Ricker dived through the door.
He caught the door as he went through, slammed it shut behind him.
A man whirled around from a mass of instruments. In that split second all Ricker saw was the man's startled face, his hand snatching a pistol from his belt.
Ricker leaped for him as from a catapult, brought up a swift short right. Smack! The fellow fell back into a bank of scattered dials. Ricker jerked the gun from his hand as he sagged to the floor.
Without another glance at him, he leaped to the transmitter. It was an ordinary radio outfit but apparently of tremendous power. He snapped the sending switch, kept his eyes fused to the door.
"Come out, Ricker!" It was Gurren's voice. "We'll burn you through the door!"
Ricker didn't answer. His ears strained for the warming tone of the sender. He knew they wouldn't blast the building; it would destroy the radio. And they wouldn't come through the door—for a moment.
A low hum sang in the room. The transmitter was working. Ricker bent over the mike, eyes on the door.
"Attention, all listeners." He spoke rapidly but without a tremor. "Ricker, Planetary Times—calling for help. Send Patrol to Neptune. Magnetic location—" God! what was that number! "Forty-four-five. Neptune, magnetic forty-four-five—"