"Yes, Sir," was the answer, the words spoken almost into his ear. Jon reached out and found the other's arm. The Captain's fingers gripped hard, biting into muscle. "We'll soon have the answer to your question," he said softly. "If the Patrol still holds the Base--" "Good luck, Sir," replied the Ray Control Officer quietly. "We'll be waiting to follow you--anywhere." The Captain found his Engineer in the well of pitch about him. There was reassurance in the other's tense, firm shoulder. Together, they went through the port, and heard Reynolds shut it behind them. * * * * * A sharp rattle of explosions sounded in the distance, off to their left. "Man!" gasped McTavish, "that sounds like--" "Like a machine-gun," finished his commander. "An old-fashioned explosive powder weapon. Ray guns are useless, of course, without ether." "There's fighting," the Engineer cried eagerly. A single louder explosion came from the left. The sound hung in the air, muffled and distorted. "A grenade," McTavish added mechanically. "It was thrown into a building--you can tell by the echoes." "The repair docks," Jon said. "The walls are thick enough." "That's where the battleships are," the Engineer said dully, his excitement draining into apprehension. "Who's got them, and who's attacking? If the plotters have taken the docks and the fleet--" "The fleet's useless," snapped the Captain, "in this blackness. The plotters can't man it anyway--they'll want to immobilize it, and keep it intact until they've won. "It's the old arsenal I'm thinking about. We need that for--" "Hist, man!" warned McTavish, suddenly. "There's someone near us." "Who goes there?" challenged a voice sharply. "You're surrounded, and you'll get cold steel if you don't surrender." Jon laughed. "Did you surround the _Avenger_, too, Marshal?" he asked ironically. "We're standing directly beside it." He heard a sudden feminine sob of relief, and soft words that sent the blood throbbing to his temples: "Oh, Jon--Jon darling." Another voice cut in brusquely: "This is no time for melodramatics, daughter. "Jon, I was sure it was you. Who else would try to fly a ship in this? But we couldn't take chances. We had to find out and warn you before you blundered into the enemy!" "We were on the lookout, Sir," the Captain assured him. He could imagine Marshal Denton; sturdy, tall, handsome. The Marshal's gray eyes would be flashing there in the blackness, and the snow-white hair piled on his massive head would make him look more than ever like a noble old lion. "What have you to report, Captain?" Denton asked tautly. Jon told him briefly of their position and actions since he'd first found communications with Terra cut. As he spoke, a soft hand found his. Jon slipped his arm about Almira's slim waist, and drew her close. Her head sank to his shoulder.