"They'll go dead and float," McPartland told Clemens, "and explode on contact." He clenched his big hands, and laughed harshly. "If we could only see it!"
"How long, Sir?" Reynolds asked quietly. "Will it be soon enough?"
"It's got to be soon enough," the Captain snapped.
"If Marshal Denton surrenders, Sir," Clemens pointed out, "and the light is restored, the outlaws would see the mines. They could—"
The Engineer's voice rang in his headset, and he winced. The others heard McTavish's words over the phone: "The light! The light, man! They hit one of the torpedoes!"
"We hope—" Clemens said.
Jon's glance swept to the forward screen. Starlight was cutting into the edges of the blackness. He watched that hated blackness shrink—shrink, until Terra floated blue and beautiful oh the view screen.
"Terra," Jon whispered, half to himself, "Whose Terra?"
The Lieutenant-Commander winced again as another voice rang in his ears, and he relayed without an attempt at pessimism: "Observation reports wreckage of ship, Sir, and presence of ninety-eight floating mines."
McPartland spoke into the phone himself: "Navigation. Course for Terra Base. Pass through mined area. Mister Reynolds would like a little practice—destroying the extra mines."