Chapter VI: Part 6

Jon had already made the astrogational calculations for their trip, having worked on them off and on during many evenings of the past several weeks.

But just as they were all strapping down, his father stopped Jon with a sudden exclamation. "Wait, Son! I think we'd better go back close enough to all the planets and the sun to make sure all the signals are working right. That's one of the most important things the Colonial Board will check."

"Oh, I'm sure they're OK, Pop. We listened to each one after we'd placed it."

"But cases have been known where a sender failed--especially those on extremely hot or exceptionally cold planets. I'm not doubting that you handled them all right--it's just that I think it worth the time and effort to check them and make sure while we're still out here."

"All right, you're the captain." Jon opened the drawer in the control desk and hunted out the sheets on which he had figured his former flight plans to the various planets.

"We won't need to land if the signals are working," his father said. "Just get us close enough in line so we can receive the messages."

"In that case, we can fly almost by sight, merely taking into consideration the direction and speed of the planets." Jon shoved his papers back into the drawer. "Let's see ... we'll make the best time going to One, then the Sun, then Three, Four and Five, and then circling about and heading for home."

"Fine! Get going."

"Strap down, everybody."

A quick glance to see that they were all secure, then Jon closed the master switch of his new interlocking controls. Smoothly, with increasing acceleration, the _Star Rover_ lifted upward through the atmosphere on the planet Marci--Carveria Two.

Ever more swiftly it flew, and a special sort of gladness was in each heart at the thought that soon they would be once more speeding toward their home on far distant Terra.

Traveling about the universe, seeing new suns, new planets, new and interesting--even though alien, and sometimes dangerous--forms of life of various kinds, all this was a constant source of interest and delight. Still there was within each of them, even Tad Carver, a love of and a longing for the planet that had given them birth. Men had always found it so--it was probable that men born on Terra always would. Probable, too, that men born on other planets would always long for a return to _their_ mother world.

It took a special type of person to become a colonist on another and alien planet. Much the same type of pioneer as those great-grandparents, many times removed, who had made the terrible journey across the western plains and mountains of Noramer to conquer the great, wealth-producing West, and _their_ forefathers and mothers who had braved the perilous and unknown oceans to come from the Old to the New World in Colonial days, to search for freedom and opportunity.

It had been found that, even among those willing to make the sacrifices and uprootings necessary to become colonists on other worlds, there were always a few who realized they could not stand it, after all. These unfortunate people usually returned to Terra--if they had the funds to do so. Nor did it seem to matter how much this new planet was like Earth, nor how great the opportunities for gaining wealth and prestige. It was that inner feeling of always _remembering_ that they were so far from home and everything and everyone they had formerly known and loved.

Tad Carver was a true "son of wanderlust." He had the itching foot; the urge to travel; the zest for new places, new scenes, new outlooks. But even he, after a certain time away, felt that indefinable yet exceedingly strong _must_ to return to his home world for a while.

The boys were young, which meant they were eager for new experiences, whether on their own or other worlds. They had not yet come to an age where Terra meant a great deal to them. Life was so thrilling, so interesting--there was so much to see and do. Yet even they did feel nostalgia after too long an absence.

It was Marci Carver who felt it most--this longing, this _need_ for the old home. While it is true that her great love for her husband and sons made "home" for her any place in the universe where they might be, yet she had no real interest in exploration, no great desire or even curiosity to see other lands or other worlds. The deeps of space brought such an _awe_ to her that they almost made her afraid. No, if her menfolk had been satisfied there, she would never have dreamed of leaving Earth. She would have been perfectly content to live in one town or city all her life--in the same house, even. She did not have the pioneer spirit; did not in the least desire new scenes. Her home and her man and boys--these were all she asked of life.

Yet she did have the rare knack of making any place where she might be, home. She could make a mansion or a hovel--or this spaceship--seem such a perfect home to her men that they were perfectly happy and contented with their living quarters. It was not a matter of furnishings or their arrangement--not just material things like pictures, books, pillows or other knickknacks placed just so. Rather it was the "spirit of home" with which she impregnated every place in which her family might be living at the moment.

The boys had not yet noticed this consciously--they were so filled with the joy of living and doing and learning that they had not yet stopped to think about such matters. But Tad Carver recognized it, and loved his wife all the more because of her ability.

He often remarked of her, "put her in even a hotel room for ten minutes, and she'll make it home for me." He sometimes felt moments of guilt that he made her chase around so much, instead of letting her stay in one place--and remaining with her there. But he could not stay put--and he knew she would not want to remain any place without him.

That was why he had arranged things so she and the boys could travel with him. And, until he had been hurt and she, with the boys, had had to take over his duties, she had seldom left the ship while on other planets, although she always looked out through port or visiplate in the various places where they had gone, with the keen interest in anything new that made her such a delightful traveling companion.

