Oh, why, he wondered, wouldn't Terrans learn? An ancient leader of Terra's nationalist era had said it perfectly for them. Speak softly, he had said, but carry a big stick! Why wouldn't they listen? He shook his head and left the Control Tower wearily. "What's eating him?" asked the relief. "He's just sent Blue Three into the Uranus quadrant," replied Reilly. The relief gave a low whistle and turned to look out over the earthlit moonscape. "Too bad." * * * * * Hartnett caught the Commander's eye as he worked at the control board. "Sorry to crowd you like this, Mr. Scott," he said. "It's nothing at all, sir. It's a pleasure to have you aboard." Even as he said it, Scott realized how stupid it must sound. Of course it crowded him to have Hartnett aboard and it annoyed him being the second ranking officer on his own ship. Commodore Hartnett smiled at the Commander's words. There was hardly anything else he could say, poor devil. Rank has its privileges, he thought. But he said: "Glad you feel that way," and fell silent watching Scott and the Quartermaster guide the ship through the first stages of acceleration. Scott felt he should say something more, but he wasn't at all sure just what. Finally he said, "We've only an hour or so more of acceleration, sir. If there's anything you want tied down in your cabin, you'd best notify Mr. Ward. The _Darkside_ has no gravitators." "The cabin will be in order, Mr. Scott," replied Hartnett casually, "My staff and I are all destroyer men." Scott cursed himself for an idiot and mumbled an apology, but the Commodore had let the incident pass with a half hidden smile and was inspecting the orbital calculators at the far wing of the Control panel. The voice of Lieutenant Morse, Astrogation Officer, saved Scott any further embarassment. The communicator buzzed and Scott closed the switch. "Control here!" he snapped, a bit too crisply. "Astrogation. We'll be at the boundary of our inner patrol zone at 2335 Sidereal, sir." Scott looked over at Hartnett. "Any orders, sir?" The Commodore shook his head. "Just have the other ships maintain visual contact. Particularly the _Artemis_. The _Lysander_ can take the rear position. Have me called in my cabin if anything comes up before then. See you in the wardroom at dinner. Carry on, Mr. Scott." He left Scott feeling sorry for his friend, Tom Drew, who commanded Blue Three's lame duck, the beloved _Artemis_. * * * * * Striding down the ramp, the Commodore came to the main gun-deck and headed aft, past the banks of five inchers and torpedo tubes that lined the inner shell. The gun crews stood respectfully as he walked past them and returned young Blake's sharp salute. Hartnett restrained a smile and continued down to the cabin deck.