nd the Chief worked doggedly at their control boards.
The radar bowls outside the cabin shifted and moved and quivered. The
six drone ships showed on the screens. But they also had telemetering
apparatus. They faithfully reported their condition and the direction in
which their bows pointed. The radars plotted their position with
relation to each other and the mother-ship.

Presently Joe cast a glance out of a port and saw that the dark line of
sunset was almost below. The take-off had been timed to get the ships
into Earth's shadow above the area from which war rockets were most
likely to rise. It wouldn't prevent bombing, of course. But there was a
gadget....

Joe spoke into the microphone: "Reporting everything all right so far.
But you know it."

The voice from solid ground said, "_Report acknowledged._"

The ships went on and on and on. The Chief muttered to himself and made
very minute adjustments of the movement of one of his drones. Mike
fussed with his. Haney regarded the controls of his drones with a
profound calm.

Nothing happened, except that they seemed to be falling into a
bottomless pit and their stomach-muscles knotted and cramped in purely
reflex response to the sensation. Even that grew tedious.

The headphones said, "_You will enter Earth's shadow in three minutes.
Prepare for combat._"

Joe said drily, "We're to prepare for combat."

The Chief growled. "I'd like to do just that!"

The phrasing, of course, was intentional--in case enemy ears were
listening. Actually, the small fleet was to use a variant on the tin can
shield which protected the Platform. It would be most effective if
visual observation was impossible. The fleet was seven ships in very
ragged formation. Most improbably, after the long three-gravity
acceleration, they were still within a fifty-mile globe of space. Number
Four loitered behind, but was being brought up by judicious bursts of
steering-rocket fire. Number Two was some distance ahead. The others
were simply scattered. They went floating on like a group of meteors.
Out the ports, two of them were visible. The others might be picked out
by the naked eye--but it wasn't likely.

Drone Two, far ahead and clearly visible, turned from a shining steel
speck to a reddish pin-point of light. The red color deepened. It winked
out. The sunlight in the ports of the mother-ship turned red. Then it
blacked out.

"Shoot the ghosts," said Joe.

The three drone-handlers pushe