IX

As soon as Gant Nerley's face disappeared from the viewpanel, Dusty

turned to face Barbara. She was standing far to one side, out of range

of the viewpanel, and stifling a giggle. She let it bubble through her

fingers as soon as Dusty caught her eye.

"Funny as hell," he said. "Me--I'm hysterical."

Barbara sobered immediately. "Honest, Dusty. I wasn't laughing at you.

I was laughing with you."

"Why?" he demanded sharply.

"Because you really fooled that bird. Dusty Britton of The Space

Patrol. Yes, I can navigate a ship."

"I'm going to. Want out?"

"I wouldn't miss this for the world. Glad we've got the whole galaxy

for you to make mistakes in."

"Stop making fun," he snapped. "Let's try and think of something

sensible, Barb. Too bad we haven't time to take a run back to the

city."

"What good would that do?"

"Well, you could show 'em that bauble you're wearing and I could try

the menslator out on 'em, and maybe between us we could convince 'em

that there's something more in this tale of mine than wind."

"That's an idea, but it's out."

"I know. But--"

"Dusty, you'll have to carry it to Gant Nerley yourself."

"Carry what?"

Barbara shook her head impatiently. "Think!" she cried. "Dusty, this

license might be rescinded if we can show that Sol has evolved above

the minimum level of acceptability."

"Yes?"

"Then go in there with your head up and let 'em know how we're built."

Dusty waved at the field of instruments on the control position. "Open

my yap and let 'em know how ignorant we are? We should have a couple of

scientists along."

Barbara shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "One of the marks of a

real scientist is that he usually considers that he knows a lot less

than he does. You're better off. You don't know enough to confuse

yourself. Besides, Dusty, you're an actor."

"Um--er--Jeeks! Hang on a mo' will you? I've an idea."

Dusty loped down the stairs to his car and opened the compartment

behind the front seat. It was his emergency kit; it held his Dusty

Britton uniform, the complete regalia of The Space Patrol complete with

Dusty Britton 'Blaster' concealed against the days when Dusty found

himself trapped in public and could not appear out of character.

He changed in the car and went back to the control room.

Barbara took one look at him and nodded slowly. "You're a gaudy sight,"

she said. "But maybe that's what it takes."

Dusty slapped the 'Blaster' at his hip. "I look authentic enough except

for this hunk of hardware," he said. "Hell, it isn't even as useful as

a dress sword."

"Your revolver? Oh--still on my living room floor."

Dusty unbelted the holster. "I shouldn't have to go armed everywhere,

should I?"

"I suppose not."

"All right, then. How do I look?"

* * * * *

Barbara smiled thinly, "Dusty, no one on earth would ever accuse you

of being anything but a Hollywood actor in that get-up. But a man from

halfway across the Galaxy itself might not know about these things. You

might be an Admiral of the Swiss Navy. You're impressive-looking. Just

don't get pompous."

"Just you remember that I'm Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol and don't

giggle when I start dishing it out."

"I won't. After all, I call myself an actress, you know." She looked

nervously at the viewpanel.

"Are you all right?" he demanded.

"Yes. I'm nervous but I'll be all right."

Dusty went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Take a deep

breath," he commanded. She did. "Now let it out slowly." She did that,

too. "Now," he said softly, slipping an arm around her and leading

her to the stairway, "You come down below and relax. Pull yourself

together, Barb. We'll make it--somehow."

"Got any ideas?"

"Not yet. But--"

Above, the voice of Gant Nerley came back. Dusty raced aloft and

apologized for having been absent. Gant was nodding with admiration at

something below the level of the view panel, probably something on the

desk.

Gant looked up after a moment and said, "Dusty Britton, this is really

a remarkable route. Truly fantastic. So well hidden, and yet right

within our grasp all of these centuries! Well, you shall see, Dusty.

And doubtless you will agree."

"Okay," said Dusty, "let's get going."

"Not so fast, young man. I'm waiting for the direction-finding stations

to report so that I can determine where along this prospected route you

lie."

"We're about two-thirds of the way out from the center, I believe,"

offered Dusty.

