"Attitude, sir?"
"The angle of the ship's axis with respect to the stellar positions.
So you've a blotch out there at half a parsec. It's an inch or so in
diameter. Have one of your juniors run off some trig on the calculator
and then tell me how much probable space volume that so-called response
represents."
The tech thought a minute. "We've never run this gear anywhere
but at Radiation, right at Mojave labs, on Earth. Our spacial
coordinates--well, I'm afraid we--" His voice trailed away unhappily.
Wilson picked up the interphone and barked a call.
"Weston? Look, Hugh, can you get over here quick with a couple of your
top astrogators? We've got a bunch of longhairs with a fancy infrawave
detector and ranger, but the damned coordinates are set axially with
the ship."
He listened to Hugh Weston's reply.
"Yeah," he said then. "We know where the target is with respect to the
ship, but we don't know the spacial attitude of the ship with respect
to the galactic check points. Right over? Good."
* * * * *
As Wilson hung up the dome flickered, then went into a regular
_flash-flash-flash_ until something else came unglued and the dome
went blank. There was shouting and rather heart-felt cussing, and some
running around again before the dome light came back.
A tech--not the one that had come up before--moved into place alongside
the commodore.
"Mr. Wilson, sir," he said, "I wonder if--er--That is, sir--er--"
"Take it easy," said Wilson, half-smiling.
"Well, sir, we've been getting a lot of interference."
Wilson looked up at the flickering dome. He merely nodded.
"Well, sir--er--I was wondering if you could issue some--er--order to
have the other ships move away? I'm sure we could find those lifeships
if the rest of space were clear. But you've got three hundred--"
Wilson stared the youngster down coldly. "Somewhere out there," he said
sourly, "are two lifeships in which men, and a woman, are waiting for
us to come and collect 'em. I'm combing space almost inch by inch. I
can hardly give up my squadron for a half-finished flash in the dome
like this, can I?"
"No sir--ah--I suppose not."
"Then you live with the responses tossed back by my squadron. It'll be
good training for you. Er--get the hell out of my way!"
The junior tech melted out of sight and went back to his control panel.
Weston came over within the hour. Ted Wilson explained the situation
and told Hugh to set up and measure the coordinates with respect to
the stellar centers. Then he told him to send a space scooter out to
investigate that spot.
Wilson went back to his own flagship wondering whether that fancy
infrawave detector would turn out to be anything. An untried doodad.
But now and then--
Wearily again, Commodore Wilson called Commander Hatch, who skippered
one of the scout carriers. He told Hatch to make himself available
either to Hugh Weston or Maury Allison, to investigate infrawave
response targets as they saw fit.
Then Wilson hit the sack to finish his off-duty.
He dozed fitfully, but he did not sleep worth a damn. He would have
been better off if he could have taken the controls of one of the
spacers and gone out himself. Then, at least, he would have something
to fill his mind and idle hands....
Alice Hemingway awoke from a rather pleasant dream that had something
to do with either ice skating or skiing, or it might have been
tobogganing--the dream had faded so fast she could not be sure--to face
the fact that she was feeling on the chill side.
Her blanket had slipped. She caught it around her, and in minutes
felt fairly warm again. It was not so much, she thought, the actual
temperature in the lifeship, but the whole damned attitude of people,
and everything else that was so chilling.
The lights were running all right, and from deep below she could hear
the ragged throb of the pedal generator. She wondered which of the two
men was pumping it this time.
When Jock Norton came in, she knew. He was mopping his face with a
towel. He looked clean and bright, freshly shaved.
She looked at him and wished she could have a hot shower herself, and a
change of clothing. She wanted a ten-hour sleep in a nice soft bed with
clean sheets, too, and wearing a silk-soft nightgown.
"Awake, Alice?" Norton asked brightly.
"Awake again," she said unhappily. "For.... What is it? The ninth day?"
"Eighth," he said. "Can't go on much longer."
"I hope not."
"You look all in," he said softly. He sat down on the edge of the
divan, beside her, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Take it
easy, m'lady. They're really scouring space for us. We'll be all right.
You'll see."
* * * * *
Unexpectedly he bent and kissed her chastely on the forehead. Alice
tensed at first, but relaxed almost immediately because the warmth of
that honest affection made her feel less alone and cold, in the depths
of uncharted space. Some of the worry and concern was erased, at least.
She stretched warmly as he rubbed her forehead with his cheek.
