"Steve!" Chuck was crying. "Steve, can you hear me? It's all right, pal. We've got 'em!"
Steve rose, the weight of Loala a mere nothingness in his arms, hurried to the wall and pressed the button which opened the audio to a two-way transmission.
"Lafferty!" he cried into the orifice. "This is Duane! Where are you, boy? What do you mean? Have you—?"
And Chuck's voice returned, riotously triumphant. "Wherever you are, Steve, take a look out the nearest window."
Steve turned. Within the past few minutes, unheard in the confusion which had reigned here, a hundred thunderous blasts must have scorched the heavens over Daan. For now, roaring high above the city, circled the mighty armada of the Overlords.
Steve cried, "The fleet! It has taken off! But Chuck, where are you calling from?"
And incredibly—Chuck Lafferty laughed again.
"Don't look now, Steve," he bellowed, "but them ships you're looking at is us! We've captured every last vessel in the Daan spacefleet! Me and the rest of the slaves! We did what you said ... carried containers of methioprane into the ships while we were supposed to be loading them for the flight ... then dumped the stuff loose in the air distribution outlets you charted for us. The Venusians is gone beddy-bye. But our bunch was wearing masks and we've grabbed the Armada without a casualty!"
"And—and the ground defenses?"