"That's a rather inaccurate generality. You know where you are and

we know where we are, but we must know where we are with respect

to one another before we can make contact. Now--" Gant's voice

stopped suddenly as something caught his eye above the lens of the

viewpanel, and he looked over Dusty's head, apparently, so intently

that Dusty himself turned to see what Gant was staring at. He saw

only instruments, and realized that Gant was looking at another

panel-section above the one that communicated with Dusty's panel.

"Um," said Gant. "You would appear to lie in what we call 'Sector

G-18, Co-ordinate 307, Galactic Angle 215.86-plus degrees, South

altitude-angle 1.017-minus degrees, Co-frame 9654.' Now, Dusty, in your

terms, where lies the Galactic Center?"

Dusty laughed. The tone of his laugh was half bitter and half a note of

self-disparagement. "Sorry, Gant. We frame our reference from Terra,

naturally."

Dusty breathed a sigh of relief at having boned up on enough science to

play his part convincingly.

"I do not quite understand what you mean," returned Gant.

"We compute stellar positions in latitude from the angle above or below

the equator of Terra, which we call 'Declination' and in longitude by

their rise as the planet rotates, which we call 'Right Ascension'.

Therefore the so-called 'Celestial equator' is a projection of the

Earth's equator upon the sky, and the colures pass from celestial pole

to celestial pole, which are projections of Terra's axis. Now, since

the Earth's equator is tilted with respect to the Earth's orbit, and

the Earth's orbit is tilted with respect to the Galactic Equator, I'll

be darned if I know how to explain in mutual terms. Oh, we assume that

the galactic center is in a region of the sky we call 'Sagittarius' but

that is meaningless."

"I agree. Wait a moment."

* * * * *

Gant turned from the window in Dusty's viewpanel and walked away from

it by several yards. He worked over a complicated keyboard for some

minutes and then returned.

"Dusty," he said, "I think we can handle this as follows. To your left

hand near the top of the control board you will find a key-lever marked

Phanobeacon. Pull it towards you."

Dusty looked, found the key, and pulled. A bright spot of light

appeared on the view panel, high in the left hand corner. "That is the

true position of Marandis," said Gant Nerley. "If you tried to make it

at transgalactic speeds you'd plough into about forty stars and hit

about nineteen gas-clouds. You'd either blow up, or spend the rest of

your life running at safe velocities. However, if you take off and

steer your spacecraft so as to put that beacon spot on the calibration

lines G-705, F-318, you should find the next rift-beacon somewhere near

to the crosshairs of the viewpanel. Got it?"

"I think so."

"Good. Now, for take-off instructions. Ready?"

"Ready."

Gant Nerley began a running patter of instructions. Those favored few

who have ever seen the control room of a spacecraft can possibly grasp

the implications of the problem. One does not step into the pilot's

chair of a complex device such as a galactic cruiser, push a pedal

and then steer any more than a Wall Street Accountant could step into

the cockpit of a six-engine airliner and take off, just like that.

There was the pre-flight checkoff, probably performed by the competent

Marandanian Pilot in a matter of minutes, and quite possibly done with

an automatic reflex action which would permit the accomplished pilot

to daydream about the girl on the next planet meanwhile; only the

appearance of the wrong pilot-lamp response would bring him out of his

automatic response with an abrupt recognition of something awry.

* * * * *

But Dusty was not a pilot, and certainly not a pilot of a Marandanian

Spacecraft. So the pre-flight checkoff took almost an hour. Nearly

ninety-nine percent of the time Dusty was following Gant Nerley's

instructions blindly: Is the pilot lamp registering power source

showing red or green? Is the spacelock indicator showing closed? Turn

the atmosphere control to Internal. Set the autogravity corrector to

Controlled. Co-stator circuits to Regulated; antimagnetic response dial

to zero; space-coordinate servo control to Stellar Display. Planetary

Drive to Automatic Threshold; match the Gravitic Constant to the Power

Delivery. Set the Master Control to Pre-flight Warm-up.

"Now," said Gant Nerley, "take it slow and easy. Take the 'Tee' bar

gently. Find the thumb-buttons and press them both evenly; spread

your knees against the paddles under the control panel slowly and

press the Force pedal with your right foot. Tell me, what is your

trans-atmospheric velocity?"

