Three weeks passed in the timeless limbo of second-order flight. Blast tubes silent, the _Cleopatra_ rode the curvature of space toward Eridanus. At eight and a half light years from Sol, the second-order was cut so that Bayne could get a star sight. As the lights of the celestial globe slowly retreated from their unnatural grouping ahead and astern, brilliant Sirius and its dwarf companion showed definite disks in the starboard ports. At a distance of 90,000,000 miles from the Dog Star, its fourteen heavy-gravity planets were plainly visible through the electron telescope. Strykalski and Ivy Hendricks stood beside Bayne in the dorsal blister while the astrogator sighted Altair through his polytant. His long, horse face bore a look of complete self-approbation when he had completed his last shot. "A perfect check with the plotted course! How's that for fancy dead reckoning?" he exclaimed. He was destined never to know the accolade, for at that moment the communicator began to flash angrily over the chart table. Bayne cut it in with an expression of disgust. "Is the Captain there?" demanded Celia Graham's voice excitedly. Strike took over the squawk-box. "Right here, Celia. What is it?" "Radar contact, sir! The screen is crazy with blips!" "Could it be window?" "No, sir. The density index indicates spacecraft. High value in the chlorine lines...." "Eridans!" cried Ivy. "What's the range, Celia?" demanded Strike. "And how many of them are there?" The sound of the calculator came through the grill. Then Celia replied: "Range 170,000 miles, and there are more than fifty and less than two hundred. That's the best I can do from this far away. They seem to have some sort of radiation net out and they are moving into spread formation." Strike cursed. "They've spotted us and they want to scoop us in with that force net! Damn that group-mind of theirs ... it makes for uncanny co-ordination!" He turned back to the communicator. "Cob! Are you on?" "Right here, Captain," came Cob Whitley's voice from the bridge. "Shift into second-order! We'll have to try and run their net!" "Yes, sir," Whitley snapped. "Communications!" called Strike. "Communications here." "Notify Luna Base we have made contact. Give their numbers, course, and speed!" Ivy could feel her heart pounding under her blouse. Her face was deadly pale, mouth pinched and drawn. This was the first time in battle for any of them ... and she dug her fingernails into her palms trying not to be afraid. Strykalski was rapping out his orders with machine-gun rapidity, making ready to fight his ship if need be ... and against lop-sided odds. But years of training were guiding him now. "Gun deck!" A feminine voice replied. "Check your accumulators. We may have to fight. Have the gun-pointers get the plots from Radar. And load fish into all tubes." "Yes, sir!" the woman rapped out. "Radar!" "Right here, Skipper!"