He paused, and everyone stiffened. There was no mistaking the queer internal wrench they had felt.

‘Get that!’ said Eric Chamberlain in sudden frenzy. ‘We’re back in normal space again, and that means we’re only an hour or two from wherever we’re going. We’ve got to do something!’

‘Hear, hear,’ Williams snorted. ‘But what?’

‘There are ten of us, aren’t there?’ shouted Chamberlain, puffing out his chest. ‘Well, I’ve only seen one of them so far. Next time he comes in, and we’ve got another meal due us pretty soon, we’re going to mob him.’

Sweeney looked sick. ‘What about the neuronic whip he always carries?’

‘It won’t kill us. He can’t get us all before we pin him down, anyway.’

‘Eric,’ said Williams bluntly, ‘you’re a fool.’

Chamberlain flushed and his stub-fingered fists closed slowly.

‘I’m just in the mood for a little practice persuasion. Call me that again, will you?’

‘Sit down!’ Williams scarcely bothered to look up. ‘And don’t work so hard justifying my epithet. All of us are nervous and keyed-up, but that doesn’t mean we ought to go altogether crazy. Not yet, anyway. First of all, even discounting the whip, mobbing our jailer won’t be particularly successful.

‘We’ve only seen one, but that one is from the Arcturian System. He’s better than seven feet tall, and comfortably past the three-hundred-pound mark. He’d mop us up – all ten of us – with his bare fists. I thought you had one run-in with him already, Eric.’

There was a thickish silence.

Williams added, ‘And even if we could knock him out and finish as many others as there may be in the ship, we still haven’t the slightest idea where we are or how to get back or even how to run the ship.’ A pause. Then, ‘Well?’

‘Nuts!’ Chamberlain turned away, and glowered in silence.

The door kicked open and the giant Arcturian entered. With one hand, he emptied the bag he carried, and with the other kept his neuronic whip carefully leveled.

‘Last meal,’ he grunted.

There was a general scramble for the rolling cans, still lukewarm from recent heating. Morton glared at his with disgust.

‘Say,’ he spoke stumblingly in Galactic, ‘can’t you give us a change? I’m tired of this rotten goulash of yours. This is the fourth can!’

‘So what? It’s your last meal,’ the Arcturian snapped, and left.

A horrifi d paralysis prevailed.

‘What did he mean by that?’ gulped someone huskily.

‘They’re going to kill us!’ Sweeney was round-eyed, the thin edge of panic in his voice.

Williams’ mouth was dry and he felt unreasoning anger grow against Sweeney’s contagious fright. He paused – the kid was only seventeen – and said huskily, ‘Stow it, will you? Let’s eat.’

It was two hours later that he felt the shuddering jar that meant the landing and end of the journey. In that time, no one had spoken, but Williams could feel the pall of fear choke tighter with the minutes.

Spica had dipped crimsonly below the horizon and there was a chill wind blowing. The ten Earthmen, huddled together miserably upon the rock-strewn hilltop, watched their captors sullenly. It was the huge Arcturian, Myron Tubal, that did the talking, while the green-skinned Vegan, Bill Sefan, and the fuzzy little Denebian, Wri Forase, remained placidly in the background.

‘You’ve got your fire,’ said the Arcturian gruffly, ‘and there’s plenty of wood about to keep it going. That will keep the beasts away. We’ll leave you a pair of whips before we go, and those will do as protection, if any of the aborigines of the planet bother you. You will have to use your own wits as far as food, water and shelter are concerned.’

He turned away. Chamberlain let loose with a sudden roar, and leaped after the departing Arcturian. He was sent reeling back with an effortless heave of the other’s arm.

The lock closed after the three other-world men. Almost at once the ship lifted off the ground and shot upward. Williams finally broke’ the chilled silence.

‘They’ve left the whips. I’ll take one and you can have the other, Eric.’

One by one, the Earthmen dropped into a sitting position, back to the fire, frightened, half panicky.

Williams forced a grin. ‘There’s plenty of game about – the region is well-wooded. Come on, now, there are ten of us and they’ve got to come back sometime. Let’s show them we Earthmen can take it. How about it, fellows?’

He was talking aimlessly now. Morton said listlessly,

‘Why don’t you shut up? You’re not making this any easier.’

Williams gave up. The pit of his own stomach was turning cold.

The twilight blackened into night, and the circle of light about the fire contracted into a little flickering area that ended in shadows. Marsh gasped suddenly, and his eyes went wide.

‘There’s some – something coming!’

The stir that followed froze itself into attitudes of breathless attention.

‘You’re crazy,’ began Williams huskily – and stopped dead at the unmistakable, slithering sound that reached his ears.

‘Grab your whip!’ he screamed to Chamberlain.

Joey Sweeney laughed suddenly – a strained, high-pitched laugh.

And then – there was a sudden shrieking in the air, and the shades charged down upon them.

Things were happening elsewhere, too.

Tubal’s ship lazed outward from Spica’s fourth planet, with Bill Sefan at the controls. Tubal himself was in his own cramped quarters, polishing off a huge flagon of Denebian liquor in two gulps.

Wri Forase watched the operation sadly.

‘It cost twenty credits a bottle,’ he said, ‘and I only have a few left.’

‘Well, don’t let me hog it,’ said Tubal magnanimously. ‘Match me bottle for bottle. It’s all right with me.’

‘One swig like that,’ grumbled the Denebian, ‘and I’d be out till the Fall exams.’

Tubal paid scant attention. ‘This,’ he began, ‘is going to make campus history as the hazing stunt – ‘

And at this point, there was a sharp, singing pinging ping-g-g-g, scarcely muffled by intervening walls, and the lights went out.

Wri Forase felt himself pressed hard against the wall. He struggled for breath and stuttered out in gasps.