So now all four felt that eagerness to be done with this matter of last-minute re-checkings, so they could be on their way back to Terra. It made the time pass swiftly--yet made it so draggingly prolonged, it seemed they would never reach their destination.

The ship soon reached an acceleration of two Earth gravities, and Jon asked, "Is this fast enough, Pop, or can you stand more?"

"You might step it up to three G's for an hour. There's no use loafing around here longer than necessary to make the curve so we can come fairly near each planet on the line between it and Terra."

"And that'll get us up to cruising speed quicker when we do start the straight stretch for home," Jon said, and turned back to his controls to apply another notch of speed.

It was not long before they approached Planet One--"Tad." Jon had plotted a course that would take them to within about thirty thousand miles of the little, hot planet, on the Earthward side. As they flashed past it, their receiver clearly picked up the broadcast of their signal-unit.

"That one's all right," their father said in a pleased voice, and Jon looked up and back from his calculations on the orbit to circle them about the sun, to grin his pleasure at the approval.

"Jak put it on top of a peak in the intermediate zone," he explained. "The weather--if you can call it weather--there is more nearly normal than either on the sunward or the spaceward side."

An hour later Jak struggled up from his chair, staggering beneath the triple weight of his body at that acceleration. Seeing him, Jon called, "Wait, Owl, I'm just about to reduce to two G's." And in a moment the older boy found it easier to get the sandwiches and bottles of nourishing broth their mother had prepared before take-off, and distribute them to the others. Gratefully, they all ate and drank.

"After we circle the sun and are en route to Three, I'll cut down to one gravity while we have a real meal," Jon promised.

"Aw, let's not slow down just for ..." Jak began.

"It won't cut our speed, just our acceleration, which means 'constantly added' speed," his father explained good-naturedly. "As soon as we've passed them all and are heading for home, we'll cut to one gravity for the greater part of the trip, but our speed will have been built up tremendously."

"Oh, sure, I know that, but I forgot for the minute."

As they circled toward the sun Mr. Carver studied it carefully in his visiplate. "Just about the same type of sun as Sol," he said after a while.

"That's what I figured, only that it's about one quarter larger and heavier," Jon told him. "I was hoping you'd be well enough before we left to check it for me."

"How close did you set your signal-sender orbit here?"

"Ten million miles."

"_Ten million!_" The man gasped, then laughed in relief as he thought the boy was just trying to spoof him. "Oh, come off it, Jon. How far out were you, really?"

"Unless my figures are all wrong," Jon's voice held a hurt note, "it was really only ten million miles. You can check my calculations. The book says quote said orbit to be as nearly circular and as close to the discovered sun as possible unquote, so I sent us in on a van Sicklenberg throw-out orbit apexing at ten million."

"Boy, that was really taking a chance. You don't need to repeat it for my benefit."

"I wasn't planning to, sir." Jon grinned now. "We'll go around at about twenty million this time, but the same type of orbit as before."

"That's better. Well, I think I'll go back to sleep. All of us should, I suggest."

"Mother has already dropped off," Jak said softly, glancing toward the recline seat in which she lay. "Switch on the auto, Chubby, then douse the glotubes. 'Night, Father."

And soon the little ship was speeding across the interplanetary wastes, guided only by the automatic pilot, while inside four weary people slept peacefully, knowing the mechanisms would guide them safely and surely to their distant, plotted destination.

For, outside of a possible recurrence of the accident that had caused Mr. Carver's injury--and that was a billions-to-one chance that could not possibly strike them again--what was there to fear away out here?

Nevertheless, it was the sudden ringing of an alarm bell that woke them all into instant, wondering wakefulness.

13

"What in the world?" Jon's eyes snapped open and immediately began scanning the various telltales on the panel, while from the other three came a chorused, "What's wrong?"

"Something out here using atomic energy." Jon's surprised voice made them raise their seats quickly to upright, so they could better see for themselves.

Mr. Carver hastily adjusted his visiplate to maximum magnification, and began searching the heavens surrounding them. "A ship, you think?"

"Yes, and quite close." And a moment later, aided more surely by his more complex instruments, Jon cried, "There it is! RA 11; square 17 on the plate."

His father's flying fingers found the object, then narrowed his focus of vision and stepped up the magnification. His eyes grew large, then hard and tense, as he studied the close-up image. "Slik Bogin's ship--I'd know that anywhere!" he exclaimed, and the boys looked at him in puzzled concern.

"Then I must have been right, that day I thought I heard a ship," Mrs. Carver declared.

"You must have been," Jak agreed.

"But what's Bogin doing out here?" Jon asked with a touch of fear in his voice.

"Nothing good, you can bet." His father's voice was grimmer than any of them had ever heard it before. "Any time you run across that pirate, you can lay mighty big odds there's skullduggery afoot."