"It says 416."

"Too high. Press the Compensator pedal with your left foot until the

TAV meter reads 312."

"Now."

"Hold it that way until the Matter Per Cubic Meter indicator drops

below the red line."

"The TAV meter is dropping below 312."

"Good. Let up on the Compensator pedal and depress the Force pedal

more. Keep the TAV meter at 312."

"The Matter Per Cubic Meter indicator is below the red line, Gant."

"Free the Compensator pedal. Push the Force pedal all the way home and

kick it to the right. Now read the Trans-atmospheric velocity meter."

"Dropping rapidly."

"Good. And the MCPM?"

"Dropping rapidly."

"Excellent. Spread the knee-paddles wide and lock them. Have you a

reading yet on the Space Velocity Meter?"

"Just getting off the peg."

"Um--it is a little early. But that's all right. It will arrive in due

time. Keep an eye on the Foreign Body Indicator, Dusty. Any reading?"

"No."

"Good. Don't touch the 'Tee' bar, Dusty. That's the steering mechanism

and it is in neutral. Is there any indication on the viewpanel yet?"

"Not yet."

"Haven't enough velocity yet," said Gant. "But when it appears, it

will look like a star map. Now, the central cross-hair is the point of

aim of your spacecraft. If the star you want lies, say, to the upper

left, move the 'Tee' bar forward and to your left. That will swing the

ship in that direction and you can line up the drive with the target.

Also, since angular position is important when moving in three free

dimensions, twisting the crossbar of the 'Tee' will cause the ship to

rotate on its axis. The map will turn in the direction, apparently, but

it is really the ship turning. That is--"

"I'm beginning to get a presentation now," said Dusty.

"Good. Dim and reddish, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Now get this straight and clear: The phanobeacon is the control

beacon for direction of angular curve. In other words, it takes three

points to define the orientation of a plane in space. These three

points are you, the star-beacon or course-marker which you will find

directly, and the main terminal-beacon which is the phanobeacon. You

must drive your ship in the proper plane when making a curve or making

any turn. Follow?"

"Yes," replied Dusty, trying to think it out. He was far from certain

about all this, wondering why it was all necessary. He went over the

instructions in his mind, made no more sense out of it than the first

time, and then decided to accept it without trying to figure out the

reasons. After all, Gant Nerley and his folks ought to know what they

were doing.

"Now," said Gant, after a moment, "In order to orient yourself, you

must line up the Phanobeacon on the point of aim. Take the 'Tee' bar

firmly, one hand on either side of the axle. Find the thumb-buttons on

the handle. Press them all the way in and lock them home with a slight

sidewise pressure towards the center. Got that? Now, lift the 'Tee'

bar straight up until it is high enough to manipulate with ease. Be

careful, don't move it sidewise!"

* * * * *

The last admonition was wasted. Dusty lifted the 'Tee' bar gingerly and

not too evenly. The stars on the viewpanel danced dizzily, swiveled,

and flowed across the plate. The bright phanobeacon spot moved from

the plate along the bottom, danced back in view on a brief curve, and

left again along a flat slant. The 'Tee' bar clicked into place and the

stars stopped dancing with a snap. Dusty moved the 'Tee' bar gently and

the stars flowed upward until the phanobeacon re-appeared.

"Got it," he said shakily. He moved the 'Tee' bar very gently until the

phanobeacon was centered on the screen. Or, rather, almost centered. It

moved in jerky little circles like the sights of a rifle in the hands

of a tyro.

"Fine. You're doing well with strange equipment. Now, on the panel

you will find a switch marked 'Co-ordinates.' It will be set on

'Rectangular' and you must flip it to 'Polar'."

The switch changed the cross-hair pattern of the viewpanel from the

horizontal and vertical calibrations to a circular pattern with only

the main center hairlines remaining. Angle-lines radiated out from the

center, crossing the circles.

"Now, Dusty, inspect the radius-line marked G-705. All the way around.

Do you see a winking star?"

"No."

"Um. I was hoping we could do it the easy way. The sealed course-plan

is not too clear, for which I don't blame Transgalactic. All right.

