Lord Kleyne stepped over to Nita and bent down. “At last! With this jewel, I shall become the greatest ruler the Universe has ever known!”

  “You’ll die before then!” said a harsh voice from the port airlock. Lord Kleyne jerked himself erect and stared down the twin muz-

  zles of a dimodine projector. “Lord Brannis!” he said sharply.

  The man holding the dimodine projector also wore the bejewelled cloak of a Starlord of Shanador. He was shorter than Lord Kleyne, and broader of shoulder. His wide face radiated contempt and hatred.

  “Well, my lord,” he said sneeringly, “so you have managed to get a

  hsrorn crystal, eh?”

  “I intended to turn it over to the Starlords’ Union,” Kleyne said steadily. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see that his own men had dropped their weapons as soon as they had been covered by the other Starlord’s personal guard.

  “Oh, certainly,” said Lord Brannis sarcastically. “Well, I’ll just take charge of that little bauble myself, Lord Kleyne.”

  “The Union has elected me Starlord of Starlords,” Lord Kleyne said in a hard voice. “Would you violate the decision of the Union?”

  Lord Brannis laughed harshly. “No more than you would, my lord.” Hammill had been watching the scene between the two Starlords without moving a muscle. He smiled inwardly. It was easy to see what Lorkan of Rhodanas had meant when he said that the Starlords were warped mentally; they could not even agree among themselves. In spite of their great power, they were no better than any neurotic criminal; they didn’t trust each other, and probably did not even trust themselves. There was silence for a moment as the two Starlords faced each other, each backed by his hypnotically controlled minions. The ordinary people of Shanador had no great mental power, and were thus at the mercy of the Starlords. Even without a hsrorn jewel, a Starlord could control a planet. What would happen if they seized control of the gem? Because of his own newly-found ability to handle mental energy, Hammill felt more confident in the situation than he would have before his trip to Rhodanas. Ironically, he had Lord Kleyne to thank for that. But, as long as the Starlords both thought he was under hypnotic compulsion like the guards, he had a chance. Cautiously, he felt toward their minds with his new-found telepathic sense. He just barely touched the surface of their minds. Neither one reacted, so he went a

  little deeper, watching, listening, making no attempt to control them.

  Lord Brannis hefted his dimodine projector and glanced at Nita. His eyes glittered evilly. “Well, well! Not only do we have one of the hsrorn jewels, but a lovely girl as well.”

  He started to step toward Nita, and, in that instant, Lord Kleyne acted. He sent a driving thought out to his own guards, who, under his control, cared nothing for their own lives. They brought up their weapons and fired.

  But Lord Brannis had sensed that order and had dropped to the floor, swinging his own twin-barrelled weapon about.

  For an instant, the cabin was filled with the ravening flame of white-hot radiation as the rays burned their way through flesh and bone. The guards of both Starlords flared, smouldered, burned, and died—the hot beams of their ray rifles cut both sides down within half a second.

  The two Starlords, meanwhile, had fired at each other almost simultaneously. The beams met in midair, flaring blue-white and filling the cabin with heat. Both men were unharmed, but their weapons had been short-circuited. They smoked ominiously and became impotent in their owners’ hands.

  Two Starlords, weaponless and without guards, faced each other in the control room of the tiny scout vessel, while the Earthman stood by and watched the battle to the death.

  But Lord Brannis did the unexpected. Instead of trying to do battle with Lord Kleyne, either physically or mentally, he flung himself toward Nita’s inert body.

  When he did, Laird Hammill almost leaped to protect her. But Lord Brannis wasn’t after the girl; he wanted the jewel! His hand clasped around it, and he glared at Lord Kleyne.

  It was the last act of his life. He had meant to use the hsrorn energy to kill Lord Kleyne. But Lord Brannis did not, by any means, have enough mental power of his own to control those supernal energies. When he called them forth, it was as though he had touched a high-voltage wire. Like a man strapped in an electric chair, he found himself unable to resist the tremendous power behind the hsrorn. His mind, burned out completely by that terrible force, collapsed and died.

