mic
loose."

"I'll take my chances with it," said Brecken. "You're supposed to know
something about piloting. Now get us on a curve for Mars, an' be snappy
about it!"

Donna turned desperately to Phillips.

"Why not look over the ship," the engineer suggested, "before we blast
off on half our jets? We can make up our minds when we see what we have
for fuel and weapons."

Brecken opened his mouth to object, but was smitten by an unpleasant
thought. "Suppose they didn't leave us enough fuel to make Mars!"

"We can find out soon enough," said Phillips, leading the way to the
door.

They trooped down the corridor on his heels, past the few closet-like
compartments set aside for living quarters. It was a single-deck ship,
with storage compartments above and below for fuel, oxygen, and other
necessities. The corridor was liberally supplied with handrails,
apparently in case of failure of the artificial gravity system.

About halfway to the end, another passage crossed the fore-and-aft one,
and a few steps farther was a ladder. This extended up and down a
vertical well, which in space amounted to a second cross corridor.
Phillips was right when he guessed that the door beyond opened into the
rocket room.

The others were bored by the power plant of the ship. The engineer,
however, could not repress a thrill at once more standing surrounded by
the gauges, valves, and pumps with which he had formerly lived. He
strode about, examining and comprehending such appliances as seemed new
since his last service in space.

"How about it?" demanded Brecken. "Can you handle it?"

"Sure," answered Phillips confidently. "Mostly automatic anyway."

"Then we can get movin' whenever we want?"

"I suppose so. The tanks are nearly full; let's find those space
torpedoes the old man mentioned."

"Maybe it won't hurt, at that," grumbled Brecken.

* * * * *

He led the way out, but paused indecisively. Phillips stepped past him
and considered the cross passages near the midpoint of the corridor.
Those in the plane of the control room deck probably led to port and
starboard airlocks, he reasoned, so the others might lead to the torpedo
turrets.

He went to the vertical well and started up the ladder, hearing the
others follow. At the top, he was confronted by a hatch with a red
danger sign. Glancing about, he located the gauges that reported the air
pressure beyond. Normal.

"Make a little room,"