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“Well, we’ll hope you’re wrong.” I said, knowing in my heart that he was perfectly right. “Keep her on her present course, Mr. Correy.”

“Present course it is, sir!” snapped Correy. Then we bent together over the old-fashioned hooded television disk staring down silently and regretfully at the continent we had seen born, and which, with all its promise of interest and adventure, we must leave behind, in favor of a routine stop at the sub-base on Arpan.

I think both of us would have gladly given years of our lives to turn the Ertak’s blunt nose toward Hydrot, but we had our orders, and in the Service as it was in those days, an officer did not question his orders.

* * * * *

Correy mooned around the Arpan sub-base like a fractious child. Kincaide and I endeavored to cheer him up, and Hendricks, the Ertak’s young third officer, tried in vain to induce Correy to take in the sights.

“All I want to know,” Correy insisted, “is whether there’s any change in orders. You got the news through to Base, didn’t you, sir?”

“Right. All that came back was the usual ‘Confirmed.’ No comment.” Correy muttered under his breath and wandered off to glare at the Arpanians who were working on the Ertak. Kincaide shrugged and shook his head.

“He’s spoiling for action, sir,” he commented. Kincaide was my second officer; a cool-headed, quick-witted fighting man, and as fine an officer as ever wore the blue-and-silver uniform of the Service. “I only hope–message for you, sir.” He indicated an Arpanian orderly who had come up from behind, and was standing at attention.

“You’re wanted immediately in the radio room, sir,” said the orderly, saluting.

“Very well,” I nodded, returning the salute and glancing at Kincaide. “Perhaps we will get a change in orders after all.”

I hurried after the orderly, following him down the broad corridors of the administration building to the radio room. The commander of the Arpan sub-base was waiting there, talking gravely with the operator.

“Bad news, Commander,” he said, as I entered the room. “We’ve just received a report from the passenger liner Kabit, and she’s in desperate straits. At the insistence of the passengers, the ship made contact with Hydrot and is unable to leave. She has been attacked by some strange monster, or several of them–the message is badly confused. I thought perhaps you’d like to report the matter to Base yourself.”

“Yes. Thank you, sir. Operator, please raise Base immediately!”

* * * * *

The Kabit? That was the big liner we had spoken to the day before Correy and I had seen the new continent rise above the boundless waters of Hydrot. I knew the ship; she carried about eighteen hundred passengers, and a crew of seventy-five men and officers. Beside her, the Ertak was a pygmy; that the larger ship, so large and powerful, could be in trouble, seemed impossible. Yet–

“Base, sir,” said the operator, holding a radio-menore toward me.

I placed the instrument on my head.

“John Hanson, Commander of the Special Patrol ship Ertak emanating. Special report for Chief of Command.”

“Report, Commander Hanson,” emanated the Base operator automatically.

“Word has just been received at Arpan sub-base that passenger liner Kabit made contact with Hydrot, landing somewhere on the new continent, previously reported by the Ertak. Liner Kabit reports itself in serious difficulties, exact nature undetermined, but apparently due to hostile activity from without. Will await instructions.”

“Confirmed. Commander Hanson’s report will be put through to Chief of Command immediately. Stand by.”

I removed the radio-menore, motioning to the operator to resume his watch.

Radio communication in those days was in its infancy. Several persons who have been good enough to comment upon my previous chronicles of the Special Patrol Service, have asked “But, Commander Hanson! Why didn’t you just radio for assistance?” forgetting as young persons do, that things have not always been as they are to-day.