  * * * *

  With an effort, Hammill held himself in check. At the moment, he was in no danger from Kleyne—so long as the Starlord believed he was still under compulsion.

  “Poor Brannis,” Kleyne said cluckingly. “He should have known that second-rate minds have no business trying to play with the hsrorn. Eh, Earthling?”

  Kleyne stooped and picked up the gem, carefully grasping it by its chain. He’s afraid of it, Hammill thought. He saw what it did to Brannis, and it scares him.

  Smiling, the Starlord pocketed the hsrorn. A new thought entered Hammill’s mind; Suppose Kleyne did have enough innate mental ability to handle the hsrorn? Would he be able to unleash a crushing attack on the rest of the galaxy? And—more important—would Nita’s people remain so damnably detached, standing aloof so long as Kleyne didn’t come near them?

  Hammill didn’t know. He longed to spring at Kleyne, to turn his aristocratic hawk’s nose into a pulpy mass, to seize the hsrorn and restore it to its rightful place at Nita’s throat, but it wouldn’t be a wise move. Right now it was smarter to pretend to be a hypnotized dupe.

  Kleyne spoke briefly into a hand-microphone and almost immediately half a dozen of his black-clad guards came up the tube that linked the ships.

  He gestured to the inert body of Lord Brannis. “Get rid of this,” he ordered. Then he turned to Hammill and the still-unconscious Nita, and indicated them to several of the guards.

  “As for these two—the Earthling’s served his purpose well, and we can’t let that go unrewarded. Earthling, I grant you a speedy death— instead of the lingering one in the torture chambers!”

  Hammill’s face became a steely mask. This was Starlord honor, then—

  not that it mattered. It was no more than he expected from Kleyne. “What about the girl, lord?” asked a guard.

  “I don’t care to have her remain alive either,” Kleyne said crisply. He gathered his jewelled cloak around him, and affectionately patted the pocket that contained the hsrorn. “That will be all,” he said.

  He turned imperiously and stalked away down the tube that led to his own ship, leaving Hammill and Nita in the custody of two of the guards.

  The bigger of the two guards, who seemed to be the higher in rank as well, waited until the tube that linked the ships was empty. He peered down its length for a moment, then turned to the other guard.

  “Hah! It would be just like our noble Starlord to sever the tube and leave us adrift in this ruined hulk!”

  “The tube’s all right, isn’t it?” the other guard asked uneasily.

  The bigger one nodded. “But let’s finish these two off quickly. I

  don’t know how long we can trust our luck to this derelict.”

  Then his eyes fell on Nita, and he smiled. “Hmm—maybe we’ll take a little extra time after all,” he said, leering. “The good Starlord said nothing about the exact method of inflicting death, so long as it was fairly merciful.” He chuckled.

  Hammill, standing stiffly against the far bulkhead by Nita’s slumped body, reached down and grasped her cold, limp hand. He gathered together his ever-growing mental powers. This was the time to act. Now. Without any more delay.

  Nita. Nita, can you hear me?

  His mind moved out, sought contact with hers as she groped toward consciousness. He sensed feelings of pain stirring in her bruised head; he detected a sense of loss, of incompleteness, of almost nakedness, coming from her as she realized she no longer had the hsrorn.

  Nita. Nita.

  * * * *

  Desperately, he transmitted to her the image of the leering guard, standing before them pondering which way of killing them would be the most delightful.

  Wake up, Nita. Wake up.

  He felt her mind coming back to full activity again. Oh, my head!

  And then—what’s going on?

  Rapidly he filled in the events up to the present moment. The entire interchange took but a microsecond.

  We’ve got to do something.

  Yes. Hold on tight, Nita’s mind said. There was something else, indistinct, half-concealed, that she had added. Was it—darling?

  Hammill reached toward her mind and they linked. It was not as effective nor as powerful a linkage as it would have been if focussed through the hsrorn, but their minds did blend to a degree of rapport.

  The guard took a step forward and lifted Nita’s head. “You’re a pretty one,” he said. She quivered imperceptibly at his rough, coarse touch. “Too pretty to kill, perhaps.”

