"Still," asked General Clinton coldly, "for what purpose do you wish to be relieved? What do you intend to do?" "Return to the field," said Captain Blake, "to work, and put my planes and personnel in the best possible condition; then, when the time comes, go up and fight like hell." An unusual phrasing of a request when one is addressing one's commander; but the older man threw back his shoulders, that were bending under responsibilities too great for one man to bear, and took a long breath that relaxed his face and seemed to bring relief. "You've got the right idea,"--he spoke slowly and thoughtfully--"the right philosophy. It is all we have left--to fight like hell when the time comes. Give my regards to Colonel Boynton; he sent me a good man after all." * * * * * Another long flight, westward this time, and, despite the failure of his hopes and of his errand, Blake was flying with a mind at peace. "It is all we have left," the general had said. Well, it was good to face facts, to admit them--and that was that! There was no use of thinking or worrying.... He lifted the ship to a higher level and glanced at his compass. There were clouds up ahead, and he drove still higher into the night, until he was above them. And again his peace of mind was not to last. It was night when he swung the ship over his home port and signalled for a landing. A flood of light swept out across the field to guide him down. He went directly to the colonel's quarters but found him gone. "In the radio room, I think," an orderly told him. Colonel Boynton was listening intently in the silent room; he scowled with annoyance at the disturbance of Blake's coming; then, seeing who it was, he motioned quickly for the captain to listen in. "Good Lord, Blake," he told the captain in an excited whisper; "I'm glad you're here. Another ship had been sighted; she's been all over the earth; just scouting and mapping, probably. And there have been signals the same as before--the same until just now. Listen!--it's talking Morse!--it's been calling for you!" He thrust a head set into Blake's hands, then reached for some papers. "Poor reception, but there's what we've got," he said. * * * * * The paper held the merest fragments of messages that the operator had deciphered. Blake examined them curiously while he listened at the silent receiver. "Maricopa"--the message, whatever it was, was meant for them, but there were only parts of words and disjointed phrases that the man had written down--"Venus attacking Earth ... Captain Blake ... Sykes and...." At the name of Sykes, Blake dropped the paper. "What does this mean?" he demanded. "Sykes!--why Sykes was the astronomer who was captured with McGuire!" "Listen! Listen!" The colonel's voice was almost shrill with excitement.