"Great catfish! He's trying to beat us out of this system."

"I'll lay a thousand to one he is, if he thinks he can get away with it."

"What can we do about it, Father?" There was now a trace of a tremor in Jak's voice. "Jon and I have worked so hard to map these planets--how can Bogin possibly do the same and still beat us?"

"No telling. He's a slippery cuss, and if he really wants to try claim-jumping, he'll figure out some dirty scheme."

"Can't we get back to Earth ahead of him, Mr. C., and report to the Colonial Board first?" Mrs. Carver was almost in tears.

Her husband gave her a tight-lipped smile. "We'll sure try, Honey." His forehead creased with a frown of concentration for some minutes, then he faced Jon, who was watching him from the pilot's seat.

"Bogin's headed in the opposite direction, so no use chasing him to see what he's doing. Besides, I've heard his ship is armed, and we aren't, except for our rifles, which are absolutely no good in space. I say, continue our course, checking our signals, then beat it for home. After all, we don't _know_ for sure that Bogin's trying anything--and our best bet is to finish our job as though nothing had happened, but not waste any time doing it ... just in case."

"Right, Pop. As near as I could tell, we have twice his speed, and we don't need to worry. We have all the data and pictures to prove we're the Prime Discoverers, and we didn't hear any signals to show he's put out any senders."

But there was an uneasy and unhappy silence as the little space-yacht continued to eat up the millions of miles.

Tad Carver had intended having his younger son slow down near Planet Three and go into an orbit close enough so he could get a good generalized view of this other Earthlike, though colder, planet. But now he would not do so. Speed and time were essential in getting back to Terra. He would try to keep his worries from the others as much as possible, but there was a deep foreboding in his mind.

Only too well he knew the various types of men who braved the spaceways, and that many of them were out and out criminals. And this Slik Bogin was the most ruthless pirate and cutthroat of them all, from reports. There were so many, many crimes charged against him ... though it was true that none had ever been proven. Yet such was the man's evil reputation that all honest spacemen hated him, even as they were somewhat in fear of him.

Mr. Carver was sure that the man's spacer was almost a warship in her armament. Nor did he doubt that the master criminal would not hesitate to use his heavy rays to blast out of existence anyone he felt was a menace to his nefarious plans.

And this new system the Carvers had discovered was a prize well worth stealing, if possible. Although Mr. Carver had not seen these splendid worlds with his own eyes, he had carefully studied the boys' concise and complete reports, and their many detailed pictures, so he knew what a rich treasure they had struck in finding this sun and its planets and moons.

It would make him and his family rich beyond their fondest dreams ... and he would be worse than flat broke if they lost out on getting their claim approved.

For Mr. Carver had not told even his wife that all their possessions, including their ship, were mortgaged for every credit he could secure, to enable them to make this costly journey. It was true he had won great wealth on his previous trips into space--but several of his largest investments on Terra had gone sour, and this was a last desperate chance to recoup his fortune in one intensive campaign.

As they neared the point in their trajectory that brought them to the Earthward side of Planet Three, Jon began tuning his receiver and turning his directional antenna-loops, so he could pick up the continuous message of their sender. Soon he began hearing words, and tuned more closely, stepping up his power. The four sat erect, expectant.

Then their faces blanched and their fists tightened as they heard the words:

"This sun and system of five planets, of which this is the third, were discovered and surveyed by Michael Bogin and his crew, on the tenth day of January in the Terran year of 2136."

Over and over the message was repeated, while the Carvers stared at each other in horrified surprise and consternation.

But Mr. Carver rallied quickly. "He has changed the tape in your senders, boys. We'll probably find the same on Four and Five, and he's on his way to Two now to do the same."

"But he'll not be able to change the one we set out around the sun, will he, Pop?" Jon's voice quavered and broke into a boyish soprano. "He can't get in as close as we did, and still slow down enough to retrieve such a small thing, can he?"

"I don't see how he could. But he has some darned good technies in that pirate crew of his. They'll figure out some way to destroy ours and substitute one of their own, I'll bet. Well, this changes the picture. Now we know what he's up to, so we'll just have to get to Terra ahead of him, and lay our facts before the Board first."

"They'll take our word against his, won't they, especially since we have such complete records and so many photographs?" Jak asked, hoping to be reassured.

"There's no telling," Mr. Carver spoke slowly, shaking his head. "If Bogin is trying to get this claim--and now we know he is--he'll work out some way of getting pictures and records, too. We can only hope."

"And pray," their mother added determinedly.

"We'll make out some way," Jon tried to cheer them all. "Meanwhile, I suggest I cut to one G and that Mom fixes us some grub. We have to eat."

