Desperately Grant lunged down the slope toward the ship. Now it was before him, a sleek, slender shape, glowing in the crimson flare of the rockets. Grant gripped the handle of the airlock, sunk flush in the hull, and tugged. The outer door swung open. Closing it behind him, he threw open the inner one and burst into the cabin, gun in hand. Before him stood Joan, very pale, chin high. Harris lay upon the floor, blood seeping from a gash on his temple. All this Grant took in with one swift glance, but before he could move he felt the muzzle of a gun dig into his back. Allers, standing to one side of the airlock as he entered, held him covered.
"Drop your gun!" Allers shouted to make himself heard through Grant's helmet.
Helpless, Grant obeyed, then threw back the transparent plastic dome that covered his head.
"Over there against the wall! Next to the girl!" Allers ordered. "I don't know how you got free, but I'm not staying to investigate! We're leaving for Venus!" He moved toward the controls, bent over them, keeping Grant and Joan covered with his heat gun. Grant laughed harshly. A nice mess he'd made of things!
One of Allers' hands was on the main control, the other gripped the heat gun. An idea began to take form in Grant's mind. The cold, the bitter cold just above absolute zero, was what Allers had counted on to trap them. Perhaps it might save them as well. He hadn't been in the cabin long enough for the cold to wear off. Grant drew a deep breath.
"Shoot, damn you!" he roared, hurtling forward.
Face set in a vulpine grin, Allers pressed the trigger of the heat-gun. Joan's horrified scream ripped through the cabin like a jagged knife blade.
"Ken!" she cried. "Ken!"
The ray of the heat-gun was like a white hot lance, thrusting against Grant's chest as he plunged toward Allers. In spite of the space-suit's insulation it would normally have charred him to a crisp, but the suit, bitterly cold from the fierce temperature of Darkside, sucked up the heat like a sponge. Grant felt as though a glowing brand had touched his chest, the pain was terrible, but the frigid cold of the suit absorbed the full force of the heat blast long enough for him to reach his opponent.
One blow of Grant's lead-gloved fist caught Allers' face, spun him about. The heat-gun flew from his hand, slithered under the big control board. Bruised, bloody, snarling in savage rage, Allers shook himself, hurtled forward, fists flailing.