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  Kartr's hand reached for a blaster he was not wearing. The old call to action for the Service! He heard amazed cries behind him. The others were up, crowding around the partition to see and hear what was happening.

  The beat of the summons echoed hollowly through the building. It might go on until the end of that battle or until there was some answer. But no answer came. The haze about the dots thickened until they were completely hidden in it and each spot was a stationary fire.

  "Top pitch-!" that was Dalgre breathing the words down Kartr's back. "Reaching overload fast. They can't take that much longer-they can't!"

  "Tar-"

  One spot swept from orange to yellow-to incandescent white. It was an instant of splendor and then it was gone. They blinked blinded eyes and looked again. But there was nothing-nothing at all of the two fiery spots. The dark glass of the screen where they had been was as bare and cold as the wastes of outer space it represented.

  "Both-out!" Dalgre was the first to speak. "Overload and it blasted them both. One ship took the other with it."

  "But the third-it is still intact-" Zicti pointed out.

  That was true. The battle had wiped out two ships, but the third dot still moved-the one which the

  Patrol ship had died to save. It was on course-toward Sol and Terra!

  The clicking sound changed, made another series of coded calls. Smitt listened and read them aloud for his companions.

  "Patrol-auxiliary-personnel ship-2210-calling nearest Patrol ship or station. Come in, please-come in. Survivors of Patrol Base CC4-calling nearest Patrol ship or station-off known courses-need guide call-come in please-"

  "Survivors of Patrol Base CC4," Rolth repeated. "But that was a Ranger Station! What in the name of

  Space-!"

  "Pirate raid, maybe-" suggested Zinga.

  "Pirates don't tangle with the Patrol-" began Dalgre.

  "You mean-pirates didn't! We've been out of circulation and off the maps for some time. A coalition of pirate forces can do a lot of damage," Zinga observed.

  "Note also," Zicti added to that, "this ship now flies from the more populated sections of the galaxy. It heads out toward the unknown which it would not do if there were not some barrier between it and more familiar routes."

  "Personnel survivor ship-families of Patrolmen." Dalgre was visibly shaken. "Why, the base must be utterly gone!"

  The clicking of the code still filled the musty air of the hall. And on the map the dot moved, on the board before Smitt the tiny bulb still blazed. Then, as suddenly, it snapped off and a second went on in turn in the block next to it. Kartr glanced from that new light to the screen. Yes, the dot was appreciably closer to the system of Sol.

  Smitt's fingers hovered over the board. He licked his lips as if his mouth was dry.

  "Is there any chance of guiding her in here?" Kartr asked the question he knew was tormenting the other.

  "I don't know-" Smitt snarled like a tortured animal.

  His finger went down and pressed the button below the second light. And then he jumped back, as did

  Kartr, for out of the edge of the table sprang a thin black stalk ending in a round bulb. The comtechneer laughed almost wildly and clutched at the thing.

  Then he began to speak into it, not in code but in the common tongue of Central Control.

  "Terra calling! Terra calling! Terra calling!"

  They were frozen, silent, listening to the chatter of the code filling the air. Kartr sagged. It hadn't worked after all. And then came a break in the ship's broadcast. He had forgotten about the time lag.

  "Terra calling." Smitt was cool, calm again. To that statement he began to add a series of code words and clicks. Three times he repeated the message and then leaned back to await reply.

  Again the wait seemed too long-tearing at their ragged nerves. But at last an answer came. Smitt translated it for them all.

  "Do not entirely understand. But think can ride in on message beam-keep talking if you have no signal. What-where is Terra?"

  So they talked. First Smitt, until his voice was but a husky whisper issuing from a raw throat, and then

  Kartr, using ordinary speech and the old formula, Terra calling-then Dalgre and Rolth-

  There was sunshine lighting the space around them and then it grew dark again and still they crouched in turn on the bench before the sky map and talked. And the red dot crept on, now on a straight course for Terra. It was when it had drawn almost even with the outermost planet of Sol's system that Zor pointed out to the half-dazed Kartr on duty, the newcomer. Another dot-already past the point where the battle had been fought-and on a line after the personnel ship! Enemy or friend?

  Kartr shook Zor's shoulder and pushed him toward the outer hall with the message to bring Smitt. The com-techneer, rubbing sleep-heavy eyes, half reeled in. But when Kartr showed him the dot he was thoroughly awake. He shoved the sergeant away from the microphone and took over with a sharp question in code.

  After lagging minutes it was answered:

  "Undoubtedly enemy ship. Pirate signals have been picked up during last quarter hour-"

  To Kartr's sick eyes the enemy ship was darting across space. It was now a race, a race in which the

  Patrol ship might already be the loser. And, even as he thought that, there was a flash of light on the control board. The enemy was now within hailing distance. Smitt turned a grim face to him.

