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The rest is history. Like a torrent they swept down upon the cowed, weakened Mercutians. Those that did not escape in the great diskoids back to their own torrid, waterless planet were searched out, torn to pieces by the infuriated Earth peoples. For five days and five nights the storm raged, all over the world. The floodgates were opened; outraged nature was taking her revenge.
Old Amos Peabody was treated as Hilary had seen. He was exhibited in city after city as a public warning. Hilary's blood was boiling as the terrible narration went on and on. But his face was calm, immovable. "How do the diskoids operate?" he asked. "Something like the sun rays on the one-man fliers," Grim told him, "only vastly more powerful. They are not limited in range, for one thing.
There were three of the terrible diskoids hovering within a radius of one hundred miles, ready to loose their hideous destruction at the slightest sign of disaffection. But this time the spirit of the Earthmen was not broken. Their gait was springier, their glance more forthright than heretofore. For every one knew that Hilary Grendon, the prime mover, the defier of the Mercutians, had escaped.
Each capital city thought itself signally honored by the reappearance of the lone Mercutian over it. The plan was clever, the timing perfect. At a signal flashed through the ether, things started happening. The great diskoids, hovering high in the stratosphere, suddenly blazed into blinding light. To the dazzled onlookers below, a new sun seemed to have been born.
Some war vessel from space had attacked the Mercutian, brought it down. More diskoids were rushed to New York; there were five now menacing the territory. Grim looked steadily at Hilary when the news was brought to them. A momentary wild hope flared in his friend's eye that died out quickly. "I know what you're going to say," said Hilary.
The great sinister diskoids moved methodically over the Earth, high in the stratosphere, where the futile Earth planes could not reach them, and sent the terrible blaze of destruction down unerringly upon armies, cities, towns. It was over soon. One after another, the Earth governments capitulated.
"And take as many Mercutians with us as we can," Grim amended. "That's one lucky thing. Their rays have no greater range than our bullets." "Except the diskoids," said Hilary. "Here's your chance, Wat, to play with your rattle." The red head, who had lugged the heavy machine gun all the way with him, patted its snout affectionately. "It plays the devil's tattoo," he said.
It was Wednesday then. Thursday and Friday passed. No change. On Saturday a scout brought breathless tidings. One of the great diskoids had crashed to the ground from its station fifty miles up in a smother of flame and flying fragments. No one knew what had happened; the Mercutians of course threw a strict censorship about the affair. But rumors flew on winged whisperings.
"Yes, because then they receive the reflected waves from the diskoids that are stationed out in space, in eternal sunlight." Hilary considered this a moment. "Where do you think it possible Joan was taken?" he changed the subject abruptly. "It is hard to say," Grim answered slowly. "But your best chance would be with the Viceroy himself. There have been rumors when pretty girls disappear."
"I've heard," he said overcasually, "that an accident happened to one of the Mercutian diskoids. Know anything about it?" The redhead grinned. "I was the accident. I wasn't staying cooped up in the wilderness. Joan and I decided we'd do some scouting before we came back; see what was happening over the rest of the world.
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