Chapter XIX

The "Prometheus" settled beside the steel hull of the lifeless ship. A mass of infantry advanced rapidly across the great airport, two staff cars raced ahead of them.

"Nestor—Nestor—Nestor—Come out of the ship, without weapons. Send your men out one at a time." The radio was useless, as Warren decided after several tries. No doubt the power for it had gone with the extinguishing of the flame.

A beam reached out from the "Prometheus." It sliced rapidly down across the tail of the lifeless ship. A section ten feet long fell to the ground as a line-thin strip of incandescent metal appeared under the beam. The staff cars were parked some fifty feet ahead of the "Prometheus," a cordon of infantry had established itself about the two great ships.

Warren stepped out of the "Prometheus," stamped the short-cropped turf joyfully, and looked up at the tall, imposing officer who bore down on him. Warren grinned happily at him.

"Well—General Walters. I'm pleased to meet you, immensely so. This is the second time. The last time you urged me not to waste your valuable time, I believe. In connection with the release of certain inter-spacial energies, wasn't it?"

"Forgive me, man. I was stupidly wrong. Almost criminally wrong. Had it not been for you, whom everyone thought dead, everyone in this city would have been dead. We heard their orders on our radio sets."

A grey-headed, stooped old man, with tired, lusterless eyes stepped from the steel ship. Three other men followed him immediately, one so broken in nerve and body that another had to almost carry him.

"Thaddeus Nestor, I arrest you for High Treason against your country." General Walters' voice was vibrant with a fury he could scarcely contain. Nestor looked up with his tired, lusterless eyes, and nodded.

Warren sat back comfortably in the great lounging chair in his New York apartment.

"Putt, they seem to feel they owe the whole rescue to us." He chuckled slightly. "But I think they ought to say they owe the whole trouble to us. We invented the thing.

"Besides, Atkill saved New York before we even got here. We were still on the outskirts of the atmosphere when he started."

"And now, Atkill is a hero—but a dead one. Cremated with Hillen, but he saved New York. The rays from that thing would have burned every human within a hundred miles, and so badly they probably wouldn't have recovered." Putney rose, and looked out over the city. Far to the east, barely visible over the horizon was the great, glowing cloud of steam, shooting up to the heavens, glowing weirdly in the intense violet light.

"Too bad we couldn't extinguish that," he said ruminatingly.

"I'd be afraid to. Might throw the whole earth into that other space to extinguish anything that big.

"But Putt, is Atkill cremated in that?"

"Were we blown up? It's impossible to tell from this space." Warren looked at his friend with questioning eyes.

The End