“It not only could have, it did,” replied Crane, turning the bar until it again pointed parallel with the object-compass which bore upon the Earth. “Look at the board. The angle has been changed through nearly half a circumference. We couldn’t carry gyroscopes heavy enough to counteract that force.”
“But they were heavier there—Oh, sure, you’re right. It’s mass, not weight, that counts. But we sure are in one fine, large jam now. Instead of being halfway back to the Earth we’re—where are we, anyway?”
They made a reading on an object-compass focused upon the Earth. Seaton’s face lengthened as seconds passed. When it had come to rest, both men calculated the distance.
“What d’you make it, Mart? I’m afraid to tell you my result.”
“Forty-six point twenty-seven light-centuries,” replied Crane, calmly. “Right?”
“Right, and the time was 11:32 p.m. of Thursday, by the chronometer there. We’ll time it again after a while and see how fast we’re traveling. It’s a good thing you built the ship’s chronometers to stand any kind of stress. My watch is a total loss. Yours is, too?”
“All of our watches must be broken. We will have to repair them as soon as we get time.”
“Well, let’s eat next! No human being can stand my aching void much longer. How about you, Dot?”
“Yes, for Cat’s sake, let’s get busy!” she mimicked him gaily. “Doctor DuQuesne’s had dinner ready for ages, and we’re all dying by inches of hunger.”
The wanderers, battered, bruised, and sore, seated themselves at a folding table, Seaton keeping a watchful eye upon the bar and upon the course, while enjoying Dorothy’s presence to the full. Crane and Margaret talked easily, but at intervals. Save when directly addressed. DuQuesne maintained silence—not the silence of one who knows himself to be an intruder, but the silence of perfect self-sufficiency. The meal over, the girls washed the dishes and busied themselves in the galley. Seaton and Crane made another observation upon the Earth, requesting DuQuesne to stay out of the “engine room” as they called the partially-enclosed space surrounding the main instrument board, where were located the object-compasses and the mechanism controlling the attractor, about which DuQuesne knew nothing. As they rejoined DuQuesne in the main compartment, Seaton said:
“DuQuesne, we’re nearly five thousand light-years away from the Earth, and are getting farther at the rate of about one light-year per minute.”
“I suppose that it would be poor technique to ask how you know?”
“It would—very poor. Our figures are right. The difficulty is that we have only four bars left—enough to stop us and a little to spare, but not nearly enough to get back with, even if we could take a chance on drifting straight that far without being swung off—which, of course, is impossible.”
“That means that we must land somewhere and dig some copper, then.”
“Exactly.”
“The first thing to do is to find a place to land.”
Seaton picked out a distant star in their course and observed it through the spectroscope. Since it was found to contain copper in notable amounts, all agreed that its planets probably also contained copper.
“Don’t know whether we can stop that soon or not,” remarked Seaton as he set the levers, “but we may as well have something to shoot at. We’d better take our regular twelve-hour tricks, hadn’t we, Mart? It’s a wonder we got as far as this without striking another snag. I’ll take the first trick at the board—beat it to bed.”
“Not so fast, Dick,” argued Crane, as Seaton turned toward the engine-room: “It’s my turn.”
“Flip a nickel,” suggested Seaton. “Heads I get it.”
Crane flipped a coin. Heads it was, and the worn-out party went to their rooms, all save Dorothy, who lingered after the others to bid her lover a more intimate good night.
Seated beside him, his arm around her and her head upon his shoulder, Dorothy exclaimed:
“Oh, Dicky, Dicky, it is wonderful to be with you again! I’ve lived as many years in the last week as we have covered miles!”
Seaton kissed her with ardor, then turned her fair face up to his and gazed hungrily at every feature.
“It sure was awful until we found you, sweetheart girl. Those two days at Wilson’s were the worst and longest I ever put in. I could have wrung Martin’s cautious old neck!
“But isn’t he a wiz at preparing for trouble? We sure owe him a lot, little dimpled lady.”
Dorothy was silent for a moment, then a smile quirked at one corner of her mouth and a dimple appeared. Seaton promptly kissed it, whereupon it deepened audaciously.
“What are you thinking about—mischief?” he asked.
“Only of how Martin is going to be paid what we owe him,” she answered teasingly. “Don’t let the debt worry you any.”
“Spill the news, Reddy,” he commanded, as his arm tightened about her.
She stuck out a tiny tip of red tongue at him.
“Don’t let Peggy find out he’s a millionaire.”
“Why not?” he asked wonderingly, then he saw her point and laughed:
“You little matchmaker!”
“I don’t care, laugh if you want to. Martin’s as nice a man as I know, and Peggy’s a real darling. Don’t you let slip a word about Martin’s money, that’s all!”
“She wouldn’t think any less of him, would she?”
“Dick, sometimes you are absolutely dumb. It would spoil everything. If she knew he was a millionaire she would be scared to death—not of him, of course, but because she would think that he would think that she was chasing him, and then of course he would think that she was, see? As it is, she acts perfectly natural, and so does he. Didn’t you notice that while we were eating they talked together for at least fifteen minutes about her father’s invention and the way they stole the plans and one thing and another? I don’t believe he has talked that much to any girl except me the last five years—and he wouldn’t talk to me
