"But you said—you were going home," faltered Althora. "Will that always be home to you, Tommy?"
"Home, my dear," he whispered in words that reached her only, "is just where you are." His arm went about her to draw her toward the waiting ship. "There or here—what matter? We will be content."
Her eyes were misty as they smiled an answer. Within the ship that was lifting them, they turned to watch a city of opal light grow faintly luminous in the distance ... an L-shaped continent shrunk to tiny size ... and the nebulous vapors of the cloudland that enclosed this world folded softly about.
"We will lead," the voice of Blake was saying to an aide: "same formation that we used coming over. Give the necessary orders. But," he added slowly to himself, "the line will be shorter; there are fewer of us now."
An astronomical officer laid a chart before the commander. "We are on the course, sir," he reported.
"Full speed," Blake gave the order, and the thundering generator answered from the stern. The Space Fleet of America was going home.
(The End)