  “You’d better not try that, Holmak,” warned the other guard. “If

  Lord Kleyne comes back and finds us—”

  “You’re right,” Holmak admitted. He unholstered his blaster. “We’d better make it quick after all.”

  All right, now, Nita said. Now! Push!

  A burst of energy sprang from their unaided minds and leaped toward the unsuspecting guards.

  “We’ve got them!” Hammill cried exultantly. The dizzied guards tottered unsteadily under the assault of the two minds, and Hammill sprang forward, happy to be able to end his long period of motionlessness.

  His fist crashed into the taller guard’s chin, snapping his head backward sharply. As he fell, Hammill turned his attention to the other, who was groping bewilderedly around the cabin.

  “I’m over here,” Hammill said happily. He collared the guard, slapped him a few times to clear his head, and then slammed him to the floor with a roundhouse right.

  “I think that’ll do it,” Hammill said. He picked up the two unconscious guards, dragging each by the scruff of his neck, and hauled them to the back of the tiny scoutship. “Tie them up,” he told Nita. “And get their blasters away.”

  He reached down, took a blaster from one of the holsters, and quickly sealed off the tube that held the ship to Kleyne’s.

  “We’re free of the other ship,” he said. “But now we’ve got to get out of here in a devil of a hurry. They won’t be expecting us to escape, and maybe we can get out of range of that traction beam of theirs.”

  “How’s the drive?” she asked.

  “It got pretty scrambled during the recent encounter. I don’t think the left field coil of the mass-time converter is going to give us enough push.” “We’ve got another way,” Nita said. “Even without the hsrorn. Give

  me your hand.”

  He nodded and approached her. It was the only way—and wouldn’t Kleyne be surprised when the little scoutship suddenly took off like a startled fawn, bursting to a thousand lights immediately from a standing start!

  Nita’s thought came into his brain, urging, pressing. Think of the ship moving, Laird! Faster! Faster!

  The scoutship shot off into the depths of space.

  * * * *

  Fleet Admiral Bronson, tall, lean and graying, looked bleak as he received the two fugitives in his cabin aboard the flagship Gifford. His battleship had been hit by two ray-blasts, and a torpedo had taken off part of the rear guide coils.

  Hammill and Nita stepped into his cabin; his hand was tightly clasping hers.

  The admiral’s eyes were cold. “We’ve lost, Captain Hammill. We—” Hammill knew immediately what was going on within the admi-

  ral’s mind. As far as the admiral was concerned, the failure of the Earth Federation Fleet was due entirely to Hammill’s failure as a spy on Denerix. It was an irrational decision on the admiral’s part; he had to blame someone, so he had blamed Hammill.

  The defeat of the Earth Fleet had weighed heavily on the admiral’s mind; though, ordinarily a just man, he had, in the past few hours, become bitter against those who had figured in the loss of the battle.

  “I don’t know who this woman is,” he said. “I presume she is a native of one of the local planets in this galaxy. You have—”

  A thought flashed from Nita to Hammill. Stop him!

  But Hammill’s mind had reacted even more rapidly than the girl’s. In a split second, he had taken control of the admiral’s mind.

  When the admiral finished his sentence, he said: “—done the fleet a great service. Do you have any ideas for beating the Starlords?”

  The speech was purely for the benefit of the officers who were watching. Under Hammill’s control, Fleet Admiral Bronson turned to his staff and said: “Captain Hammill knows this galaxy better than anyone else. I suggest we listen to his ideas.”

  Hammill felt all the bitterness of the admiral; he knew how every one of the officers felt. His mind had picked up every bit of the fear, the heroism, the panic, and the determination of these men.

  And yet, he knew that, in spite of their feelings, he, Laird Hammill, must take charge.

  A ripple of shock ran across the surface of Nita’s mind as she realized what Hammill intended to do. But it only lasted for a moment. Then she thought: “You’re right, Laird; it’s the only way.”

  “It is,” he thought. “It’s the only way.”

