The Chief grunted guttural Mohawk. His hands stirred on the panel for remote control of the drones he had to handle. "Crazy!" he growled. "Got it now, Joe. Fire when ready." "Okay, Mike?" A half-second pause. "Okay!" Joe pressed the firing-button for the take-off rockets. And he was slammed back into his acceleration chair again. But this was three gravities only. Pressed heavily against the acceleration cushions, he could perform the navigation for the fleet. He did. The mother-ship had to steer a true course, regardless of the vagaries of its rockets. The drones had simply to be kept in formation with it. The second task was simpler. But Joe was relieved, this time, of the need to report back instrument-readings. A telemetering device took care of that. The take-off rockets blasted and blasted and blasted. The mere matter of staying alive grew very tedious. The ordeal seemed to last for centuries. Actually it could be measured only in minutes. But it seemed millennia before the headphones said, staccato fashion: "_You are on course and will reach speed in fourteen seconds. I will count for you._" "Relays for rocket release," panted Joe. "Throw 'em over!" Three hands moved to obey. Joe could release the drive rockets on all seven ships at will. The voice counted: "_Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... cut!_" Joe pressed the master-key. The remnants of the solid-fuel take-off rockets let go. They flashed off into nothingness at unbelievable speed, consuming themselves as they went. There was again no weight. This time there was no resting. No eager gazing out the cabin ports. Now they weren't curious. They'd had over a month in space, and something like sixteen days back on Earth, and now they were back in space again. Mike and Haney and the Chief worked doggedly at their control boards. The radar bowls outside the cabin shifted and moved and quivered. The six drone ships showed on the screens. But they also had telemetering apparatus. They faithfully reported their condition and the direction in which their bows pointed. The radars plotted their position with relation to each other and the mother-ship. Presently Joe cast a glance out of a port and saw that the dark line of sunset was almost below. The take-off had been timed to get the ships into Earth's shadow above the area from which war rockets were most likely to rise. It wouldn't prevent bombing, of course. But there was a gadget.... Joe spoke into the microphone: "Reporting everything all right so far. But you know it." The voice from solid ground said, "_Report acknowledged._" The ships went on and on and on. The Chief muttered to himself and made very minute adjustments of the movement of one of his drones. Mike fussed with his. Haney regarded the controls of his drones with a profound calm.