"United States!" exclaimed the Major. "That's a myth! What in the devil are you trying to say?"
Henry shook his head sadly, but with a grim expression of conviction on his aquiline face.
Martia's eyes were wide as she drew closer to him. "Henry!" she whispered. "I think I know!" Tears came to her eyes, and she said, "Mother! I'll never see her again."
For answer, Henry pressed her hand, wordlessly, and continued looking at the Major.
"Please!" said Dr. Bauml, pressing forward. "What is this battle all about? What is that space ship for?"
The Major sprang to his feet, motioning to the guard detail that had brought them in. "These strangers are some type of Fifth Column!" he exclaimed. "They are obviously attempting to camouflage their true identities and their purpose under a blanket of innocence! But no one could be that innocent of the facts!" He leaned forward, addressing Dr. Bauml. "My dear sir, in case you have been reposing under a rock somewhere, I'll bring you up to date! Earth is dying! The ionosphere is shifting toward critical mass. Our race—the human race—is becoming sterile under the hardening radiations. It is imperative that we transport some of our kind to another world—Venus, to be specific! Or hadn't you heard that Hardesty and Williams discovered an atmosphere there under the upper dust strata? The Texanians could not build an ark such as ours—so they want it!" His dark eyes blazed angrily. "You want it! You are Texanians and you want our ship, but you're not going to get it! Take them away! They are spies!"
"Irons, sir?" asked the officer in charge of the detail.
"Irons be damned! Execute them! This is war!"
They stood in a bleak prison yard, sixty-nine passengers of MATS flight 702, London to New York. But where they were just now did not matter. A ganged battery of machine guns faced them, with one operator seated apathetically at a bank of controls.