"Satan, with vast and hauty strides advanced,
Came towering, armed in adamant and gold."
The pursuit needle indicated a dizzy succession of zigs and zags in front of my straining eyes. The huge dread-nor, the Darkome, slewed in sickening curves as my hand on the swivel-jet stick tried to follow the crazily dancing needle. Was it--or was it not--the erratic ion trail of a dodging ship?