With what happened next, the dream became a nightmare. Blue-skinned stalwarts of the Jovian guard closed about him and his companions, prodded them toward a grim, arched opening which Gary intuitively knew must be the portal of their execution chamber.
He was conscious of Nora Powell weeping softly at his side, of Dr. Bryant muttering in mute and babbled protest, of the subtle strengthening of Lark O'Day's broad shoulders as the ex-pirate tensed himself, despite the overwhelming odds against them, to hurl one last and gallant defiance at their murderers. And because there was now no other path, he sought O'Day's eye ... in that glance grimly arraigning himself on the corsair's side for whatever desperate attempt O'Day should choose to lead.
Then, as the entire corps of Earthmen readied themselves to go out fighting rather than as sheep herded to the slaughter, there came a sudden interruption from an unexpected source.
Through an entrance at the rear of the Council Hall rushed a wildly excited figure, a Jovian bearing in his hand a scrap of paper. This he waved wildly above his head, crying as he hurried forward, "My Lords! My Lords and Councillors—wait! Stay the execution! A message from the planet Earth!"
The Chief Councillor frowned. "It is useless. We will entertain no bids for extradition. It is the law of our homeland these Earthmen have transgressed. They must pay the penalty."
"But," panted the messenger, "it is no plea for clemency, but something else ... something more important...."
All eyes were riveted on the curious tableau. O'Day's whisper grated softly in Gary's ear.
"O.Q., Gary, now's the time. Their attention is divided. We'll never have a better chance."
But Lane grasped his companion's wrist tightly, hopefully.
"No, Lark, no! Not now. There's more here than meets the eye. Look—the Chief Councillor's face—"