At last a great oxidized chip fell away from the pillar and Neil gave a triumphant exclamation. He had pierced the metal and inside he could plainly see the cable—a taut, gleaming cord of varicolored strands, barely six inches in diameter. It was hard to realize that this slender line was the source of the powerful gravity that controlled this synthetic world. He aimed his disintegrator at it anew, but no ray answered his touch on the button. The charge had been exhausted in forcing a way through the pillar.
He sent a pistol bullet in at the cable. It struck at an angle and glanced away. His action was seen by the Martians in all directions, who gave vent to a loud chorus of desperate shouts and charged forward as if driven by one single impulse.
The rattle of Sukune’s and Bull Mike’s rifles sounded, but this burst of fire could not stem the rush. In a second the Martians were upon them—dozens of them. Bull Mike clubbed his weapon, swung it like a flail and cleared a space. Half a dozen pistols were fired at him, their muzzles almost against him as they were discharged. He reeled but did not collapse, fighting on with undiminished strength.
Sukune did not fare so well, and out of the tail of his eye Neil saw the Japanese go down and lie still as vengeful Martians showered blows upon him. In desperation he reached a hand through the hole in the cable, grasped the cable and gave it a powerful jerk at the same moment. A moment later he fell sprawling, his body convulsed by a current that gripped and tore at him as though it would rend his every muscle to shreds. He tried to rise again, but the shock had paralyzed him. His ears were dull to the din around him and his eyes were blurred as if with weariness, but he could see that a loop of the cable had been pulled out by his attempt.
Bull Mike, last of the three Terrestrials still on his feet, saw it, too. Hurling his weapon into the midst of the Martians, he sprang to the side of the pillar and thrust his arm through the exposed loop. Clasping his great hands, he hurled his giant body outward with all his strength.
For a moment he seemed to glow as if illuminated from within by a powerful white flame. Then he flew through the air and crashed to the floor. The Martians fairly riddled his fallen form with their bullets. Neil slipped into insensibility, and the last thing he was conscious of was that the cable’s loop had been parted, its two frayed ends protruding from the hole in the pillar, fully six inches of space between them.
The mission of the trio had been accomplished.
When he regained his senses at last he could not open his eyes. He moved his hands, and it was as if they were sheathed in massy lead. His very breathing was a distinct effort.
“Bull Mike!” he called. “Sukune!”—but then he remembered that Bull Mike and Sukune had been killed.
“Lie still,” said a female voice. “You’re all right.”
“Where am I?” he asked.
“In a hospital,” answered the voice.
“A hospital? Where? On Earth?”
“Of course,” the voice laughed. “You’re in Base Hospital Number 61-X, at Delhi. I’m your nurse.”
“I see. The battle’s over, then.”
“Months ago. After our ships fired blasts between sections of the asteroid and then destroyed them, you were one of the few survivors found floating in space among the wreckage. It’s been a fight to keep you alive.”
He lay still and thought silently.
“Am I blind?” he asked at length.
“No, but leave that bandage on your eyes alone. Plenty of time to see everything when the doctor takes it off.”
“I understand,” he said. “And am I—badly hurt?”
“You were. But we’ve put you together, as good as new. It will take many days more, but you’ll walk and talk and see and fly again. And you’ll still have your good looks, too.”
Again he was quiet. The nurse broke the silence.
“Something was left here for you.”
He heard the rattle of a paper wrapping. Then a small object was placed in his palm. It seemed to be a bit of metal, cut into the shape of a many-pointed star and depending from a strip of ribbon.
“The president of the Terrestrial League brought you that with his own hands,” the nurse told him. “Shall I read the citation?”
“Do.”
“Very well, listen. ‘In recognition of the intelligent and loyal service rendered in capturing an enemy scout and securing from him information of paramount importance to the Terrestrial arms on or about the first day of October, 2675; and for courageous and successful attempts and actions against and in the presence of a superior armed force of the enemy on or about the third day of March, 2676; I, Silas Parrish, president of the Terrestrial League, by authority vested in me by the government of the planet Earth, do confer upon Captain Neil Andresson, unattached, the highest award for valor and service that is within the gift of the body I represent; to wit, the Medal of Honor of the Terrestrial League.’ ”
She stopped reading. “But it calls me a captain!” exclaimed Neil. “I’m only a scout.”
“You have the rank of captain now. It’s honorary, of course. You’ll be out of the hospital before the beginning of the year, but you won’t be able to go into action again before the whole mess is settled.”
He heard her lay the medal and document down. Then her footsteps went echoing away.
“Hello, Neil,” said a voice he knew.
“Yaxa!” he cried. “You here?”
“In the cot
