"Right. I'll see what we can do." "Good." One-tenth of a light-second away, an aide entered Stellor Downing's cabin. "Recognition, sir," he said. "Flight Commander Lane, from Venus. I thought you'd like to know." "What's his course?" clipped Downing. "Mojave." "Tell the tech to drop interferers. Tell navigator to correct course for blitz-landing, and tell pilot to streak for landing Circle One. Also broadcast crash-warning." "Right. We're going in if we have to collide to do it, sir?" "We'll have no collision. Lane wouldn't care to scrape any of his nicely painted little toys." "On the roger," said the aide, leaving immediately. Two flights of ships changed course. * * * * * Down on Mojave, in the control and operations tower, signal officer Clancey's face popped with beads of cold sweat. He sat down heavily in a chair and: "Tony! Get me the chief!" "What's wrong, sir?" asked Tony. "This desert ain't a big enough landing field to take on Lane and Downing. Not all at once." "Lane and Downing!" Tony streaked for the telephone. He called, and handed the phone to Clancey, who plugged it into his switchboard, putting it on his own headset so that he could hear both the chief and the operations. "Chief. Look, this is too hot to handle. Lane and Downing are both heading for Mojave." "I know." "Do you?" asked Clancey sarcastically. "They're heading for Mojave. They're racing for Number One. And they're due to arrive within three or four milliseconds of one another!" "Hell's Rockets!" exploded the chief. "Get 'em on the air and tell 'em they're under orders." "There isn't any air. One of 'em dropped interferers." "Official?" "Unofficial." "O.K. Record the fact and then go out and watch. It's out of your hands if they can't hear you. As long as you have a record of interference it's not your cookie. It belongs to them." "Mind if I head for a bomb-shelter?" grinned Clancey. "Oh, they're both smart. That's one fight that never hit an innocent bystander." "--yet," added Clancey. "Well--?" "It might be the first time I died, too," objected Clancey. "You don't want to live forever, do you?" "Wouldn't mind." "Nuts. There must be something good about dying. Everybody does it." "But only one; never again." "Well, play it your way. I sort of wish I could be there to watch, too." "Just tell mother I died game. So long, chief. I hear music in the air right now, and hell will pop directly." * * * * * Like twin, high-velocity jets of water, the two space flights came together, rebounded off of their individual barrier-layers and mingled in a jarring maze of whirling ships. In a shapeless pattern they whirled, and they might have whirled shapelessly all the way to Mojave, except for one item.