The scene was silent and unreal. But there was no doubt in any man's mind, now--the ship had lifted gravs and was blasting! Slowly, the great lumbering shape widened the distance. The scene resolved to the blackness of outer space where a glitter of stars was seen. There the _Valiant_ steadied on her course. The worst was over. It had been dramatic, momentous. Ric heard sighs of relief about him. People were congratulating Lal Disbro, whose face was wreathed in smiles. But there were men in this room who did not smile, who were strangely silent. Again Ric allowed his gaze to sweep about--and this time he spotted Wessell. The man was tall, hard-featured, crisp of manner. His eyes were stern as he leaned a little forward to peer at the screen. Ric watched him. Wessell's only show of emotion was a slight twitching at the corners of his mouth. Now that the _Valiant_ had gained free space he was studying it, studying it hard. His lips curled a little in disdain. Ric glanced again at the screen. The Martian ship _was_ clumsy, there was no denying it. On its slow and careful course it would take perhaps six days to reach Earth. Much could happen in six days.... Then he saw Wessell rise. The man crossed to the private room where the communicators were kept. Through the partly open door Ric saw him lift a tube and speak into it with crisp authority. "Trouble," Ric muttered. "I knew it!" And there were cold, coiling knots in the pit of his stomach. When he bade Broxted goodbye a few minutes later, and headed back for the city, it was with a feeling of dark events brewing--events that were going to touch him whether he liked it or not. II It came very soon. The harsh buzzing of the ampliphone beside Ric's bed jerked him awake. "Hello," he said sleepily. "Ric Martin...." Then sleep was gone from him, as he listened to the voice of his Unit Commander. "Very well, sir. Yes ... yes, I understand. At once!" He slammed off the switch and began dressing quickly. This was it! He'd been called back to duty at two in the morning. In thirty-six hours the Coast Fleet was to join the Chicago Fleet at a rendezvous a hundred miles in space, and there prepare in battle formation. "Wessell," he muttered. "I didn't think he'd really do it! Those poor Martians...." By the time he reached Government Spaceport, Ric's heart was bitter within him. How could the plodding _Valiant_ hope to stand against even two Units of Earth's Fleet? True, Wessell's move was in direct defiance of the Council's edict, but he was moving swiftly! Ric had never reached a decision as to what he, as a Captain in Earth's Fleet, would do if Wessell attempted to carry out his high-handed plan. He had been trained to obey orders implicitly and unquestioningly.