"That's a good idea," his father agreed, and Jon manipulated his controls. They all felt the sudden relief of once more being their accustomed weight. Mrs. Carver unstrapped herself and left for the galley. Jak also unstrapped, saying, "I'll go help Mom."

"Ask her to make a pile of sandwiches, too, and to bring plenty of drinks so we can eat later without slowing our acceleration," his father called, then added, "Don't let your mother talk about this. Get her mind on something else and keep it there."

"Right, Father."

"This is serious, Jon," Mr. Carver said when the two were alone in the control room. "I don't like to worry any of you any more than's necessary, but our chances aren't too good, now that those signals have been changed."

"We've got some hope left, though, haven't we?" came the anxious inquiry.

"I see two fairly good ones--but it all depends on so many factors," Mr. Carver answered after a moment of thought. "We've got to try to get back first and report and show them our records and pictures--which are very detailed, thanks to you two boys. Second, we've got to hope someone back there caught our original signals, and then noticed the change--_if_ they could tell they came from the same system."

"How are you making out under this acceleration?"

"All right. I don't seem to be any weaker ... but then, what with all the excitement and disappointment, there may be a relapse. But that's not important...." Then, hearing his son's gasp of dismay, he continued rapidly and grimly, "No, Jon, really. I mean that, and I want you to keep it in mind at all times on the rest of this trip. I'm expendable, if we can prove our case. Not that I intend to die," he hastened to add with a grin as Jon started to protest. "But I'd rather take longer to get well and know that you all are provided for the way you should be."

"If we cut for Terra right away, without waiting to go on to Four and Five, Bogin couldn't possibly build up speed enough to beat us in, could he?" Jon questioned anxiously.

"Not unless his ship's a lot faster than ours. It probably is, because his crew can undoubtedly stand more acceleration, and he'll drive to the limit. But if he stops to change those other signals, I don't see how he can do it. Go ahead, change course, and let's hike for home."

"Right. Let's see, now. Terra's behind and down from where we are and the way we're heading. I'll set us into a circle while we're figuring out our course."

"Make it just an approximation for now. We can refine it as we go."

"Right." Jon worked swiftly at his computer, then at his controls, and they could feel the gallant little ship begin to strain toward the right.

"Don't try too short a turn," his father warned.

"OK, I'll let up a bit. I was figuring on a two million radius."

"Better make it three for safety."

In time their circling was completed, the new homeward bound course figured. For days the little ship and its anxious crew were on their way. Three times each day their acceleration was stepped up to two Earth-gravities for a period of four hours, then back to one and a quarter for the same period--four on and four off continually, to give them a rest from the burden of doubled weight, and to make it easier to prepare and eat their meals, and to do what personal and ship's chores had to be done. In between times, as they could, they slept.

Jon had set their receptor and analyzer to react to atomics. It was now fanning out behind them in a cone-shaped funnel of force. He hoped by this to be able to tell if Bogin began overtaking them.

Of course, space was so vast, and the distance to Sol and Terra so great, and their points of trajectory so different, that the pirate ship might be taking an entirely different course, and not come anywhere near them until the two ships were almost home. On the other hand, Jon was taking the most direct route--and he was sure Bogin would undoubtedly do the same--so they were quite apt to converge sooner or later.

And since Jon's receptors covered an ever-larger sphere of space the farther away they reached, he and his father hoped they would be able to tell if and when their enemy began catching up with them.

Meantime, the two studied almost continuously together the problem of that supposedly new fuel-metal they had discovered on the planet Marci--hoping it could be used in their engines. They were sadly handicapped, both because neither was an atomic physicist, and because their little ship--well-stocked and provided with many instruments as it was--did not contain anywhere near all the testing equipment needed for such a delicate and complex and dangerous task.

Yet they learned much.

Jak took over the routine duties of their flight, after some additional instruction on points about which he was not sure. In between times, as the lessened pressure allowed, he studied the new specimens he had collected, saw to it that the ship's hydroponics kept operating correctly, and did whatever he could to relieve his brother and his father of their ordinary duties so they could devote all their waking time to study and experiment.

Their mother attended to her housekeeping, and saw to the comfort and well-being of her menfolk.

Mr. Carver knew, deep within himself, that he was overdoing, considering his illness. His partially-healed broken leg so often pained and throbbed that he had difficulty concealing his hurt from the sharp eyes of his family. But he loved his wife and sons so greatly that their future well-being was far more important to him than his own, and so he never mentioned these things.

The sturdy little yacht had covered almost half the tremendous distance back to Sol. The Carvers were beginning to let up a bit in their anxiety and fears. Surely, each one felt, they were winning the race.

Then suddenly their alarm rang.

Three of them found themselves on their feet, rushing toward the control panel.

"How close are they, Jon?" their father yelled from his co-pilot's couch.

"_Mmmm._ I've stepped this up about two hundred per cent.... I figure it about half a billion miles."

