Ten minutes went by. The receiver was silent save for a constant
crackle of cosmic static.
Fifteen minutes passed.
"Nuts," said Channing. "Could it be that we aren't quite hitting them?"
"Could be," admitted Franks. "Jim, waggle that beam a bit, and slowly.
When we hit 'em, we'll know it because we'll hear 'em a half-hour
later. Take it easy and slowly. We've used up thirteen of our fifty-odd
hours. We can use another thirty or so just in being sure."
Jim began to make the beam roam around the invisible spot in the sky.
He swept the beam in microscopic scans, up and down, and advancing the
beam by one half of its apparent width at the receiver for each sweep.
Two more hours went by. The receiver was still silent of reflected
signals.
It was a terrific strain, this necessary wait of approximately a
half-hour between each minor adjustment and the subsequent knowledge of
failure. Jim gave up the 'scope because of eyestrain, and though Don
and Walt had confidence that the beam-control man was competent to use
the cross-ruled screen to keep Mars on the beam, Jim was none too sure
of himself, and so he kept checking the screen against the 'scope.
At the end of the next hour of abject failure, Walt Franks began
to scribble on a pad of paper. Don came over to peer over Franks'
shoulder, and because he couldn't read Walt's mind, he was forced to
ask what the engineer was calculating.
"I've been thinking," said Franks.
"Beginner's luck?" asked Don with a wry smile.
"I hope not. Look, Don, we're moving on the orbit of Venus, at Venus'
orbital velocity. Oh, all right, say it scientifical: We're all three,
Venus, Sol, and Venus Equilateral, at the corners of an equilateral
triangle, and will forever remain, barring outside influences. So
that means we're running around a common point, the common center of
gravity--which can be construed to mean that we are circling Sol at
Venus' speed, or twenty-one point seven five miles per second. Now our
beam is curved because of the angular velocity, just like a swung hose.
However, it hits the _Empress of Kolain_ at an angle as though we were
a couple of thousand feet away. That's fine. But the reflected wave
starts back at that angle, right back through the beam, remember?"
"I get it!" shouted Don in glee. "Thirty-two seconds at twenty-one
point seven miles per second gives us seven hundred and sixteen miles
to the rear. Walt, get your mechanical gang to hitch us up a couple of
mirrors--say a yard in diameter. Put 'em so that they can be used as
a range finder. Set the angles for seven hundred and sixteen miles; a
three-mile base line should do it, I'm sure; and then we'll shoot us a
skeeter out there with a detector. Get carving!"
"Shall Jim stop?" asked Walt.
"How long will it take to rig us a range finder?"
"Hour, God willing."
"Jim, get a relief for a half-hour. We'll keep the beam centered. Then
he can take over when the going gets critical again."
* * * * *
The mounting of two mirrors at either end of Venus Equilateral gave
little trouble. It was the amount of detailed work that consumed the
time. There were girders to be cut and welded together. The hundred-odd
doorways that centered on the axis of Venus Equilateral had to be
opened and the clear, light path had to be cleared of packing cases,
supplies, and in a few cases machinery had to be partially dismantled
to clear the way. A good portion of Venus Equilateral's personnel of
three thousand were taken off of their jobs, haled out of bed for the
emergency, or made to work through their play period, depending upon
which shift they worked.
The machinery could be replaced, the central storage places could
be refilled, and the many doors closed again. But the central room
containing the air plant was no small matter. Channing took a sad
look at the lush growth of Martian saw grass and sighed. It was
growing nicely now, they had nurtured it into lusty growth from mere
sprouts in trays and it was as valuable--precisely--as the lives of
the three thousand-odd that lived, loved, and pursued happiness on
Venus Equilateral. It was a youthful plant, a replacement brought in
a tearing hurry from Mars to replace the former plant that was heaved
into the incinerator by a well-meaning but ignorant man who thought
that an air plant must be huge, moving levers, whirling gears, bubbling
retorts, and a sprig of parsley.
Channing closed his eyes and shuddered in mock horror. "Chop out the
center," he said.
The "center" meant the topmost fronds of the long blades; their roots
were embedded in the trays that filled the cylindrical floor. Some
of the blades would die--Martian saw grass is tender in spite of the
wicked spines that line the edge--but this was an emergency with a
capital E.
Cleaning the centermost channel out of the station was no small job.
The men who put up Venus Equilateral had no idea that someone would
be using the station for a sighting tube some day. The many additions
to the station through the years made the layout as regular and as
well-planned as the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky.
So for hour upon hour, men swarmed in the central, weightless channel
and wielded acetylene torches, cutting steel. Not in all cases, but
there were many. In three miles of storage rooms, a lot of doors and
bulkheads can be thrown up without crowding the size of the individual
rooms.
Channing spoke into the microphone at the North end of Venus
Equilateral, and said: "Walt? We've got a sight. Can you see?"
"Yop," said Walt. "And say, what happens to me after that bum guess?"
"That was quite a stretch, Walt. That 'hour, God willing,' worked
itself into four hours, God help us."
"O.K., so I was optimistic. I thought that those doors were all on the
center line."
"They are supposed to be, but they aren't huge and a little
misalignment can do a lot of light-stopping. Can we juggle mirrors now?"
"Sure as shooting. Is Freddy out in the flitter?"
"He says he is guessing that he is at the right distance now. I'm set
at a right angle now"--Don began to fumble through a volume of Vega's
"Logarithms and Trigonometrical Functions"--"eighty-nine degrees,
forty-five minutes, and forty seconds. Can you set your mirror that
close?"
"Nope," answered Walt without a qualm. "Not a chance. I can hit it
about ten seconds plus or minus, though."
"Make it plus nothing, minus twenty," said Don. "I was playing by ear,
this time on account of my slipstick is busted."
"Such a lot of chatter," returned Walt, "don't mean a thing. While
you've been gabbing about your prowess with a busted slide rule I've
been setting my glass. You can cook with glass now."
"Brother," groaned Channing, "if I had one of those death rays that
the boys were crowing about back in the days before space hopping
became anything but a bit of fiction, I'd scorch your ears--or burn
'em off--or blow holes in you--or disintegrate you--depending on
what stories you read. I haven't heard such a lousy pun in seventeen
years--Hey, Freddy, you're a little close. Run out a couple of miles,
huh?--and, Walt, I've heard some doozies."
There was a click in the phones and a cheerful voice chimed in with:
"Good morning, fellows? What's with the Great Quest?"