"Why not? You never touched one before." "You go ahead and believe that," retorted the engineer. "Now, I'll just turn on the radio controls, check the batteries, and feed the bad news into the launching tubes. Watch!" Replacing the hatch and securing it, he thought out the procedure to use at the remote control panels. Turning on the screen above one of them produced a cross-haired image of the bulkhead directly in front of the near torpedo. He tried various manipulations until he had focused the view and caused it to sweep all around the interior of the turret. After idly watching himself and Truesdale appear on the screen, he returned the view to dead ahead, switched it off, and turned to the other panel. "I guess I can finish checking," he said. Truesdale clambered hastily down the ladder. Phillips shook his head. "Don't know what use he'll be," he muttered. "Too bad Brecken wouldn't listen. He at least ... oh, well!" He wondered whether he himself would stand up when the time came. What Varret had asked did not sound like much. Just a quick shot and watch them blow apart. What inhibitions made men black out rather than carry it through? It was not as if there were any hope for these people. Surely, it was obvious that to permit them, in their deranged state, to spread a catastrophic plague was inconceivable. But perhaps emotions were stronger than reason. "I'll find out pretty soon," he reflected. There was little more to do in the turret, except to run the torpedoes into the launching tubes and bring up a new pair in reserve. With that much done, he closed the hatch and climbed down the ladder. * * * * * In the control room, he found Donna and Truesdale peering into the screen. He crowded close to look over their shoulders. A small blob of light floated near the center of the view. "That it?" he asked. "Yes," answered Donna. "Just enough Mars-light to show it." "How near are we?" asked Phillips. "About a hundred and fifty miles. I have quite a large magnification, but they may spot us if they're alert. Are you ready to ... do something?" "Reasonably," said Phillips. "Where's Brecken?" "You probably _killed_ him!" Truesdale broke in accusingly. "I found a first-aid kit and gave him a shot," said Donna. "He has a nasty lump on the head, but he might sleep it off." Phillips was watching Truesdale. The youth was visibly nervous. Was it the thought of Brecken, the engineer wondered, or fear of what they were planning to do? Perhaps it would be best to clear the air now, before it was too late. "I guess you can handle it here, Donna," he said. "Truesdale and I will go to the turret and stand by." The youth shrank away. "No! I won't go up there again! You can't make me do this!" "Do what?" demanded Phillips. "It's _murder_! You both know it is! They won't even have any warning." "I _hope_ not," said Phillips drily. "They might get _us_!"