an a whispering breath. It came but
faintly through the heavily insulated walls, but Chet felt the lift of
the ship, and that joyous smile was crinkling about his eyes as the
silvery cylinder floated smoothly out of her shelter into the grip of
the wind.

His eyes were on an upper lookout, where clouds were driving away like a
curtain unrolled. More cloud banks were coming, but, for a time, the
heavens were clear where the great red hull of a rusty freighter hung
helpless beneath a red and silver Patrol Ship whose magnets held fast to
its prey.

* * * * *

There were other shapes in the markings of the Service that shot
slantingly down. Chet thought again of the carrion birds; then he saw
the gold star on the bow of a great cruiser and knew from that ship that
the Commander must be seeing their own below. Then he eased gently
forward on a tiny ball--forward and forward, while the compensating
floor of the control room swung up behind them and seemed thrusting up
with unbearable weight.

There were flashes from the cruisers above, and flashes of red on the
ice behind with fountains of shattered ice and rock; detonite works its
most terrible destruction on a surface that is brittle and hard. But of
what avail are detonite shells against a craft whose speed builds up to
something greater than the muzzle velocity of a shell?--a silvery craft
that sweeps out and out toward a black mountain range; then swings
slowly up in a curve of sheer beauty that bends into banked masses of
clouds--and ends.

But within the control room, Chet Bullard, no longer Master Pilot of the
World, but master, in all truth, of space, knew that his ship's flight
was far from ending. He turned to grin happily at his companion.

"We're off!" he shouted. "And it's thanks to you that we made it. If
Haldgren's alive he'll have you to thank; for it's you that has done the
trick so far!"

But Spud O'Malley answered soberly as he stared up and out into the
blackness of levels he had never seen.

"I've helped," he admitted; "I've helped a bit. But it's a divil of a
job of navigatin' that's ahead. And that's up to you, Chet Bullard; 'tis
no job for an old omadhaun like mesilf!"

Chet felt the lift of the Repelling Area as they shot through. Ahead was
the black velvet night that he knew so well; its silent emptiness was
pricked through with bright points of fire.

"I found the Dark Moon," he said slowly, "and that you