Scott paced furiously up and down the steel deck of the dark Control. Chavez sat before the panels, his saturnine face wreathed in demon-like curls of blue smoke from the short, black, Mexican cheroot he smoked so lovingly. "You should have heard him!" exclaimed Scott, "Standing there and calmly telling us that we are going to destroy the Cat fleet with the _Artemis_! Booby trap 'em, he says! Chav, I tell you he's gone looney!" Chavez shrugged and smoothed his hairline moustache. "Quien sabe?" "What the hell do you mean 'Quien sabe!' Are you trying to tell me you're thinking he can do it?" The Latin smiled, showing animal white teeth. "I understand he's done a lot of things that people said weren't possible. Personally, I should be very glad if he did what he says so we could all get back to Ley City. Amigo, I have a little friend back on Luna that is." He smiled dreamily and kissed his fingertips. "I think you're all going crazy. It's just having that man aboard." "Ah, Ah!" cautioned Chavez, "Remember all those beautiful silver stripes." "Well, damn the lot of you. I just hope we get the _Darkside_ back to Luna Base and your little...." He made an angry parody of Chavez's romantic gesture. "We'll get back, I think, Mr. Scott," said a casual voice from the Valve. The Commodore was standing in the arch, outlined against the ramp light. He stepped into Control and took a seat beside Chavez at the panels. Scott and Chavez maintained an embarrassed silence. Hartnett looked up to study the now receding solar disk through the tinted visiplate. The Flotilla was now heading once again for deep space. It was a few moments before Hartnett spoke. When he did, it was a command directed at Scott. "Mr. Scott, the Flotilla will land for certain necessary readjustments on Hyperion. See that the other vessels are properly notified." Then he rose and left the Control. Scott dropped unhappily into a chair. He looked at Chavez. "Well, Mr. Chavez. How do you think you will enjoy command of the _Darkside_?" Chavez laid a friendly hand on his commander's sleeve. "I don't think he'd take your ship from you just because...." "Skip it, Chav!" snapped Scott and he left the Control in peevish silence. * * * * * Sixty hours later Blue Three lay grounded in a jagged little valley on airless Hyperion. Spacesuited figures swarmed about the clustered ships transferring personnel from the _Artemis_ to the other ships, and rigging special television, remote control, and other apparatus in the _Artemis_.