"Not very far--in space. They must have lots more speed than we do to have caught up with us like that."

"What shall we do?" Mrs. Carver grabbed her husband's arm with trembling fingers.

He turned his head and smiled up at her. "We'll figure out some way to beat them, Honey," he soothed. "There's lots more can be done yet."

"Sure, Mom, they're still a long way behind us." Jon tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "And you know the old saying, 'a stern chase is a long chase.'"

"Can't we increase our acceleration and so our speed?" Jak asked.

"Yes, we'll have to do that, at least." Mr. Carver's voice was grim. He looked at Jon. "Step it up to two and a half, as soon as you're all in your seats. We'll stay there more of the time from now on, and we'll change the period to six in and two up."

"How about one and a half for the two hours?"

"We'll try it. If we sleep or nap more while we're at max, we ought to be able to stand it."

"We're still almost ..." Jon figured rapidly at the computer, "... three weeks out of Terra, even at that increased speed."

His father grimaced, while his wife and elder son uttered gasps of dismay. "I know. It'll be tough, but we've _got_ to win."

But after a moment he looked first at his wife, than at Jak. "This is an order," he said seriously. "The minute any of you feel you can't take it any more, say so and we'll cut down, even if we do lose speed. I guess I went off half-cocked just now in saying that we had to win. Our health is more important...."

"Except yours, you're trying to say," Jak broke in. "You haven't been sparing yourself any, I notice, and I know enough doctoring to know you're not getting well as fast...."

"Pooh, I'm all right, and I'm used to ship accelerations." Mr. Carver turned his head toward his son and made himself grin. "Even under these three G's, I can still get up and lick you, even with a half-healed leg."

Jon realized at once that his father was warning him not to worry their mother any more, and forced himself to reply, pretending to be shamefaced, "Yes, sir, you could at that. I'll be good."

But the next morning, by the ship's chronoms, after they had fully awakened from a night of tortured sleep, Jon studied his instruments for some time, then reported to his father, "Bogin's still catching up. He's only about four hundred million behind us now."

"But how can he possibly be?" Jak demanded.

"Probably staying on three G's or better all the time," Jon answered.

"Or else he has a different means of propulsion than we have that affects his whole ship and contents, including crew," his father said slowly. "I don't know what it could be. But theoretically there are a lot of different ways of traveling faster than any we've learned how to use yet."

"But how could they, Mr. C.?" his wife gasped. "I don't pretend to know much about such things, but I thought that better fuels merely meant increased efficiency in the use of the engines, not an increase of speed. Isn't it acceleration that makes the speed faster?"

He turned his head with difficulty--at three gravities acceleration their apparent weight was tripled, and his body now "weighed" over five hundred and fifty pounds, instead of its normal one eighty plus!

"You're both right and wrong, Honey," he explained. "The better the fuel, the less we have to carry for the same distance traveled, and that makes our thrust-to-mass ratio less. We can go home faster than we came out here, because some of our fuel is gone and we have less mass. But that's not what I'm talking about. Theoretically, as I said, there are other ways, none of which our scientists have yet figured out how to use, as far as I know. There could be a complete or partial nullification of gravity or of inertia. Or some type of space warp. Or some method of 'cutting through' the other dimensions, so we could go almost instantly from one point in space to another."

Jak gasped. "Why, how's that possible, Father?"

Jon answered quickly. "I can illustrate, I think. Imagine a sheet of paper, with a dot near either end. The normal way to connect them would be a straight line drawn from one to the other--which is analogous to the way we travel in space now. What Pop's talking about would be the same as if we folded the paper so the two dots touched, and moved from one to the other direct."

"That wouldn't be...."

"That's silly."

The two phrases came simultaneously from Jak and his mother.

"It's not silly, Honey. We merely haven't figured out how to do it yet. But theoretical science knows that there are 'folds' in space. We just haven't learned how to use them yet."

"No," Jak snorted, "and I'll bet you never do."

"And I'll bet they will," Jon blazed. "You just don't realize how wonderful science is--in other lines than your own, I mean. You think it's perfectly natural that medical science has made such tremendous advances in the past couple of centuries. Why shouldn't other branches make just as great strides?"

"Because the advances in medicine and surgery have been logical," his brother began hotly, but their father interrupted.

"Whoa now, boys, don't get started on an endless argument. You're both right--and both wrong. I'll admit that the three methods I mentioned are pretty far-fetched. But after all, science is always doing the unexpected and the impossible. There's no telling what they'll do next--not even of telling what they may have done while we've been gone."

"I'd read about that 'simultaneity' thing," Jon stated. "It was a concept about being able to reproduce the exact nucleonic pattern of some other space and thus being able to transfer to it instantly."

