The two passed from the control room to the gleaming engines. Here the silent engine crew hearkened to the pulse of the powerful rocket engine, and kept steady eyes on the gauges that showed the compressed ray fuel was feeding steadily into the discharger. Out of the engine room they passed to the after gun station. Ross tapped one of the six-inch torpedoes, and slapped one of the slim three-inch cylinders in the number two torpedo rack. "We may need them all soon," he told the station chief. The gunnery chief's eyes widened. "We'll be ready, sir. Can you--is there anything I can tell the men about--Number Eight?" Ross shook his head. "She's gone," he said briefly. "Might have been an accidental explosion--but I don't think so. We're landing soon. Just be ready, that's all." He swung away to the forward gun station, saw that all hands were alert, and led the way back to the control room. Jorgens was pulling a sheet from the ray-type. He handed it over quickly. It was from the Moon. "Warning to Earth Fleet!" it began. "Peak One wrecked. Come in on Peak Four." And it was signed "Artana." Ross strode forward, his blue eyes blazing. "That's all, Jorgens?" "No, sir. More coming now." He waited until the flying keys had rattled out two more lines, then ripped the sheet off. This message told more. "Peak One wrecked by rebels who assassinated King Magnus. Signal systems at Peaks One, Two and Three destroyed. Greetings to Commander Ross. Artana." "Rebels!" exclaimed Ross. "Horta!" murmured Moore. The chief signalman caught the name. "That louse!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Pretended we couldn't teach him anything, the time we set up his systems for him. He's raising hell on the Moon, Commander?" Ross frowned. "That's just a guess, Jorgens," he reproved the signalman. "We only know this much for sure." He tapped the two sheets. "Huh! Ten to one that blue-nosed devil's in it," grumbled Jorgens, turning back to the ray-type. "Want to answer, Chief?" "Yes." Ross thought rapidly. He spoke in a low tone to Moore. "This might be a trap." Moore blinked. "You mean, Artana sent this to decoy us in to Four and smash us?" "Not Artana," corrected Ross. "Horta." "Gosh, yes!" Moore fumbled his glasses off. "I hadn't thought of that! No reason why Horta couldn't send a message in Artana's name!" "It's a possibility," Ross grinned sourly. He turned to Jorgens. "Send this: 'Greetings to Artana, Lord of the Peaks, from Ross. Coming in to Peak Four.' Repeat it, too, in case they aren't getting it any too clear." He wheeled to the helmsman, noted the speed was cut down now to six hundred miles, and nodded approval. "Change course for Peak Four." Moore laid an urgent hand on his chief's arm as the helmsman obeyed. "Say," Bruce, this is risky!" "Risky!" Ross laughed shortly. "Of course it's risky." "Wouldn't it be better to stand off and wait for more news?"