[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction, February 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Thirty hours out of Mars for Terra, the _Solar Queen_ sped along her
silent, invisible course. No longer was she completely severed from
all connection with the planets of the inner system; the trick cams
that controlled the beams at Venus Equilateral kept the ship centered
by sheer mathematics. It was a poor communications system, however,
since it was but a one-way job. Any message-answering would have to be
done thirty hours later when the ship made planetfall, and the regular
terminal office of Interplanetary Communications could be employed.
In spite of her thirty hours at 2-G, which brought her velocity to
eleven hundred miles per second, the beam-director cams did their
job well enough. It was only in extreme cases of course-changing to
dodge meteors that the beams lost the ship; since the cams were not
clairvoyant, there was no way to know when the autopilot juggled the
controls to miss a bit of cosmic dust. The cams continued to spear the
space through which the ship was supposed to pass according to the
course constants.
What made this trip ironic was the fact that Don Channing was aboard.
The beams had been bombarding the _Solar Queen_ continually ever since
she left Mars with messages for the Director of Communications. In
one sense, it seemed funny that Channing was for once on the end of a
communications line where people could talk to him but upon which he
could not talk back. On the other hand it was a blessing in disguise,
for the Director of Communications was beginning to paper-talk himself
into some means of contacting the Relay Station from a spaceship.
A steward found Channing in the salon and handed him a 'gram. Channing
smiled, and the steward returned the smile and added: "You'll fix these
ships to talk back one day. Wait until you read that one--you'll burn
from here to Terra!"
"Reading my mail?" asked Channing cheerfully. The average spacegram was
about as secret as a postcard, so Channing didn't mind. He turned the
page over and read:
HOPE YOU'RE WELL FILLED WITH GRAVANOL AND ADHESIVE TAPE FOR YOUR
JUMP FROM TERRA TO STATION. SHALL TAKE GREAT DELIGHT IN RIPPING
ADHESIVE TAPE OFF YOUR MEASLY BODY. LOVE.