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ne huskily.




Ooks. What if that fall had been fatal! Ulana was at his side now and he stared
at her, white-faced,

trembling in his uncertainty and horror. And then Tommy opened his eyes. They saw him shake his head
to clear it and then he, too, stared in horror. How close a call! Friend killing friend, out here in the air-less cold on the shivering shell
of the dying alien world! They helped him to his feet and through

the entrance manhole. His mind awhirl with emotion, Blaine saw that Ulana was inside and then followed as in a dream.
He bolted the outer cover
and turned the valve that would admit air to the lock. Soon they would be inside. With their protecting coverings discarded there would be the fresh
air of the interior; light; warmth. Safety for Ulana. Away from the copper-clad world, they'd be on their way--home. * * * * * A little later, Blaine
Carson sat at the controls of the RX8, Ulana at his side. Tommy
was below, polishing and oiling and fondling his beloved machines. The surface of Antrid was visible through the viewing port, twenty miles beneath them
and receding rapidly. Swinging in its new orbit, Antrid was gasping its last. Over there, a few miles to the east, there spouted a column of white vapor that rose from a heaped up crater of ice which extended in a circle
now many miles
in diameter. Heavily laden with moisture as it was, the artificial atmosphere of Antrid provided a vast storm of frozen particles as it escaped into the absolute

zero of space. For many days this
would continue and the pressure within would drop gradually, down, down, until the air was so rare it would no longer sustain life. And there was no hope of repairing the break: the mountain of ice prevented getting at it from outside, and the rush of air from within made the handling of patch plates and brazing torches impossible. Besides, an area of supporting

columns of more than a mile diameter had been wrecked by the blast of the rocket-tube. It would require an Earth year to make such a repair, even if they could retain that atmosphere. Antrid was done for, this time. Abruptly,
Blaine turned his head from the port and gave his attention to the controls. The RX8 pointed her nose upward, away from this terrible world of disaster and death--homeward bound. With a tremendous blast from the stern

rocket-tubes she headed swiftly into the heavens. A thousand miles, five, ten, they shot into space with ever increas

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