Whatever the force that had closed silently around the Earth, it had stilled the heart of the solar system. The planets waited, Jon knew, restlessly, breathlessly; for the whole intricate, interworld civilization drew its life from the great industries of Terra. Let those industries stop, or be taken over by enemies, and all the planets would be at the mercy of those enemies. And the only military power which the Supreme System Congress could call upon was at Terra Base. McPartland imagined the great space battleships--cramped into overhaul cradles--the crews dispersed on leave. Slight chance to get them off in the blackness--even if crews could be assembled--even if they had any place to go! But the _Avenger_ had some place to go! McPartland's ship had a crew--and it could fight! "We'll fight," Jon told himself savagely. "We'll win! And Almira--if--" He didn't finish even the thought. Instead he visualized the lovely oval of her face--with the green eyes set in like twin, glowing emeralds. The sudden jarring blast of the forward rockets brought Jon's gaze around to the side screens. They were almost completely blanked out. Only a thin slice of normal space remained. They were entering the area, and Lieutenant Parek was braking. "Man, that wasn't too soon," McTavish said tensely. Clemens said nothing, his face carefully set in a harried expression he would retain even when invisible. Reynolds looked up dejectedly from his desk, his hand resting protectively on the calculators that would be useless to them. The Captain moved over to the intra-ship, standing close beside his Lieutenant-Commander. They waited silently. Jon was looking at the Engineer's eager smile, as the retarding rocket blasts died away. McTavish nodded, counting the drumming explosions from the stern and feeling the vibration of the ship with an intimate knowledge. "We're at quarter speed, Sir," he said, as the Captain heard the Navigation Officer's clear, even voice over the intra-ship speaker: "Quarter speed, Sir. On course." The last two words fell into complete blackness. Jon felt the pupils of his eyes straining, opening for the least trace of light. There was none. He could hear the slow breathing of the others, and a few low exclamations through the open switches of the intra-ship. "Carry on, Lieutenant," he ordered, and let his breath out of his lungs slowly. "Mister McTavish," he added, "here's something to add to your technical knowledge: electricity does not need ether--whether it travels around or within wires." "Thank you, Sir," came the Engineer's ironic reply like a sound without origin in the well of blackness that closed in on Jon from every side. "I had reached the same conclusion, Sir." "We are running on batteries, Sir," Clemens relayed from beside him. "The cyclotron has stopped functioning."