the ugly eye of death. Then Vans' ray drilled through his brain, melting away nerve-cells much too quickly for the slow chemical changes we know as pain. To the officer it seemed that the whole universe dissolved in a great flood of light and a loud roaring noise. There was a hole the size of a penny neatly drilled through his head, and in the air a cloud of cold smoke and steam, smelling like a joint of meat cooking in an oven.
Without haste, Vans moved the threadray right and left. It cut like a knife. Flesh and bone poured like water. There was much steam, for flesh is mostly water, and a strong smell of cooking. One Martian was cut through the middle, another's arm was cut off, another's legs, another's head. The ray returned and finished off those who were not obviously dead.
"Have to get mother to sew you together again," he exulted.
Vans seized the massive gate and wrenched at it, not stopping to think that the threadray would have saved him the trouble. His enormous strength tore down the gate at once.
"Come on out," he roared. "Vans Holors has set you free."
Nobody moved. There were four gates to the enclosure, a dozen guards to each. Vans had attended to only one. At each of the other three soldiers were jumping to their feet in alarm, bringing threadray pistols to bear.
On a high building like a sort of watchtower two huge ray generators swung round. One was a cohesion-neutralizing ray, the other a nerve-stopping deathray that had been shielded from the discharging beam. A score of threads of red fire struck the ground around Vans, moved toward him. The ground boiled, but there was no smoke. One touched his shoulder glancingly, and he was puzzled that, although the ray was cold, yet, when it touched him, it felt burning hot.
He was surrounded by the deadly threads of imitation red fire. He ducked instinctively as something seared his head.
All at once, the light went out. Complete darkness fell over everything, except for those menacing threads of red. Vans dodged through them, for now they were still. The operators of the rays could not see their target.
The people of Selketh poured out in the darkness.
"Vans!" called a feminine voice.
"Olla!" he replied.
"My hero!" she whispered, throwing her arms round him.
She had once thought him an uncouth, brutal, ignorant man. Now he seemed to her handsome, witty, dignified, everything a man should be, a man for all girls to worship in dumb admiration. Just that much difference had the evolution-reversing ray made to her. She had lost a little of her refinement. Vans looked different to her now. And she was happy, not knowing of any change in herself.
DON and Wimpolo went through the darkened city. When they came to the edge of the darkened area Wimpolo pointed to a light and whispered to the zekolo, "Light! Smash!" The creature, having seen Wimpolo perform, knew now what to do. Soon another section of the city was in darkness.
Searchlights glared, trying to pierce the gloom. They dazzled more than they helped. Little else but headlights on the helmets of soldiers lighted the gloom, an these soon went out. To show them was to ask for a huge stone or an iron club to come hurtling at one out of the darkness.
