Again he slipped into oblivion.
He awoke with the sensation that infinite time had passed. He sat up quickly, feeling strong, alert, fully recovered in every faculty, a clear memory of every detail of the disastrous encounter with the strange blue globe-ship springing instantly to his mind.
He was in a clean bed in a little white-walled room. Captain Brand, a surprised grin on his bluff, rough-hewn features, was sitting upon another bed beside him. Two attendants in white uniform stood just inside the door; and a nervous little man in black suit, evidently a doctor, was hastily replacing gleaming instruments in a leather bag.
A tall man appeared suddenly in the door, clad in a striking uniform of black, scarlet, and gold—black trousers, scarlet military coat and cap, gold buttons and decorations. He carried in his hand a glittering positive ray pistol.
"Gentlemen," he said in a crisp, gruff voice, "you may consider yourselves prisoners of the Prince of Space."
"How come?" Brand demanded.
"The Prince was kind enough to have you removed from the wreck of your ship, and brought aboard the Red Rover, his own sunship. You have been kept unconscious until your recovery was complete."
"And what do you want with us now?" Brand was rather aggressive.
The man with the pistol smiled. "That, gentlemen, I am happy to say, rests largely with yourselves."
"I am an officer in the Moon Patrol," said Brand. "I prefer death to anything——"