He came out on the deck as we rushed up. His left arm was dangling
limp.
"God--this--" He got no further. From the turret overhead a tiny
search beam came down and disclosed us. Blackstone was supposed to be
on duty up there, with a course master at the controls. But, glancing
up, I saw, illumined by the turret lights, the figure of Ob Hahn in
his purple-white robe, and Johnson, the purser. And on the turret
balcony, two fallen men--Blackstone and the course master.
Johnson was training the spotlight on us. And Hahn fired a Martian
ray. It struck Balch beside me. He dropped.