The pallid officers spoke swiftly to Gordon. “Prince Zarth, I regret we had to blast your colleague but he was about to call for help and our presence here must not be detected.”

The officer continued rapidly. “You yourself will not be harmed in the slightest. We have been sent to bring you to our leader.”

Gordon stared at the man. He felt as though all this was a crazy dream.

But one thing was clear. They didn't doubt he was Zarth Am. And that was natural, seeing that he was Zarth Arn, in body.

“What do you mean?” he demanded furiously of the other. “Who are you?”

“We came from the Cloud,” answered the pallid officer instantly. “Yes, we are from the League and have come to take you to Shorr Kan.”

It was still all baffling to John Gordon. Then he remembered some of the things that old Vel Quen had told him.

Shorr Kan was leader of the League of the Dark Worlds which was the greatest foe of the Empire. That meant that these men were enemies of the great star-kingdom to whose ruling house Zarth Arn belonged.

They thought that he was Zarth Arn and were kidnapping him. Zarth Arn had never foreseen anything like this happening when he had planned the exchange of bodies! “I'm not going with you!” Gordon said. “I'm not leaving Earth.”

“We'll have to take him by force,” rasped the officer to his men. “Bring him along.”

THERE was a sudden interruption. Into the tower came running a uniformed soldier, his face livid with excitement.

“The radar officer reports three craft of cruiser size heading in from space toward this quarter of Earth.”

“Empire patrol-cruisers!” yelled the League officer. “Quick, out of here with him.”

But Gordon had seized the moment of their alarm to bunch himself. Now with a violent effort he broke free of their grasp.

He grabbed up a heavy metal tool as the pallid men rushed him, and struck savagely with it at their faces.

They were at a disadvantage for they did not want to kill or injure him, while he had no such reluctance. His savage blows dropped two of the soldiers. Then the others seized him again and wrested his makeshift weapon away from him.

“Now to the ship with him!” panted the pallid League officer. “And hurry.”

Held by four big League soldiers, Gordon was dragged down the stairs and out of the tower into the biting, frosty air.

They were halfway to the shining ship when he saw the grim black gun muzzles that projected from its side swinging suddenly to point skyward. Volleys of small shells burst upward from them.

The pallid officer yelled as he looked upward. John Gordon glimpsed three massive, fish-shaped warships diving straight down toward them.

There was an immense explosion. It hit Gordon and his captors like a giant hand and hurled them from their feet.

Half stunned, Gordon heard the deafening drone of great ships swooping toward the ground. By the time he stumbled to his feet, it was all over.

The League ship was a wreck of fused metal. The three cruisers that had destroyed it were landing. Even as they touched the ground, their small guns flicked deadly explosive pellets that picked off the dazed League soldiers who still sought to fight.

Gordon found himself standing, his late captors a heap of torn, blasted corpses less than a hundred feet away. The doors of the cruisers were sliding open, and men in gray helmets and uniforms came running toward Gordon.

“Prince Zarth, you're not hurt?” cried their leader to Gordon.

The man was big and burly, with bristling black hair and a craggy, knobby face whose complexion was faintly copper-red. His black eyes were snapping with cheerful excitement.

“I'm Hull Burrel, captain commanding a Sirius-sector patrol,” he told Gordon, saluting. “Our radar spotted an unauthorized vessel approaching Earth, and we followed it to find it at your laboratory here.”

He glanced at the dead men. “Cloudmen, by Heaven! Shorr Kan has dared send men to abduct you. This could be cause for war.”

John Gordon thought swiftly. These excited Empire officers also naturally took him for the son of their ruler.

And he couldn't tell them the truth, couldn't tell them he was John Gordon in Zarth Arn's body! For Zarth Arn had made him promise to tell that to no one, had warned that to do so would mean disaster. He'd have to keep up the strange imposture with these men until rid of them.

“I'm not hurt,” Gordon said unsteadily. “But they shot Vel Quen and I'm afraid he's dead.”

They hurried with him to the tower.

He ran hastily up the stairs and bent over the old scientist.

One look was enough. A gaping hole had been blasted in Vel Quen's body by the explosion of the tiny atomic pellet.

Gordon was appalled. The death of the old scientist meant that he was now completely on his own in this unfamiliar future universe.

Could he ever get back to his own body and time? Vel Quen had thoroughly explained the principle and operation of the mind-projecting apparatus. He might be able to operate it if he could get into telepathic contact with the real Zarth Arn.

Gordon quickly made up his mind. It was vital for him to stay here in the tower with the apparatus which alone could restore him to his own body and time.

“I must report this attack at once to your father, Prince Zarth,” the captain named Hull Burrel was saying.

“There is no need,” Gordon said quickly. “The danger is over. Keep the whole matter confidential.”

He expected his authority as son of the sovereign to overawe the captain. But Hull Burrel, surprise on his craggy copper face, demurred.

“It would be a breach of duty if I failed to report so serious a matter as a League raid like this!” the captain protested.

He went to the telestereo and touched its switches. In a moment on its receiver-plate appeared the image of a uniformed officer.

“Chief of Fleet Operations speaking from Throon,” he said crisply.

“Captain Hull Burrel of the Sirius sector patrol wishes to report a matter of the utmost importance to his highness, Arn Abbas,” declared the big coppery captain.

The official stared. “Cannot the matter be submitted to Commander Corbulo?”

“It cannot-its importance and urgency are too great,” Hull Burrel declared. “I take the responsibility for insisting on this audience.”

There was a little wait. Then on the telestereo the image of a different man flashed into being.

He was a massive giant well past middle age, with shaggy, bristling brows over penetrating, hard gray eyes. He wore a brilliantly embroidered cloak over a dark jacket and trousers, and his great, graying head was bare.

“Since when do mere naval captains insist-” he began angrily, and then as his image looked past Hull Burrel he caught sight of John Gordon. “So this concerns you, Zarth? What's wrong?”

Gordon realized that this massive, bleak-eyed man was Arn Abbas, sovereign of the Mid-Galactic Empire and Zarth Arn's father-his father.

“It's nothing serious,” Gordon began hastily, but Hull Burrel interrupted.

“Your pardon, Prince Zarth, but this is serious.” He continued to the emperor. “A League phantom-cruiser slipped in to Earth and made an attempt to kidnap the prince. By chance my patrol was making an unscheduled stop at Sol, and we detected them by radar and followed them here just in time to destroy them.”

Arn Abbas uttered an angry roar. “A League warship violating Empire space? And trying to kidnap my son? Curse that devil Shorr Kan for his insolence. He's gone too far this time!”

Hull Burrel added, “We weren't able to take any of the Cloudmen alive but Prince Zarth can give you the details of the attempt.”

Gordon wanted above all else to minimize the whole thing and finish the nerve-racking strain of having to keep up this imposture.