"If Commander Raws could only see us now!" said Bull Mike, boyishly delighted by a sense of freedom. "If he could, he'd order us all into confinement," Sukune reminded him. "Eh, Neil?" Before them hung the full moon. Toward this they laid their course and, after twelve hours' flight, they slowed down to drift like a vagrant bit of thistledown above the silent, dead valleys and mountain ranges. Once they dropped down and rested on the ashy surface of the satellite. In a few moments they were able to appreciate the depressed spirits that afflicted the occasional explorers of the lunar wilderness. For, despite the heavenly-aspiring peaks, the abysmal depths, the far-reaching plains, there was a certain sameness about the moon's scenery. They could see no movement save the shadow of their own craft sliding along beneath them. No green of grass, no brilliant color of flowers showed. No creatures scampered, crept or flew. There was not so much as a heat-flurry in the atmosphere--for there was no atmosphere. Nothing but the glaring white of sun-drenched rock, the inky black of airless shade. "I wouldn't live here for all the money in St. Louis," said Bull Mike. "As far as that goes, I couldn't." "I don't see why not," argued Sukune. "Mars' two moons are smaller and rockier than this, and haven't any more air, water or natural comfort. Yet the Martians have built cities under glass domes; pumped in artificial air, and settled right down to keep house." "That's because they're crowded at home," was Bull Mike's rebuttal. "Well, there's room enough on Earth for me just now. Plenty of girls to keep me company and wine to keep me healthy and excitement to keep me occupied." They gladly left the Moon behind and continued their journey. They passed the time by eating part of the provisions they had brought along, by observing the heavens and by working practise problems in astronautics and space-maneuvers. At last they idled, a little more than half a million miles from Earth--twenty hours by direct space flight at top speed. Neil was at the television. Suddenly he started violently and gestured to his comrades. "Look here!" he cried. "A ship!" "A patrol scout from the army," groaned Bull Mike. "Now we're in for it." "That's no army craft!" declared Sukune when he saw the image. "Look at the lines of its hull, see that emblem on the side--_it's an armed Martian scout!_" "You're right," said Neil. "It's just about on top of us, too. Let's shake on out of here." * * * * * Sukune jumped to the control board and began to strike a combination of keys. As quickly as possible he turned the nose of their ship back toward Earth. A glance through a port showed the Martian already within sight of the naked eye. From the enemy ship came a sudden streak of flame. Desperately Sukune rattled the keys on the board. The Terrestrial craft writhed to one side, barely escaping the explosion of a roving bomb.