Ketrik came in from Perlac, came fast, using the Frequency Tuner all the way. Now his great bulk came forward in the control-seat, his eyes fastened intently on the dark blue disk of Earth that loomed ahead.

"Strange," he muttered. "Strange, no Patrollers! I expected an escort at least, if not a challenge!"

But no one heard. Ketrik, as always, had come alone. The helio from Mark Travers, recorded on the sensitized receivers at Perlac, had been more than a summons and a plea; it had contained an undertone of urgency. Ketrik had left at once, making the trip from the newly discovered outer planet in record time, thanks to the secret power-unit which the Earth Council still coveted.

Ketrik thought of that now, as he neared Earth where he had not set foot for so long. He remembered the tedious negotiations between Earth and Perlac, designed to bring the latter planet into the Solar Federation—a status hardly equitable to the Perlac government, due to Earth's high-handed demands. For Earth still claimed priority on Brownell's "Frequency Tuner," despite the fact that he had been forced to flee with his invention to Perlac; and since then there had been an alarming exodus of Earth's scientists to Perlac where they could work out their ideas unhampered.[1]

The Earth Council remained haughty, adamant. Only six months ago there had been a skirmish beyond Jupiter in which several Earth Patrollers had gone to flaming destruction against the speedy Perlac ships. The "Perlac Incident" was developing into open, bitter warfare. Venus remained wisely aloof, riding a crest of peace under the reign of Princess Aladdian. And on Mars, Dar Vaajo sat brooding on his ancient throne, silent and watchful.

"Maybe I'm being a fool," Ketrik murmured now as he crossed the orbit of Earth's moon. "Mark Travers guaranteed me safe landing and full protection—nevertheless—"

Weary but still cautious, he switched to the auxiliary rocket-power, then went to work dismantling the Frequency Tuner. In a short time he had jumbled the unit into a confusion of its component parts, and carefully hid it away. He trusted Mark Travers ... but there were others.

As he picked up the grav-beam for his landing, he thought again of Mark. It would be good to see him again after four years. He wondered if the lad's status as "Member of Council" had changed him any. Even more, he wondered at Mark's urgent message.

The city spread below. Then the landing field. Ketrik berthed with practiced ease, stepped down from the lock.

The guards closed in fast. There were dozens of them. Ketrik had only time to glimpse the black-and-silver insignia of the elite Council Guard, the drawn guns and grim purpose on their faces. Even as he whirled back toward his ship, the deadly song of a heat-beam sounded past his ear—so close he could feel the swirling scorch of it.

Ketrik came erect and motionless. He turned slowly, brain wry with the thought that he'd come into a trap after all. But he smiled—a twisted smile which failed to erase the hard lines of his face. His eyes were a puzzle, gray and serene but somehow mocking beneath the dark bangs tumbling across his forehead.

The Guards formed a watchful circle about this man whose deeds were renowned throughout the System. For a moment their Captain hesitated.
Then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward. His gun became intimate with Ketrik's wishbone.

"George Ketrik, I arrest you by order of the Supreme Earth Council! You will come along peaceably or suffer the consequences!" The man's voice was overly loud, arrogant. With a dramatic gesture he removed Ketrik's gun, then whirled him into the hands of the Guards. They marched toward a waiting tube-car. Other guards were trying to keep back the crowd, passengers for the Venus Express who thronged the field.

Ketrik's eyes were emotionless now, devoid of color. He said tonelessly: "Taking quite a chance, aren't you, Captain? I've only counted fifty of your men."

"We've heard too much about you, Ketrik! And we want you alive—that's why we didn't try to take you in space. I'm glad you're being sensible about this."

Ketrik shrugged his towering shoulders as though to say, "Why not?"
But his mind raced. So they wanted him alive. They were nearing the tube-car now, and the crowd, eternally curious, was trying to press in.

It was now or never. Ketrik stumbled. His elbow shot back, caught the captain in the stomach. With the same motion he snatched the latter's heat-gun, and bending low, lunged to the left. The crowd parted before his onrush. Women screamed at sight of the gun he waved before him.

Ketrik heard shouts and curses from the startled guard, but he knew they wouldn't fire into the crowd. A uniformed man loomed before him, swinging a gun-fist up. Ketrik was quicker. The guard went down from a sledge-hammer blow. Grinning joyously, Ketrik evaded two others. He twisted and turned through the crowd, with some notion of gaining the tube-car and escaping into the heart of the city.

And it might have worked. Now a path was opening clear. But this time he really stumbled, lost his balance momentarily. It was enough to allow the guards to close in. Ketrik twisted erect, felt clutching hands upon him and heard the bellowing voice of the captain. He swung out with his arms, felt men flung backward. He tried to bring up the heat-gun.

This time someone else was quicker.

A heavy weight crashed against Ketrik's head, a sun exploded into millions of fragments which dwindled away as he plunged forward into darkness.

He regained his faculties quickly. His subconsciousness demanded it.
This curious "awareness" in which Ketrik had trained himself had saved him from many a tight scrape.

But now he did not open his eyes at once. He knew he was in the tube-car, for he could feel the cushioned seat beneath him and the faint vibration of the gyro-motors. Then he became aware of another fact.

He was alone.

This brought him to his feet, wide-eyed and alert. He felt the weight of his own gun again in his belt, examined it, found it still loaded.
Strange!

Where were the guards? Why should they be sending him somewhere alone? A glance at the crystyte window revealed a flashing panorama of the city. He knew he was moving at terrific speed, probably on a special "right-of-way." To attempt an escape now would be suicide.

He shrugged, settled down in the seat. His capture had been well planned, but he failed to see what the Council hoped to gain by it! Ketrik felt a surge of cold fury at this treachery—a treachery in which Mark Travers must have had a hand.

Presently a braking signal flashed green. The tiny car sighed, as though exhausted from its headlong route across the city. It came to a stop against the forward cushion of air, and doors of duraplon slid smoothly back.

Hand near his gun, Ketrik emerged into a long empty corridor of black and silver. Black marble walls reached sheerly up, to curve away into a filigreed ceiling. Priceless tapestries adorned the walls, caught a hidden overhead glow and shattered it into lances of silver radiance. Ketrik frowned, looking at these tapestries. Their design was interwoven with thousands of Kra plumes, those priceless silvery plumes for which he'd risked his life many times among the wild peaks of Ganymede. Only the very elect could afford them. He knew now, that he must be in Earth's Council Chambers.

Again he felt a tingling awareness, knew that unseen eyes were upon him. He straightened his shoulders and walked unhurriedly toward a massive door at

Dread-Flame of M'Tonak