"Sure," she answered quickly. "Are you sure that there will be danger?" "Not too sure, or I wouldn't take you with me. Unless Murdoch has managed to build himself a couple of extra ships, we've got a chance in three that he'll be near one of the other two big spaceports. So we'll slide out of here unannounced and at a peculiar time of day. We'll load up with gravanol and take it all the way to the Station at 6-G." "He may have two or three ships," said Keg. "A man could cover all the standard space shipping in three, and he might not have too bad a time with two, especially if he were only out looking for those which weren't paid for. But, look, I wouldn't check out of the Terraland if I were you. Keep this under cover. Your heap is all ready to take sky from Canalopsis Spaceport and you can leave directly." "Hold off on your announcement as long as possible," Don asked Keg. Johnson smiled and nodded. "I'll give you time to get there anyway. But I've no control over what will be done at Northern Landing or Mojave. They may kick over the traces." "Arden, we're moving again," laughed Don. "Keg, ship us our duds as soon as this affair is cleared up." Channing scribbled a message on the back of Murdoch's letter. "Shoot this off to Walt Franks, will you? I won't wait for an answer, that'll take about fifty minutes, and by that time I'll have been in space for twenty." * * * * * They paused long enough to stop at the nurse's office at the spaceport for a heavy shot of gravanol and a thorough bracing with wide adhesive tape. Then they made their way to the storage space of the spaceport where they entered their small ship. Channing was about to send the power lever home when the figure of Keg Johnson waved him to stop. Keg ran up to the space lock and handed in a paper. "You're it," he said. "Good luck, Channings." It was another message from Hellion Murdoch. It said, bluntly: To Donald Channing, Director of Communications: Considerable difficulty has been experienced in transmitting messages to the interested parties. I desire a free hand in telling all who care, the particulars of my insurance. Since your Relay Station is in a position to control all communications between the worlds, I am offering you the option of either surrendering the Station to me, or of fighting me for its possession. I am confident that you will see the intelligent course; an unarmed station in space is no match for a fully armed and excellently manned cruiser. Your answer will be expected in five days. ALLISON (HELLION) MURDOCH. Channing snarled and thrust the power lever down to the last notch. The little ship leaped upward under 5-1/2-G, and was gone from sight in less than a minute. Arden shook her head. "What was that message you sent to Franks?" she asked.