"Another idea is of a 'tube' or 'vortex' method of transversing space at almost instantaneous speeds--and many other such," Mr. Carver declared. "But it's a cinch none of us have brains enough to figure out any of them before we reach Terra. And that Bogin's not using any of them, either, since he's so apparently on a straight-line flight like we are. He may have better engines, or better fuel, but to overtake us like he is--now that I've stopped to think about it--can only be done by using greater acceleration than we are, and for a longer time. So while those other ideas are interesting conjectures, they won't help us out of our present predicament."

"That's right, Pop." Jon wrenched his mind back to their immediate problem. "We've got to figure out what we can do _right now_ to beat Bogin."

They all lapsed into silence then, partly to think of their problem, and partly because their personal energy was weakened by the tremendous pressures they were undergoing.

Their new schedule was hard on them all--none of them were really rested, even though they now slept or dozed most of the time. But they were keeping more nearly ahead, although when Jon took his next readings, Bogin's ship had crept up another third of a hundred million miles.

"That means he'll catch up with and pass us in about eleven days, and we're still almost twenty out of Terra." Jon could not entirely keep the worry out of his voice.

During the noon respite, according to ship's time, they cut their acceleration to one and a half, and Mrs. Carver prepared a hot meal, and cold lunches for the balance of that day.

While they were eating, there in the control room, Jak suddenly looked up at his father. "I just wondered, sir. How much pressure could a person stand for long periods, if he was unconscious under some kind of an anaesthetic?"

"Why," the elder hesitated, "I don't know exactly. I imagine around five gravities or so, if it was to be for some time, especially if one was in a pressure pack. Why do you ask?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I remembered reading about a series of experiments a Swedish scientist has been making about putting animals--even people--into an unconscious state. It's in one of my reelbooks. Seems to me I remember its saying he has found he could keep them there for several days at a time without any sign of permanent harm."

"How'd he do it?" Jon dropped his fork to lean forward.

"With a drug he invented. Wait, I'll go get the book." Jak jumped up from the table, but his mother's voice stopped him.

"We're not going to try anything like that," she said worriedly. "Not even to beat Bogin."

Mr. Carver reached out from his recline seat to lay a hand soothingly on his wife's. "Wait, now, Marci, let's find out first what this is all about. Maybe the boy has something, maybe not. But let's examine it before we decide, shall we?"

Her eyes still held the worried look, but she returned the pressure of his hand. "Well, I guess there's no harm in that, Mr. C. But I just don't like taking dangerous chances, that's all."

He smiled at her fondly. "Pioneers always have to take chances, Honey," he said gently. "Men would never have gotten anywhere if they hadn't. But we'll make sure we know all about what we're getting into before we leap, you can bet."

"Besides," Jon tried to reassure her, "even if this stuff would work, Owl hasn't any of that new drug, so we couldn't try it, much as we might want to."

"Oh, that's right. I hadn't thought of that." She smiled with relief.

In a moment Jak came running back with a reelbook. "Here it is. Let's see now." He rapidly scanned through the reel with his finder. "Ah, here it is!"

He read aloud rapidly, and the three listened intently.

"So you see," Jak raised his head triumphantly when he had finished reading, "it's perfectly possible to put us to sleep for a week at a time. And you said the ship was fully automatic," he turned to Jon, "so it doesn't need guiding, and would keep on its course whether we were awake or not."

"Well, it's way past our two hours." Mr. Carver spoke up hastily to prevent his wife from saying anything. "Time we were getting back into stepped-up acceleration again. Strap down, and we can study this later."

"I still don't like the idea," Mrs. Carver said as the four made themselves as comfortable as possible in the recline seats before Jon turned on more acceleration.

14

During the next two or three "waking periods" Jak busied himself studying his reeltext, but this was such a common sight it attracted no special attention. Nor did the others notice that he began disappearing into the ship's storeroom each "up" period, and had to be called repeatedly when the meal was ready, or it was time to strap down again.

He said nothing of what he was doing, nor did any of the others think to ask, for the boys were customarily here and there about the ship, busy at their many tasks and activities.

But at the start of one "up" period Jak went at once to the storeroom and workshop, and when he came back to the table set in the control room he showed his family a large corked test tube filled with a colorless liquid.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining. "I found all the ingredients needed in our stores and my medical kit, and made up a batch of the cataleptic fluid. We inject four cc's in each of us and...."

"What're you talking about?" Jon demanded.

"The stuff to make us unconscious so we can stand five G's of acceleration." Jak looked up in hurt surprise. "What we were talking about the other...."

"I thought we were going to forget that nonsense," his mother said sharply.

"Wait, now, Marci, let's hear what the boy has," her husband said gently. Then, "Go ahead, Jak, tell us more about this."

