"That chart will have to be overhauled," murmured the captain. "If it's gone wrong...." "What about this planet? It's the only one around this star," put in Kendall, jerking a thumb in its general direction. "Head toward it; we may as well give it the once-over." The huge ship pursued its unvarying course toward the approaching star. At a single light-year away, they decelerated, slowed down. Riding the strange eka-gravity waves, the little-known carrier-waves for light and gravity which seemed to travel as fast in relation to light as light in relation to sound, this craft of the Thirtieth Century was able to accomplish what had for centuries been believed unachievable. They approached until at last the gravital drag clutched the ship, started to draw it in toward that vast, fiery globe spurting forth countless tons of disintegrated matter per second, emanating energy inconceivable. Yet, withal, a small star, smaller than Sol and quite inconspicuous as stars go. As they drifted, Broster and Seaward examined the space-chart thoroughly. But in vain; nothing could be found out of order: no short circuits, no tubes needing replacement. It was in perfect shape, but ... it refused to light a white speck in its black field for the near planet. They watched the planet grow larger, slowly made out surface details. A ruddy world, bathed entirely in red light, although the star around which it circled was white. Crimson clouds floated in masses of carmine seas and necine land-masses. The glow of the red world shone in through the stella-quartzite ports, throwing a weird, bloody glare on everything. "This is a helluva world," growled Kendall. "You'd go nuts there after awhile." Seaward nodded. "Quite so. Red is a color that acts to irritate those who look at it overlong. I wouldn't advise staying on this world for more than a few minutes. We could easily go mad were we forced to remain here so much as a day." "We'll land, anyway, and look around. If--" Broster was cut off abruptly as the shrill scream of the alarm pierced his line of thought. "What the devil is that?" The sound of running feet from the far back of the ship came to their ears, then the fourth member of the crew streaked into the control room. "Space-ships approaching us!" Arundell shouted. "Didn't you spot them?" Broster wheeled around to the chart. Nothing indicated; according to it, there was no planet ahead of them, no space-ships behind them. He muttered something then hurried across to the side ports, swung out the periscopic plates, stared anxiously to their rear. There were at least a dozen of the red bodies moving along in their wake. Large, all of them, and near. Ships almost as great as the _Astralite_, ships that looked dangerous. "They're close," he grated, "too damn close. I don't like it." "Neither did I. I was wondering why you didn't do something when I saw them in the port," Arundell exclaimed.