"Could they be the relationship between his own fleet and the home
planet?" said Phyfe.
"More likely it would be the bearings of the Dragboran fleet in
relation to the Sirenians. In any case, such figures would be a clue
to the location of the worlds, because they would be related to
their Galactic references. That's the catch, though, finding those
references. To us, they would be entirely arbitrary. But if this is a
log, it may give the location of the planets and their Galaxy that we
can identify. If we can work out the changes in astronomical positions
that take place in five hundred thousand years."
He took the roll from the machine and examined it more closely. "It's
almost hopeless to get any more out of this. Is there any other
specimen that was found in the same locality?"
Phyfe checked the records and shook his head. "This was found stuck to
a completely fused mass of iron, apparently part of the ship in which
it lay when the Dragbora struck. We may as well send it to the lab for
restoration. If it becomes possible to read it, it may help."
* * * * *
In four hours the duplicate record came back, restored as completely
as possible, but there were long blanks which were un-intelligible.
Underwood turned up the maximum radiation which helped bring out the
characters, but also burned them rapidly away if left on too long.
Suddenly he caught his breath.
"Listen to this: 'Our bearings are now 6749367 Sirenia, having traveled
84 _tre-doma_, Sirenia. In two _te-ela_ we land. Perhaps for the last
time--'"
"That's it!" Phyfe exclaimed.
"All but the key to their co-ordinate system," said Underwood. "Do you
see any possibility of interpreting it, Dreyer?"
The semanticist shook his head. "It must be based upon entirely
arbitrary reference points as ours is. I see no hope of interpretation
with the figures we now have. Perhaps our astronomers could suggest
something."
Masterson and Ebert, the two astronomers included in the group, were
called in from their task of preparing star charts of the Universe of
half a million years ago. They considered the facts Underwood presented.
Masterson said, "I'm afraid the bearings given by the Sirenians won't
be much help. The distance is of value. That shows us that we have a
shell at a radial distance of approximately ninety million light years
from the Solar System. At best, then, we have this shell, which may be
considered as several thousand light years thick, in which to search.
If we could find even approximately the proper sector of this shell, we
might soon isolate the possible planetary systems to which the Dragbora
and Sirenians belonged, but without being able to narrow down the
possible sectors of that shell, it becomes an impossible task. Just a
single reference to some Island Universe that we might identify would
do it, perhaps."
Underwood and Dreyer had to agree. They had gained something; if they
could just obtain one more scrap of astronomical information, it might
give them the key.
The search for that key went on among the records and artifacts. The
repository itself was searched inch by inch--and still almost none of
the artifacts found there could be identified or explained. Apart from
the repository, most of the material they had was native to the planet
on which the Sirenians landed.
By the eighth day Mason's crew had managed to construct equipment
for throwing a force shell about the _Lavoisier_, and Underwood
breathed considerably easier. They could travel indefinitely behind
the protection of that impenetrable shield. Data for navigation was
obtained through almost infinitesimal pilot units set outside the shell
and connected through hair-fine leads running through equally small
holes in it.
* * * * *
Underwood was proud of this accomplishment. With their limited
facilities for manufacture, it was little short of a miracle that they
had been able to turn out the mass of complex equipment in so short a
time. Somehow, it seemed symbolic to him, as if there were definite
laws favoring their success--the success of Earth.
And then on that same eighth day, when they were almost beyond the
limit at which such small, dark objects could be identified, the
lookout observer on duty sounded a warning to the control center.
"Fleet departing from Earth. Twenty warships. Corius type. Apparent
course 169 46 12 and 48 19 06. Velocity--"
Underwood looked at Phyfe, who was beside him at the time. "This is
it," he said.
The warning went throughout the ship and the men looked up from their
tasks a moment, then resumed with grimmer eyes and firmer mouths.
Mason's group was working on the problem that had baffled armament men
for generations, the problem of firing the Atom Stream through the
force shell. Underwood had little confidence that they would solve the
problem, but as it was they had no offense whatever.
As Underwood and Phyfe moved to the navigator's table to check their
course and that of the pursuing fleet, he said, "I wonder how they
spotted us. Our echo screen couldn't have broken down. It must have
been sheer astronomical luck that put them on our trail."
Lieutenant Wilson, the navigator, frowned as he pointed to their
course charts. "I don't believe that fleet is following us," he said.
"If they are, they're going the long way around, because their course
at present is heading more than fourteen degrees from ours."
* * * * *
Phyfe and Underwood studied the trajectories, projecting them into
space, estimating the rate at which the fleet would approach,
considering its superior velocity and the divergent courses.
"It's easy enough to determine whether they're following or not,"
said Underwood. "We could simply change our own course by ninety
degrees. Perhaps they haven't detected us after all, but are merely
shooting blind in the general direction we might be, based only on the
observations of the police as we took off. In that case, they may hope
merely to approach near enough to obtain adequate radar echoes."
Dreyer had heard the news over the interphone and came into the
navigation cell. He overheard Underwood's last statement.
"Demarzule would not send out a mere fishing expedition," he said
flatly.
"Then what's the answer?" Underwood asked, but in his own mind he was
evolving a wild theory. He wondered if Dreyer would confirm it.
"If we were merely going blindly into space to escape, Demarzule would
have no concern with us, but if we were going to a destination where
our arrival would be malevolent to him--then he would be concerned."
Underwood's eyes lighted. He read in Dreyer's face the same conclusions
he had reached.
"And Demarzule would send his fleet not after us particularly, but to
that destination to see that we didn't reach it. Therefore, this fleet
is headed for the Dragboran world!"
"Not so fast!" Phyfe objected. "Demarzule would be assuming that we
know where it is. He has no basis for such an assumption."
Dreyer shook his head. "He doesn't know whether we know the way or not.
He knows only that it must be guarded from any possible exploitation by
us. If we don't go there, we are no menace to him. If we do, the fleet
is there to take care of us."