"Right," said Tim. "And according to Jimmy, they may be trying to see how we react after a sign of the _Mardinex_'s lifeship pattern. They're capable of duplicating that pattern, you know." "We're going in there to win or lose," said Ben soberly. "No matter how they take it, we're ready. Tim, put a remote arming fuse in one torp and launch it right now. If this is trouble, we'll butter our chances. If this is not trouble, we'll keep the arming signal running and retrieve the torpedo. Right?" "Received. Want it set to remain inert as long as the arming signal is on?" "That's the order." The destroyer bucked slightly and Tim said: "She's off. Any time anybody thinks we should let her roar, poke the arming button on the panels." Instinctively, Ben Williamson glanced at the minute pilot light that gleamed faintly just above a button on the ordnance panel. It was the left-most button of a row of twenty. By reaching out of his chair with the right hand and leaning back so that his spine was arched deeply, Williamson could touch the arming control. He nodded, and as he watched, the panel below winked on, indicating that the turret was ready for action. Beside it, the winking lights indicated that his orders to load up the torpedo tubes had been conveyed to the tube crew. A string of varicolored lights indicated a series of interferers and space bombs that were being armed in the bomb bay. Williamson smiled. Tim Monahan was an excellent ordnance officer; one who rode the turret himself and directed the fire controls from there. "Executive to Pilot: What's our position?" "Twenty minutes from object." "Ring the Action Alarm. Who knows--we may see action!" "Turretman to Executive: Object sighted. Definitely a lifeship. Doesn't look dangerous. Shall we take a chance?" "Executive to Communications: Answer 'em on their band." "Received. Ben, they went off the air as soon as I opened my transmitter." There was some period of silence. "Communications to Executive: Identifies himself as Guy Maynard. Says alone and safe. Cut emitter to prevent curiosity on the part of Martian observers who may be listening." "Good fellow. He should be an Intelligence Officer. Tell him to prepare for transshipping." "He says that after a year in that sardine can, it can't be too quick. Want him to jump?" "Can he put on any speed?" "His suit is still in partial operation. He can rev up about a G." "Tell him to dive. We'll scoop him without trying to match speed." * * * * *