The Captain found his Engineer in the well of pitch about him. There was reassurance in the other's tense, firm shoulder. Together, they went through the port, and heard Reynolds shut it behind them.
A sharp rattle of explosions sounded in the distance, off to their left. "Man!" gasped McTavish, "that sounds like—"
"Like a machine-gun," finished his commander. "An old-fashioned explosive powder weapon. Ray guns are useless, of course, without ether."
"There's fighting," the Engineer cried eagerly. A single louder explosion came from the left. The sound hung in the air, muffled and distorted. "A grenade," McTavish added mechanically. "It was thrown into a building—you can tell by the echoes."
"The repair docks," Jon said. "The walls are thick enough."
"That's where the battleships are," the Engineer said dully, his excitement draining into apprehension. "Who's got them, and who's attacking? If the plotters have taken the docks and the fleet—"
"The fleet's useless," snapped the Captain, "in this blackness. The plotters can't man it anyway—they'll want to immobilize it, and keep it intact until they've won.
"It's the old arsenal I'm thinking about. We need that for—"
"Hist, man!" warned McTavish, suddenly. "There's someone near us."