We'll have to do it the hard way. Move the phanobeacon down until it is

almost on the lower edge of the viewpanel. Now flip the 'Co-ordinates'

switch to the left, leaving it in the bottom position marked 'Polar.'

You'll find that the toggle has an 'H' type pattern of motion, laid

flat-wise."

The polar co-ordinates disappeared completely from the center of the

viewpanel and centered around the phanobeacon spot. They made larger

and larger arcs as the circles approached the top of the panel.

"Now this is going to be tricky. You must twist the 'Tee' bar slowly

and let the ship rotate, but you must also move it so that the

phanobeacon stays near its present off-center position. But before you

do this, let me explain what you are actually doing in space. Picture a

needle-shaped spacecraft with a line along the axis running out before

the ship, marking the line of drive, or direction. At some distance

from the line lies a spot which denotes the phanobeacon. Somewhere out

beyond, there is another spot that must be sighted within the confines

of an angle not greater than the angle made between the point of aim,

or line of drive, and the imaginary line running from the nose of the

ship to the phanobeacon. So you must cause the ship to rotate on a

false axis, making the line of flight describe a cone of revolution

with the phanobeacon on the axis of the cone. Now, go ahead and try."

"Okay." Dusty moved the 'Tee' bar and the stars moved in jaggledy

little scallops along a greater arc. The center of the beacon held the

polar lines, but they moved with the stars and with the beacon. It made

Dusty dizzy and his eyes began to ache. "What am I looking for?" he

asked plaintively.

"Look along the outer circles for a winking st--"

"Got it!"

"Good. Turn the 'Tee' bar to neutral," said Gant. "Return the

'Co-ordinate' switch back to the center of the 'H' pattern. Center the

stellar course beacon on the point of aim."

The winking star flashed at Dusty like a flag. It danced crazily as

he manipulated the 'Tee' bar with all of the thumb-handedness of the

rookie pilot on his first attempt at the controls. There was so much to

do, so many things to handle, so many motions to make. Dusty gripped

the 'Tee' bar tightly, too tightly. When he let go with one hand to

flip a switch or to make an adjustment, the grip of his other hand

moved the bar. It became sweaty and sticky, then it became slippery

and he gripped it even tighter, which made it worse because his fine

control left him as he strove to hold the handles tighter and tighter.

In a jagged line like the trail of a rising smoke, the winking star

proceeded to the center of the viewpanel. There it hung, wabbling

around in tiny circles and occasionally making a brief jerky dart

to one side or the other. Dusty mopped his face and the beacon star

jumped; he grabbed the handle again and the star leaped across the

center and wabbled on the other side of zero-zero.

"Got it," he said in a quavering voice.

"Now rotate the ship until the phanobeacon is on the vertical hairline.

Then flip the switch to 'Rectangular' again."

The stars scalloped around in the viewpanel until the phanobeacon

was on the vertical line. The field leaped a bit as Dusty found the

'Co-ordinates' switch and returned the calibration-presentation to the

horizontal and vertical hairlines.

"Now?" he asked.

"You have a bit of time. Be certain that the star-marker lies firm and

true. Be careful!"

Dusty gripped the handles and tried to steady his shaking hands. Then,

because he had no more complexity of motions to make, he relaxed a bit.

The dancing star-field slowed its mad vibration, which calmed Dusty's

jumping nerves still more.

He leaned back in the pilot's chair slowly, his grip on the 'Tee' bar

lightening and becoming more true. He looked at the beacon star and

knew what Chat, Bren, and Scyth were working toward.

* * * * *

It lay there on the center of his panel like a winking flashlight. Lost

in the star-field, which showed a myriad of points, some dim cloudy

stuff, and a band of milky white, the beacon would have been nothing

without that steady wink ... wink ... wink. He, himself, was lost. He

had not the foggiest notion of where he was, excepting that Mother

Terra must be far behind. Sol, a smallish, yellowish, completely average

dwarf would show nothing to call attention to itself from the distance

of a few light-years. Yes, somewhere back behind him lay Sol and his

planets. But the winking beacon on Dusty's viewpanel was like a banner

waved from a distant shore.

No man is alone so long as a lighthouse flashes its message of safety,

or warns against danger.

Dusty took a deep breath. "Barb!" he called.