interrupted him. "Take a look around and see that everything's
shipshape. Be sure the port and starboard watches are chosen.
Everything's been arranged, already, but in dealing with human
beings there's bound to be a little confusion. They aren't
automata--unfortunately. And, Major!"

"Yes, sir?" answered Bohannan, who despite his familiarity with the
Master was now constrained to formality. Resentment sounded in his
voice.

"Send Brodeur to relieve me, in about ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," repeated the Celt. For a moment, standing there in the
gloom of the pilot-house, he eyed the dim, watchful figure at the
wheel. Then he turned, slid the door, and disappeared.

As he walked aft, past the aluminum ladder that led to the upper
galleries, he muttered with dudgeon:

"He rates us two for a nickel, that's plain enough--plain as paint!
Well, all right. I'll stand for it; but there may be others that--"

He left the words unfinished, and went to do the Master's bidding.

Alone, the Master smiled. Wine of victory pulsed in his blood and
brain. Power lay under his hand, that closed with joy upon it. Power
not only over this hardy Legion, but power in perspective over--

"God, if I can do it!" he whispered, and fell silent. His eyes rested
on the instruments before him, their white dials glowing under the