"I opened fire and blew them straight to hell." "But your men?" Stew grunted. "They had time to put one shot across my forward deck. Knocked out one gun. Killed a couple of good boys." He stood up, emptied his pipe and put it back into his mouth with bowl upside down. "Graham and his men came through on routine patrol just a few seconds after those damned ships blew up," he said. "If they had hit one of them space mines...." Freedman stared ahead of him at the smoke darkened walls. "That would have been tough," he said. "Well, the danger's over now." He stood up. "I think the Warrior Patrol is strong enough to protect the tunnel, don't you, Captain?" Captain Stew looked thoughtful. "_Strong_ enough," he said, "if the rats will come out in force and fight. Take my word for it, though, they'll make more attempts like the one last night. This isn't the...." Captain Stew was cut off suddenly by a mighty explosion that seemed to come from directly below. The mother-ship took a quick lurch that sent them both to the floor. Stew, in spite of his size, was the first to regain his feet. "What the...." They stumbled out onto the deck. The darkness was sliced with orange and red flame. The entire fleet, it seemed to Freedman, had opened fire at a dark object disappearing toward Vestena. He watched the object for fifteen seconds, then saw it dissolve in white hot flame. The guns became quiet. The decks of the mother-ship stopped shaking. Captain Stew howled something at the top of his voice and a gunner came running up. "Why in the name of the Seven Ton God of Hate didn't you call me?" Stew shouted. The soldier, grim faced, sooted by the cannon smoke, did his own share of cursing. "Didn't have time," he fumed. "One ship. It sneaked up to the tunnel mouth and didn't even show a light. It tossed out enough stuff to seal that tunnel for keeps. Captain Stew, there's a patrol ship due through from Parma in fifteen minutes. The tunnel's sealed tight." * * * * * Freedman knew the ship. _His_ ship was due, with Graham at the wheel. Freedman knew where the radio was on the mother-ship. He dashed down the deck. The radio man was flashing signals to Parma, warning all flights to wait for approval to come ahead. Freedman slammed himself down at the board. He plugged in the tunnel speaker. The power board showed zero. The mighty voice that could speak to anyone in the tunnel was dead. "The guns shook some wires loose," the control man said. "We'll try the electro-screen." They worked swiftly, trying to contact Jerry Graham. Finally his voice came on to the screen. He had a cheerful grin on his face. "Hey," he said, "what's wrong at tunnel head? I'm getting a whistle on the screen but I can't tune you in. Something wrong with your transmission." "For Heaven's sake, Jerry," Freedman shouted, "turn back, don't come through." Graham looked puzzled.