Stutsman cried out, tried to struggle, but he was unable to move. It was as if giant hands had gripped him, were holding him in a viselike clutch.

"Thanks, Manning," said Craven, getting up off the floor. "The fool would have shot this time. He's threatened it for days. He has been developing a homicidal mania."

"We don't need to worry about him now," declared Greg. He turned around to face Craven. "Where's Chambers?"

"Stutsman locked him up," said Craven. "I imagine he has the key in his pocket. Locked him up in the stateroom. Chambers jumped him and tried to take the gun away from him and Stutsman laid him out, hit him over the head. He kept Chambers locked up after that. Hasn't allowed anyone to go near the room. Hasn't even given him food and water. That was three days ago."

"Get the key out of his pocket," directed Greg. "Go and see how Chambers is."

Alone in the control room with Stutsman, Greg looked at him.

"I have a score to settle with you, Stutsman," he said. "I had intended to let it ride, but not now."

"You can't touch me," bl.u.s.tered Stutsman. "You wouldn't dare."

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"You're bluffing. You've got a lot of tricks, but you can't do the things you would like me to think you can. You've got Chambers and Craven fooled, but not me."

"It may be that I can offer you definite proof."

Chambers staggered over the threshold. His clothing was rumpled. A rude bandage was wound around his head. His face was haggard and his eyes red.

"h.e.l.lo, Manning," he said. "I suppose you've won. The Solar System must be in your control by now."

He lifted his hand to his mustache, brushed it, a feeble attempt at playing the old role he'd acted so long.

"We've won," said Greg quietly, "but you're wrong about our being in control. The governments are in the hands of the people, where they should be."

Chambers nodded. "I see," he mumbled. "Different people, different ideas." His eyes rested on Stutsman and Greg saw sudden rage sweep across the gray, haggard face. "So you've got him, have you? What are you going to do with him? What are you going to do with all of us?"

"I haven't had time to think about it," said Greg. "I've princ.i.p.ally been thinking about Stutsman here."

"He mutinied," rasped Chambers. "He seized the ship, turned the crew against me."

"And the penalty for that," said Greg, quietly, "is death. Death by walking in s.p.a.ce."

Stutsman writhed within the bands of force that held him tight. His face contorted. "No, d.a.m.n you! You can't do that! Not to me, you can't!"

"Shut up," roared Chambers and Stutsman quieted.

"I was thinking, too," said Greg, "that at his order thousands of people were mercilessly shot down back in the Solar System. Stood against a wall and mowed down. Others were killed like wild animals in the street.

Thousands of them."

He moved slowly toward Stutsman and the man cringed.

"Stutsman," he said, "you're a butcher. You're a stench in the nostrils of humanity. You aren't fit to live."

"Those," said Craven, "are my sentiments exactly."

"You hate me," screamed Stutsman. "All of you hate me. You are doing this because you hate me."

"Everyone hates you, Stutsman," said Greg. "Every living person hates you. You have a cloud of hate hanging over you as black and wide as s.p.a.ce."

The man closed his eyes, trying to break free of the bonds.

"Bring me a s.p.a.cesuit," snapped Greg, watching Stutsman's face.

Craven brought it and dropped it at Stutsman's feet.

"All right, Russ," said Greg. "Turn him loose."

Stutsman swayed and almost fell as the bands of force released him.

"Get into that suit," ordered Greg.

Stutsman hesitated, but something he saw in Greg's face made him lift the suit, step into it, fasten it about his body.

"What are you going to do with me?" he whimpered. "You aren't going to take me back to Earth again, are you? You aren't going to make me stand trial?"

"No," said Greg, gravely, "we aren't taking you back to Earth. And you're standing trial right now."

Stutsman read his fate in the cold eyes that stared into his. Chattering frightenedly, he rushed at Greg, plunged through him, collided with the wall of the ship and toppled over, feebly attempting to rise.

Invisible hands hoisted him to his feet, gripped him, held him upright.

Greg walked toward him, stood facing him.

"Stutsman," he said, "you have four hours of air. That will give you four hours to think, to make your peace with death." He turned toward the other two. Chambers nodded grimly. Craven said nothing.

"And now," said Greg to Craven, "if you will fasten down his helmet."

The helmet clanged shut, shutting out the pleas and threats that came from Stutsman's throat.

Stutsman saw distant stars, cruel, gleaming eyes that glared at him.

Empty s.p.a.ce fell away on all sides.

Numbed by fear, he realized where he was. Manning had picked him up and thrown him far into s.p.a.ce ... out into that waste where for hundreds of light years there was only the awful nothingness of s.p.a.ce.

He was less than a speck of dust, in this great immensity of emptiness.

There was no up or down, no means of orientation.

Loneliness and terror closed in on him, a terrible agony of fear. In four hours his air would be gone and then he would die! His body would swirl and eddy through this great cosmic ocean. It would never be found.

It would remain here, embalmed by the cold of s.p.a.ce, until the last clap of eternity.

There was one way, the easy way. His hand reached up and grasped the connection between his helmet and the air tank. One wrench and he would die swiftly, quickly ... instead of letting death stalk him through the darkness for the next four hours.