Then he sat up and looked down at her. He put his hand on her cheek
gently and said, "We'll be all right, kid."
"Eight days," she said in a hoarse whisper.
He nodded solemnly. "Every hour means they must be coming closer and
closer. Every lonely hour means that it can't be many more, because
they've covered all the places where we weren't. Follow me, Alice?"
She shook her head unhappily.
Doggedly he tried to explain. "They know that we must lie within a
certain truncated conical volume of space. They comb this space bit by
bit and chart it. Since the volume is known, and since it takes so many
hours of work to comb a given volume, that means that at the end of a
given time all the predicted volume of space has been covered. Since we
must lie within that, we are bound to be picked up before they cover
the last cubic mile."
"But how long?" she breathed.
"I wouldn't know," he told her honestly. "I have no possible way of
computing it. They've got the best of computers and plotters, and
they've got the law of probabilities on their side. But it's dead
certain we'll be found."
"I hope."
"I know," he said.
"You've changed, Jock Norton."
"Changed?"
"You looked on this as a lark, before."
"Not exactly," he objected.
"But you did."
Slowly he shook his head. "Not exactly," he repeated. "I don't think
I've changed at all. I still think that when you're faced with
something inevitable you might as well look at it from the more
cheerful side. After all, there was the chance that we might not have
made it this far, you know. Now, tell me honestly, does it make sense
getting all worried-up by thinking of how horrible it would have been
if we'd been caught back there when Seventy-nine blew up?"
"I suppose not."
"Well, then," he said in a semi-cheerful tone, "since we did make it
out safely, and are still waiting after eight days, we might as well
expect to be collected soon."
Charles Andrews said, from behind him, "At a hundred dollars an hour,
Norton?"
Norton turned around angrily. "So it's the hundred clams per," he
snapped back. "That's damned poor payment for having to live with the
likes of you in a space can this cramped."
Andrews eyed the pilot with distaste. "Tell me," he said smoothly,
"did my last effort on the pedal generator go for power storage, or
for a couple of gallons of hot water for that shave and shower you've
enjoyed?"
Norton stretched and stood up. "I figured that having a clean face
might help morale," he said pointedly.
"You're a cheap, chiseling--"
"Easy, Andrews! Easy. There's a lady present. Besides, I might forget
my easy-going nature and take a swing at you."
Andrews said scornfully, "Without a doubt, a man of your age and build
could wipe up the lifeship with me."
Norton chuckled. "Don't count on your age being good protection,
Andrews. You may push me far enough to make me forget that you're a
decrepit old man who has to buy what your physique can't get you."
"Now see here!" roared Andrews.
* * * * *
He was stopped short by Norton who took one long step forward to grasp
him by the coat lapels. Andrews' face went white, because he was
looking into the face of dark anger. Norton's other hand was clenched
in a large, tight fist. He eyed the older man sourly for a minute, then
shoved him backward to collapse in a chair.
"What are you trying to do?" sneered Norton. "Make me mad enough to
clip you so you can yell 'Foul!'? I know as well as you do that the law
doesn't even recognize taunts and tongue-lashings as contributory to
assault."
Alice got up from her couch and stood between them. "Stop it, both of
you!" she cried. "Stop it!"
Norton's anger subsided. "All right," he said to Andrews. "Now that
we've all had our lungs exercised, I'll go below and pedal that
generator. Alice, you can have the bathroom first. Andrews, you take it
with what she leaves. Is that okay?"
"Aren't you the hard-working little Boy Scout?"
"Sure." Norton grinned. "I am that." He disappeared down the ladder
towards the generator room.
Andrews turned to Alice. "You're not going to go for that fancy
routine, are you?" he demanded crossly.
"What routine?"
"First he uses power for hot water, power that I was storing up. Now
he's going to pedal that thing to waste more power."
Alice shrugged. "He's the spaceman," she said simply. "If he thinks we
can spare the power for a bath, I could certainly use one."
"How can you trust the likes of him?"
"We've got to," she said. "We've got to."
"I wouldn't," said Andrews. "I can't."
She looked at her employer seriously. "We've both got to trust him,"
she said quietly. "Because, right or wrong, he is the only one who
knows anything about space and what's likely to happen next."
"At a hundred an hour," Andrews said for the ninetieth time or so,
scathingly.
Alice nodded soberly. "But you mustn't forget that isn't going to do
him any good unless he gets us all home so that he can use it."