"This medicine, injected into our blood streams, puts us into suspended animation for several days, depending on how much of the fluid we use. We first take an injection of glucose and other nutrients, of course, then this stuff puts us into deep sleep--slows our metabolism. You said in such a state we could stand much heavier acceleration, Father. Then with this we can beat Bogin."

"What sort of shape will it leave us in?" his father almost raised up in interest, and held up his hand when his wife would have broken in. "Are there any after-effects?"

"The book says the doctor never discovered any, especially after he started giving people the nutrient injections first. He has had people under for as much as two weeks. Four cc's will act for about five days, so I thought we could use that much the first time, at least."

"Five G's would certainly put us 'way ahead of Bogin's ship." Jon had jumped up from the table and had been working swiftly with the computer. "Two such five-day periods--three more days on positive acceleration, then seven on negative--ought to give us a controllable velocity somewhere near Sol. We'd have to compute it more exactly, of course, before we take each shot."

Mr. Carver thought slowly and intently, then spoke decisively. "I believe that this is our best bet, if it's sure. We certainly want to get back first, if possible, and according to our present routine, which is all we can stand as we are, Bogin can beat us in. Besides, he will undoubtedly shoot down the _Star Rover_ if he catches up with it--and you know what would happen to us!"

"Yes, when I checked today he was only about two hundred million behind."

"Let's try it!" Jak was all eagerness.

"Take it easy, Son. We've got to talk and study this a lot first."

Mr. Carver then turned to his wife, who had sunk back into her seat, biting her lips to keep from crying out, her hands clenched tightly. "Well make as sure as we possibly can before we decide to do anything, Honey, but don't you see the advantage of this if it will work? We must get to Terra first if we can, and this seems to be the only way we know of doing it."

"I see that," she said with a sigh of resignation, "and I know you'll know what you're doing before you do it."

"We sure will." Then Mr. Carver turned back to Jak. "Tell us again all about this stuff, and what the book says."

Jak talked rapidly but concisely for nearly five minutes. Afterwards he showed his father the reel, and his table of components of the mixture. Mr. Carver studied the book carefully for some time, and minutely compared the formula as given there with the one Jak had used. Then he lay back and thought with intense concentration for nearly a quarter of an hour. Finally he raised his head with determination.

"I think we should try it. It seems safe, from all the evidence here. I have faith enough in Jak's ability to trust him to have made the fluid correctly--his formula checks exactly with the one in the reels. And if it works, we can win out."

Jon rose purposefully. "Right, Pop. Come on, Jak, let's break out the pressure packs and get them hung."

They went into the storeroom, and soon came back, each staggering under the weight and inconvenience of two packs. These they hung from the bulkhead hooks built into the ship for just that purpose, and made sure they were securely anchored.

"How much time after the injection before we blank out, Owl?" Jon asked then.

"A minute or so, I guess. Why?"

"Figuring how long I'll have to handle the controls. A minute is plenty of time, as I can have everything set up, and only have one switch to throw."

Mr. Carver reached out a hand and patted his wife's cheek as she stood by his side. "It's going to work out all right, Honey." His voice was bright and assured. "These boys of ours are really up on their stuff."

"Yes," she agreed. "I know they know what they are doing, and that you are checking them carefully. It is mainly my not knowing that makes me afraid sometimes." She gave him a lopsided smile. "I hate being the weak member of the party."

"You're nothing of the kind!" He grinned as the boys murmured protests which meant the same thing. "You're the best fellow in the gang." And he blew her a kiss as the boys helped him into his pack and saw to it that he was securely and comfortably strapped in. Then they did the same for their mother.

Jak went to his room and came back quickly with his hypodermic needles, and the bottles of glucose and concentrates. He put these beside the test tube with the new fluid.

Carefully he administered the dosage of nutrients to the other three, then lay down on his recline seat and gave himself his own dose. He rested there for a couple of minutes, then rose. Carefully he drew four cubic centimeters of the new, clear fluid into his needle, then approached his mother. "Ready?" he asked, smiling, but with tight lips.

She pushed up her left sleeve. "Ready, Son." And now her voice was soft but steady.

He tipped the needle into the light, carefully expelled a couple of drops to make sure all air was out of the tube. Then quickly and with a sureness he had trouble making his hands achieve, he pushed the slim needle into her arm, and injected the drug. With the ball of his thumb he rubbed the puncture gently for a moment. "Sleep tight, Mother." He smiled and leaned down to kiss her.

"Who's next?" He turned to the others.

"Me, of course." His father bared his arm. "Jon has to be awake last to handle the controls."

Again Jak filled his needle, and as carefully as before he injected the sleeping drug into his father. Then he stepped up to the pilot's pressure pack where his younger brother was adjusting the controls. "Ready, Jon?"

"Just a sec." The boy was still working, pushing in a button there, turning a switch here, stopping to tighten a wire or connection somewhere else. But in a few moments he had finished, and then rested his right hand on the handle of the master switch, ready to push it into contact.