  "Get one of the Zacathans and Fylh. If they can talk in their own language it will be better than using control speech or the code as a guide. There are few Bemmys in pirate crews. All the ship needs is a steady sound to center her finder on-"

  But he spoke his last words to empty air. Kartr was already on his way to rout out the others. Seconds later Zinga slipped into Smitt's place, hooked his talons around the stem of the phone and unloosed a series of hissed sounds which certainly bore no resemblance to human speech. When he tired, Fylh was ready and then twittering and fluting broke across space to talk the ship in. But ever relentlessly behind it came that other dot, seeming to leap across great expanses of space as if such stretches were nothing.

  Zora brought in a canteen of water and they all drank feverishly. They ate after a fashion, too, of whatever was thrust into their hands, unknowing and untasting.

  The Patrol ship passed more planets. Then a third light snapped on the board. Zor came running in.

  "There is a big light-reaching into the sky!" he shouted shrilly.

  Kartr jumped to his feet to see that for himself when a sound of ship's code stopped him.

  "Pulse beam picked up. We can ride it in. If we still have time-"

  Zinga let go of the phone and as one they hurried out into the open. Zor was right. From the end of the roof directly over the control table a beam of light speared into the evening sky.

  "How did that-?" Kartr began.

  "Who knows?" Dalgre replied. "They were master techneers in their day. That must pulse strongly enough to be picked up by a ship approaching this planet within a certain distance. At least we can now stop talking."

  In the end they drifted back to the map-to watch the ship and its pursuer. The gap between those two was narrowing-too quickly. A last light flashed on the control board-it was warning red.

  "Ship's entered the atmosphere," Smitt guessed. "Get everybody inside here. It may not land on the field and the power wash will be brutal-"

  So they waited inside the ancient Hall of Leave-Taking and they heard rather than saw a ship land on a field which had not felt the bite of spaceship's fire for at least a thousand years. But it was a good landing.

  Smitt remained at the board. "The other is still coming-" His warning rang out to hasten the others.

  Still coming! They might lose even now, Kartr thought, as he watched the exit bridge swing out from the side of the rusty old tub perched in the field. All the enemy would have to do would be to hover and blast them with missiles. He wouldn't have to land, but when he pulled out again he would
leave nothing behind but a blackened and lifeless waste.

  If they could get the refugees into the hall they might have a chance to survive that-a very thin one.

  The sergeant ran to the edge of the smoking landing area and waved at the figure who had appeared on the bridge.

  "Get your people off and into the hall!" he shouted. "The pirate's coming and he can try for a burnoff!"

  He saw the jerk of an assenting nod and heard orders. The passengers filed down the bridge at the double quick. They were mostly women, some carrying or leading children. The rangers and the

  Zacathans stood ready to act as guides. Kartr half hauled, half carried the strangers to the precarious safety of the old building. Then when the flow of refugees ceased he hurried back to the bridge.

  "All out?"

  "All out," the officer replied. "And what course is the pirate on-can you tell-?"

  Zinga came running toward them. "Pirate coming in on the same course-"

  The officer turned and went inside the ship. Kartr drummed nervous fingers on the guard rail of the bridge. What in the name of Space was the fellow waiting for?

  Then the sergeant was almost bowled over as five men flung themselves out of the hatchway and ran for the hall, taking both rangers with them. They had just reached the protection of the doorway when the Patrol ship took off.

  Blinded by the sweep of flame Kartr clung to one of the pillars to keep his footing.

  "What-?" he gasped.

  And a babble of question joined and drowned out his.

  17 - THE END IS NOT YET

  The hard surface of the partition ground into Kartr's back as the pressure of the crowd jammed him against that barrier. All the refugees were there in the narrow space behind the control table, tense, expectant, with no attention for anything but the sky map on the wall. Beside the sergeant a tall girl in the battle-stained tunic of a civilian supply assistant muttered half aloud to herself.

  "There's only one of them-by the Grace of the Three-there is only one for him to face!"

  Her "one" was that ominous red dot of the pirate ship still on course to Terra-headed without doubt for the very point on that planet where they now stood. But, even as they watched that advance helplessly, a second dot appeared on the screen-the Patrol ship moving out to meet the enemy.

  "Time to try evasive!" Kartr caught the urgency in that man's voice rising from the mass of watchers.

  "Evade, Corris!"

  And, as if that half-order half-plea had actually reached across space, the course of the Patrol ship changed. It seemed now as if it were attempting to make a futile run for safety, trying to elude the pirate. Out there a single brave man swung before a control panel, enmeshed in a pilot's web, prepared to fight a last battle to save his fellows. One lone Patrolman!

  He continued to evade skillfully, altering his course just enough each time to draw the enemy after him, to persuade the other ship into pursuit and away from Terra. He had his screen up as the haze testified. That should act as a flaunting challenge to the pirate. The impulse of the pursuer would be to follow, to beat down the weak barrier, to put on a traction beam and warp in the Patrol ship. Only, what Captain Corris flew was no longer a ship, it was a single deadly weapon! And the enemy who strove to overtake and capture it would only trigger his own death in the same instant that he drew it in!

