blasted with a lurid jet of flame. The charge struck the pilot's space suit, split it open with the fury of its energy. The pilot crumpled and rolled, with arms flapping weirdly, down the hill, to come to rest against the old space derelict. His suit glowed cherry-red.
'Maybe now you know I ain't fooling,' said the man.
Gramp, with one finger, carefully lifted his pistol from its holster and let it drop to the ground. Jurg Tec and the senator did likewise. There was no use being foolish. Not when a killer had you covered with two guns.
The man stepped carefully out of the ship and waved them back. He bolstered one of his guns, stooped and scooped up the three weapons on the ground.
'What's the meaning of this?' demanded the senator.
The man chuckled.
'I'm Spike Cardy,' he said. 'Maybe you heard of me. Only man to escape from Ganymede prison. Said nobody could break that crib. But Spike Cardy did.'
'What are you going to do with us?' asked the senator.
'Leave you here,' said Spike. 'I'm going to take your ship and leave you here.'
'But that's murder,' shouted the senator. 'We'll die. We only have about four hours' air.'
Spike chuckled again. 'Now,' he said, 'ain't that just too damn bad.'
Jurg Tec spoke.
'But you lived here somehow. It's been three weeks since you escaped. You haven't been in a space suit all that time. You haven't had enough air tanks to hold out that long.'
'What are you getting at?' asked Spike.
'Why,' said Jurg Tec, 'just this. Why don't you give us a chance to live? Why don't you tell us how you did it? We might be able to do the same, keep alive until somebody found us. After all, you are taking our ship. It won't serve any purpose to kill us. We haven't done anything against you.'
'Now,' said Spike, 'there's some reason to that. And I'll tell you. Friends of mine fixed up a part of this old ship, walled it off and installed a lock and a small atmosphere generator. Atmosphere condenser, rather. 'Cause there's air enough here, only it ain't thick enough. When I made my getaway I came out here and waited for a ship that was supposed to pick me up. But the ship didn't come. Something went wrong and it didn't come. So I'm taking yours.'
'That's sporting of you.' said the senator. 'Would you mind telling us whereabouts in the ship you've got this hideaway?'
'Why, no,' said Spike. 'Glad to. Anything to help you out.'
But there was something about the way he said it, the ugly twist to his mouth, the mockery in his words, that Gramp didn't like.
'Just go down into the nose of the ship,' said Spike. 'You can't miss it.',
An evil smile tugged at Spike's mouth.
'Only,' he said, 'it won't do you a damn bit of good. Because the condenser broke down about half an hour ago. It can't be fixed. I tried. I was getting ready to try to make it back to Satellite City and take my chances there when you showed up.'
'It can't be fixed?' asked the senator.
Spike shook his head inside his space suit.
'Nope,' he said, cheerfully, 'there's a couple of parts broke. I tried to weld them with my flame gun, but it didn't work. I ruined them entirely.'
V
Spike backed away, toward the top of the ridge.
'Stay back,' he warned, with his gun still leveled. 'Don't try to follow. I'll let you have it if you do.'
'But,' shrieked the senator, 'you don't mean to leave us here, do you? We'll die!'
The bandit waved his pistol toward the southeast.
'Satellite City is over that way. You can make it on four hours of air. I did.'
His laugh boomed in their helmets.
'But you won't. Not creaking old scarecrows like you.'
Then he was gone over the ridge.
Gramp, suddenly galvanized into action, leaped toward the lifeless body of the pilot. He tugged the space- suited figure over and his hand reached out and jerked the flame pistol free.
One swift glance told him it was undamaged.
'You can't do that!' Jurg Tec yelled at him.
'Get outta my way, Marshy,' yelped Gramp. 'I'm goin' after him.'
Gramp started up the hill.
Topping the ridge, he saw Spike halfway to the ship.
'Come back and fight,' Gramp howled, waving his gun. 'Come back and fight, you ornery excuse for a polecat.'
Spike swung about, snapped a wild burst of flame along his backtrail and then fled, in ludicrous hops, toward the space ship.
Gramp halted, aimed the flame pistol carefully and fired. Spike turned a somersault in mid-air and sprawled on the ground. Gramp saw the guns Spike had taken from them flash redly in the Jupiter-light as the flame struck home.
'He dropped the guns!' Gramp yelled.
But Spike was up again and running, although his left arm hung limply from the shoulder, swinging freely as he hopped over the surface.
Too far away,' grunted Jurg Tec, overtaking Gramp.
'I had 'im dead center,' Gramped yelled, 'but it was a mite long range.'
Spike reached the ship and leaped into the port.
Cursing, Gramp laid down a blast of flame against the ship as the bandit swung in the outer lock.
'Dang it,' shrieked Gramp, 'he got away.'
Dejectedly the two old veterans stood and stared at the ship.
'I guess this ends it for us,' said Jurg Tec.
'Not by a dang sight,' declared Gramp. 'We'll make it back to Satellite City easy.'
But he didn't believe it. He knew they wouldn't.
He heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hill and turned. The senator was hurrying toward them.
'What happened to you?' demanded Jurg Tec.
'I fell and twisted my ankle,' the senator explained.
'Sure,' said Gramp, 'it's plumb easy for a feller to sprain his ankle. Especially at a time like this.'
The ground shuddered under their feet as the ship leaped out into space with rockets blasting.
Gramp plodded doggedly along. He heard the hissing of the snow against his space suit. Heard it crunching underfoot. Heard the stumbling footsteps of the other two behind him.
Jupiter was lower in the sky. lo had moved away from its position against the darkened segment of the primary, was swinging free in space.
Before him Gramp saw the bitter hills, covered with drift snow, tinted a ghastly red by the flood of Jupiter- light.
One foot forward and now another. That was the way to do it. Keep plugging away.
But he knew it wasn't any use. He knew that he would die on Ganymede.
'Forty years ago I fit here and came through without a scratch,' he told himself. 'And now I come back to die here.'
He remembered that day of forty years before. Remembered how the sky was laced with fiery flame-ribbons and stabbing ray-beams. How ships, their guns silenced, rammed enemy craft and took them with them to the
