"Very good," McPartland said. "Stand alert. I will contact you later." His hand reached for the switch. Alarm leaped into Browne's face. "Captain! Sir! Are there no further orders? Four Patrol ships are on outer patrol--May I suggest--" * * * * * McPartland's full lips curved into a tight, mirthless smile, below the sudden flame in his blue eyes. "Mister, the Fleet is at Terra Base. If it can't--" He let the sentence stop unfinished, and added quietly: "This ship can handle more than those light cruisers." "I beg your pardon, Sir," Lieutenant Browne murmured. A second later, his image faded from the screen. From the corner of his eye, Jon saw the others watching the empty screen, as though waiting for the vanished officer to ask the question that was in their minds. Lieutenant-Commander Clemens, however, shook his head mournfully, anticipating his superior's next act, and stepping aside from the intra-ship. The Captain reached for the instrument, punching down the lever for Navigation. "Lieutenant Parek," he said clearly, "take absolute solar bearings at once--plot a blind course for Terra Base." He heard McTavish release his breath in a soft satisfied, whistle, even as Parek's monotonous tenor replied: "Bearings taken, Sir. Course plotted, Sir. Ready to proceed." "Good man! He's ahead of us," exclaimed Engineer McTavish, his gray eyes dancing. "There's a brain behind that sing-song voice, after all! Begging your pardon, Sir," he added to Jon. McPartland shot the Engineer a quick glance and nodded. The two of them shared their pride in the _Avenger_: McTavish in the ship itself, the Captain in the officers and crew as well. And both of them sensed, with Clemens and Roberts, that the whole, delicate, balanced entity, the _Avenger_, would find battle in the blackness ahead. The Captain turned back to the intra-ship. "Proceed on course, Mister," he ordered. "Full speed ahead! Reduce to quarter-speed when we enter the area. Be prepared to operate ship in absolute lack of visibility!" "Yes, Sir," the Navigation Officer acknowledged, laconically. "Begging your pardon, Sir," McTavish said fiercely, as his commanding officer turned away from the phone, "absolute lack of visibility. We will have interior lights, Sir--I guarantee it--at least the emergency circuits." Clemens turned his pale blue, worried eyes of the Engineer. "Light, Mister? Light, if we can see it! There's light in and beyond that--that place ahead, but we can't see it!" he said mournfully. "Man, there's an interference screen," the Engineer snapped. "Once we're through it, we'll see what's going on." He jerked his lanky frame up from his chair suddenly, his thin nose twitching excitedly, and turned to McPartland. "The screen may play merry havoc with our machinery, Sir. Perhaps we should hit at full speed and let our momentum crash us through."