  Kartr heard sobs, subdued, and little angry mutters from those about him.

  "He has the war head ready." That was the girl. She was talking as if to reassure herself, not to inform anyone else of what lay behind that silent battle out in the dark between worlds. "We were going to blow it if we were taken. He'll trigger it when they beam him in-" Her voice was hoarse, almost fierce.

  The red dots moved as fighters sparring for an opening, making patterns on the screen. Kartr, though he was ignorant of space maneuvers, guessed that he was now watching the last fight of an inspired pilot. And yet to the pirate it must appear that a weak ship was trying desperately to escape.

  "If only they don't suspect!" The girl's tone was that of a prayer. "Spirit of Space, keep them from suspecting-"

  The end came as the Patrol pilot had planned it. A glow of battle screens hazed both ships-and then the one surrounding the Patrol ship disappeared. The dots moved toward each other-the pirate had clamped a pincher beam on its prey, was dragging the helpless ship to where they could lock air-locks for boarding. At last the dots touched.

  A flower of fire burst on the screen. It glowed for only a second and then died, to leave nothing behind it-nothing at all. The map was as blank as it had been when first they found it. Only the specks which were stars sparkled with aloof chill in the void.

  No one in the crowd moved. It was as if they did not believe in the truth of what they had just witnessed, that they did not wish to believe. Then there was a single sigh and the tight mass broke apart. People drifted, with eyes which seemed to see nothing, out into the hall. Except for the shuffle of feet over the stone it was very quiet.

  Overhead the gray light of another dawn gave a pale radiance. Kartr stepped up on the dais. He rested one hand on the back of the chair which was Terra's and looked closely for the first time at these new companions in misfortune.

  They were a mixed lot, both as to race and species, as might be expected from a Patrol Ranger base.

  There were two more Zacathans, a pale-faced woman and two children with the goggles of the

  Faltharians hanging from their belts, and he was sure he had seen a feather crest which could only have graced the head of a Trystian.

  "You are in command here?"

  Kartr's attention flickered from the refugees to a girl-the same girl who had stood beside him to watch the battle-and two men standing together at the foot of the dais. Automatically Kartr's hand arose to touch a helmet he no longer wore.

  "Ranger Sergeant Kartr of the Starfire. We crashed here some time ago. Our party consists of three other rangers, a com-techneer and an arms-techneer-"

  "Medico-techneer Veelson," the shorter of the two men responded in a low and surprisingly musical voice. "This is Third Officer Moxan of our Base Ship, and Acting Sergeant Adrana of the

  Headquarters section. We are entirely at your service, Sergeant."

  "Your party-"

  "Our party," Veelson answered quickly, "numbers thirty-eight. Twenty women and six children are ranger dependents. Five crewmen under Moxan, and six supply corpswomen with Sergeant

  Adrana-and myself. As far as we know we are the only survivors of Base CC4."

  "Zinga-Fylh-Rolth-" Kartr gave the order which came naturally to him. "Firewood detail and get some fires going-" He turned back to the medico-techneer. "I take it, sir, that you haven't much in the way of supplies?"

  Veelson shrugged. "We have only what we could carry. It certainly isn't too much."

  "A hunting party out, too, Zinga. Smitt, take over the communication board again. We don't want to be caught napping if there is another ship on its way. Any of your men know com, sir?" he asked

  Moxan.

  Instead of answering directly the third officer turned on his heel and called down the length of the hall. "Havre!"

  One of the men in crew uniform came running.

  "Com work," his officer grunted. "Under this techneer."

  "I take it that we can live off the country, since you mentioned hunting," Veelson asked.

  "This is an Arth type planet. We've found it hospitable. In fact-this is Terra, you know."

  Kartr watched the medico-techneer closely to see if that registered. It took a second or two, but it did.

  "Terra." Veelson repeated the word blankly and then his eyes widened. "The home of the Lords of

  Space! But that is a legend-a fable!"

  Kartr stamped on the dais. "Fairly substantial fable, don't you think? You are in the Hall of Leave-

  Taking now-look at the seats of the first star rangers, if you wish." He pointed to the chairs. "Read what is carved on the bac
k of this one. Yes, this is Terra of Sol!"

  "Terra!" Veelson was still shaking his head wonderingly when Kartr spoke to the girl.

  "You have your corpswomen. Can you take charge of the women and children?" he asked abruptly.

  This sort of duty was beyond his experience. He had established field camps, led expeditions, fought his way back and forth across many weird worlds in the past, but never before had he been responsible for such a group as this.

  She started to nod, flushed, and raised her hand in salute. A moment later she was back circulating among the tired women and the fretful children-aided by the Zacathan family.