * * * *

In the meantime Thomas’ helpless journey had come to an end. After an interminable descent in what to him had been pitch darkness, the giant who was carrying him halted. Darl had heard the whistling inrush of air into some lock, then the clanging of a door. He felt himself hurled to the ground. Fumbling hands tugged at him, drew off his space suit.

The dim light of the cavern, as the helmet was dragged from his head, hurt Darl’s eyes. Salt sweat stung them. It was hot, hotter than the Dome, hot as it was in the surta mine, where only the nerveless Venusians could work for any length of time.

Darl struggled to focus his eyes on a blurred blue form that towered above him. He felt sharp claws scratch at him and realized that cords were being passed around his limp body. They cut tightly into his legs and his arms. Then he was staring at a tube in the hand of his captor. Its end glowed with a brilliant purple light, and he felt a flood of reawakened energy warm him. His head jerked up, he strained against the taut, strong fibers binding him. The paralysis was gone, but he was still helpless.

A husky, rumbling voice broke the silence. “I wouldn’t struggle, Earthman, if I were you. Even should you get free I still have my ray-tube. And my little friends would ask nothing better than your body to play with.”

Darl writhed to a sitting posture. Now he could see his mysterious abductor clearly. This eight-foot, blue-feathered individual, with curved beak and beady eyes glittering from his naked, repulsively wrinkled head, was a Martian! Despite the human shape of his body, despite his jointed limbs and thumbed hands, this denizen of the red planet resembled a vulture far more than he did any other Earth creature.

* * * * *

The Earthman’s pride of race came to his rescue. “What’s the game?” he growled. “Looking for trouble?” There was nothing in Darl’s voice to show the fear that chilled him. Behind the Martian he could see vaguely a group of little yellow Mercurians.

“I’ll ask all the questions here. And you’ll answer them, too, if you’re wise. Even your dull mind should comprehend that you are in my power.”