"I want the Avenger loaded with space torpedoes, Sir. We have hundreds in the arsenal," McPartland explained. "I believe the logical place for the ether dissipating machinery would be on the far side of the moon. The outlaws and their Specialist friends could have worked there without fear of discovery."
Denton was already giving orders to another officer. "We'll have your ship loaded in minutes, Captain," he said. "You're right about the moon—we don't even patrol that side. You intend to—"
"To blast every square inch of its surface," Jon said fiercely, "from space. Once we destroy the machinery, and lift the blackness, we'll make short work of the plotters. The Avenger could do the job alone!"
"Good!" said the Marshal. "I hope your theory is sound. We haven't much time to experiment."
"No," said Almira suddenly. "Millions of people would die in rioting, accidents, from starvation—if light—if the ether isn't restored! We'd have to surrender before that happened."
"What would those millions gain," McPartland demanded savagely, "better than death—under the rule of outlaws and traitors?"
Almira pulled away from him. Her fingers slipped from his. "It is modern," she said coolly, "to preserve life, not throw it away in hopeless resistance! If you fail, we must surrender."
"I'm afraid she's right, Jon," Marshal Denton's voice added quietly.
Jon's angry retort stopped on his tongue, as a strong hand clamped his arm. McTavish whispered, somehow finding his Captain's ear: "We'll still have the Avenger, Sir, to fight in—let them surrender who will."