Dane visited the cargo hold once more.  To be greeted by an irate scream which assured him that Queex was again awake and on guard.  Although the Hoobat was ready enough to give tongue, it still squatted in its chosen position on top of the log stack and he did not try to dislodge it.  Perhaps with Queex planted in the enemies’ territory they would have nothing to fear from any pests not now confined in the deep freeze.

Rip set his course for Terra—­for that plague spot on their native world where they might hide out the Queen until they could prove their point—­that the spacer was not a disease ridden ship to be feared.  He kept to the control cabin, shifting only between the Astrogator’s and the pilot’s station.  Upon him alone rested the responsibility of bringing in the ship along a vector which crossed no well traveled space lane where the Patrol might challenge them.  Dane rode out the orbiting in the Com-tech’s seat, listening in for the first warning of danger—­that they had been detected.

The mechanical repetition of their list of crimes was now stale news and largely off-ether.  And from all traces he could pick up, they were lost as far as the authorities were concerned.  On the other hand, the Patrol might indeed be as far knowing as its propaganda stated and the Queen was running headlong into a trap.  Only they had no choice in the matter.

It was the ship’s inter-com bringing Ali’s voice from the engine room which broke the concentration in the control cabin.

“Weeks’ down!”

Rip barked into the mike.  “How bad?”

“He hasn’t blacked out yet.  The pains in his head are pretty bad and his hand is swelling—­”

“He’s given us our proof.  Tell him to report off—­”

But the disembodied voice which answered that was Weeks’.

“I haven’t got it as bad as the others.  I’ll ride this out.”

Rip shook his head.  But short-handed as they were he could not argue Weeks away from his post if the man insisted upon staying.  He had other, and for the time being, more important matters before him.

How long they sweated out that descent upon their native world Dane could never afterwards have testified.  He only knew that hours must have passed, until he thought groggily that he could not remember a time he was not glued in the seat which had been Tang’s, the earphones pressing against his sweating skull, his fatigue-drugged mind being held with difficulty to the duty at hand.

Sometime during that haze they made their landing.  He had a dim memory of Rip sprawled across the pilot’s control board and then utter exhaustion claimed him also and the darkness closed in.  When he roused it was to look about a cabin tilted to one side.  Rip was still slumped in a muscle cramping posture, breathing heavily.  Dane bit out a forceful word born of twinges of his own, and then snapped on the visa-plate.