  Aloud, he said: “As I see it, we’ll have to use guerilla tactics. We’ll have reinforcements from Earth within a few days, but, until then, we must harass the enemy within their own borders. If we give them a chance to form a fleet, a really big fleet, we won’t stand a chance, ourselves.”

  At that instant, a deep, resonant voice sounded within Hammill’s mind.

  Nita and Hammill! What are your findings on the military preparations of the Starlords of Shanador?

  Instantly, Nita responded.

  They have some sort of screen.

  Hammill had recognized the mental voice as that of the linked and assembled minds of the Council of Rhodanas. It was obvious that none of the Earth officers in the flagship’s control room had heard a thing. Only Nita and himself could receive the mental communication from Rhodanas.

  What sort of screen?

  Rapidly, Nita explained what had happened when she had hurled a bolt of mental energy at the Shanandorian spaceships.

  We see, said the Council. It hardly seems worth worrying about, but we shall check. Meanwhile, we have information for you. Observers, inform them of what you have learned.

  The mental voice changed subtly, and Hammill recognized it as the voice of the Observers.

  We have been able to penetrate the screen.

  Hammill felt a sense of deep respect for the Rhodanan Observers. Nita had given them the characteristics of the Shanadorian thought screen, and within a small fraction of a second, they had analyzed that screen, penetrated it, and taken full account of what it had hidden.

  The Starlords are preparing an invasion in force, the Observers continued. Under the enforced leadership of Lord Kleyne, they have prepared an Armada of ships to blast Earth. Unless they are stopped, the Federation will be doomed.

  Quickly, Hammill fired a thought at the Observers.

  Will you help us?

  The answering voice was cold. We cannot. We will give you information, but we will not give you either physical or mental aid. That is our decision, and the decision of the Council at this time.

  Very well, Hammill said bitterly. We’ll do without your aid. What information do you have?

  Quickly, concisely, the Observers told them what had happened and was happening within the Galaxy of Shanador.

  * * * *

  So short a time had passed during the interchange of thought that the officers of the Gifford didn’t even notice the slight pause in Hammill’s voice. As though there had been no interruption whatever, Hammill continued.

  “I happen to know where every main base of the Shanadorian fleet is located.”

  “That’s almost unbelievable!” said one Commander. “We have estimated that there are over three hundred thousand major bases in this star system!”

  “Three hundred thousand, four hundred and eighty-one, to be exact,” Hammill said coolly. “I know where they are located, which stars, which planets of those stars, and where the bases are on each planet. Earth’s only hope—and believe me when I say this—is for us to smash those bases!”

  The officers looked at each other and then looked at Admiral Bronson.

  Bronson, still under the mental control of Laird Hammill, said: “What do you think, gentlemen?”

  “Why can’t we wait for Earth’s reinforcements?” asked a Vice-Admiral. “They won’t be here for three days,” said the Fleet Admiral. “In

  that time, the Starlords’ fleet can take off and hit Earth, which will be unprotected. Neither this fleet nor our reinforcing fleet could get back to Earth, set up defenses, and fight a battle in time.” He glanced at each of them in turn. “We’ll have to do it as Hammill says.”

  * * * *

  Thirty-five thousand and eleven Terran ships—all that remained of an armada of nearly ninety thousand starships—fanned outward from their point of assembly, many thousand light-years from Shanador, and sprang forward for the attack.

  In the flagship Gifford, Laird Hammill paced uneasily back and forth as he watched the glittering suns of Shanador grow closer in the viewplate. This was virtually Earth’s last chance.

  If the Starlords beat back this attack, crushed the remnants of Earth’s armada before the reinforcements had a chance to arrive—it would mean Lord Kleyne’s unquestioned dominion over the Galaxy.

  Hammill felt a deep sense of inner confidence that helped to dispel some of his fears, and knew that he was drawing on the resources of mental power itself. His experiences with the Rhodanans, with Nita, with the actual hsrorn itself—they were changing him, bringing his latent mental skills to fruition. Laird Hammill was growing in mental power with each successive challenge.

  And now forces were gathering for the final attack. He stared at the glowing viewplate, and began to plan his assault, knowing that he might be called upon to develop even further in the next few hours.