But just as Jak brought the needle close to his arm the younger boy pushed it away. "Wait now, Jak. How about you? Can you make it to your pack and get in and strapped down and settled, and then give yourself the shot before I throw the switch and the five G's take effect?"

"Don't worry about me," his brother said gruffly. "I'll make out some way."

"Not good enough," Jon said positively. "Let's figure this down to seconds. If I don't close the switch before I black out, all this'll be wasted. How about if you inject yourself first? Will you have time enough to give me my shot and then get back into your pack and strap down before you go under?"

Jak thought swiftly a moment. "Your point's well taken, Jon, but you didn't figure it right. Your way, I'd have to give you your injection besides doing all the rest in the same length of time. If I give you yours first, I can get into my pack and give myself mine there. You merely stay awake until I'm done."

"Yes, guess you're right. But fix your pack so you can be sure of getting in without any trouble."

Jak did this, then came back, filled the needle and injected it into Jon's arm.

Swiftly then he ran to his own pack, climbed in and fastened the straps. He filled the needle, plunged it into his arm, and pushed home the plunger.

Jon had been watching his brother, forcing back the drowsiness that sought to engulf him. As he saw Jak's nod that all was done, he turned to his panel. A quick glance about his board with his fast-diminishing senses told him everything was on the green. With his last measure of consciousness, he rammed home the switch.

He settled back into a more comfortable position, and felt himself plunging down into the blackness of unconsciousness.

* * * * *

Jon felt himself coming awake, and his first, startled thought was, "Didn't the stuff work?"

He began to open his eyes ... and noticed at once how stiff his eyelids felt, but he forced them open. He looked at the date-clock and smiled with relief. The five days and several hours had passed, seemingly in an instant.

Now almost fully awake, his eyes sought the various meters, dials, gauges and telltales on his panel. Everything seemed to be working properly. He tuned in his receptor, and applied greater and still greater power. Space behind was blank of atomics.

Smiling thankfully and beginning to unloosen his straps, Jon now noticed how dry his mouth was, and that his skin felt dry, too, and feverish. But he had no headache, and his thoughts seemed to be functioning as clearly and swiftly as always.

"Boy, I sure need a bath and drink, and something to eat!" he thought--then realized that the others would be feeling the same way. The others! He turned quickly to look at them. They were all still lying in their packs, somewhat pale, but with a peaceful, unstrained look on their faces.

Jon tried to rise, but reeled back and almost fell as he got onto his feet. He held himself erect a moment, and gradually felt a measure of strength returning.

As soon as he could, he went into the galley. Quickly he prepared a cup of instant broth, and drank it gratefully. Much refreshed, he made more of the consomme, and further enriched it with some anti-fatigue pills dissolved in the steaming liquid. He set four cups of it on a tray and carried them into the control room. His first quick glance showed the others beginning to stir.

"Morning, folks," he called cheerily. "Soup's on."

They opened their eyes slowly, almost uncomprehendingly, but awareness came quickly, and his mother and brother sat up and fumbled at their straps.

"Did we make it?" his father called anxiously. But Jak noticed at once how weak his father's voice sounded, and went across to his side.

"We sure did." Jon smiled broadly. "We were out just a little over five days, and the receptors don't show a thing behind. I woke up just a few minutes ahead of you, and that's one of the first things I looked at. Then I found I was weak and dry, so I went out and made this broth." He passed the cups and, as the others drank gratefully, Jon spoke again.

"I've got to hand it to you, Owl. You sure fixed us fine this time."

"He certainly did." Mr. Carver spoke as forcefully as he could, having already privately warned Jak to say nothing of his weakened condition. He looked solicitously over at his wife. "You all right, Marci?"

"Yes, I feel fine, now that I've had this good consomme Jon was so thoughtful as to make." She smiled with real relief that they had all come through this dangerous experiment so successfully.

Mr. Carver turned to Jon. "It feels like we're only at one gravity."

"Yes, I rigged the automatics so they'd take care of that at the end of one hundred and twenty-five hours," the boy explained. "Probably it was the relief from pressure that woke us, as well as the wearing off of the stuff Jak gave us." Then he looked at his brother. "How come we're not famished after five days? That little glucose and stuff you gave us wouldn't last that long, would it?"

"No, but the drug not only made us unconscious, but slowed down our metabolism so that we burned up hardly any energy."

There was silence then while the four sipped their broth. Finally Mr. Carver looked up at Jak. "How soon can we go through this again?"

"The book says the doctor gave as high as four doses to people, one right after the other as they woke up, with only a few hours' rest between them."

"_Hmmm_, then we'd better take some time out. We'll all want baths, plenty of your mother's good cooking, and Jon and I will have to do some computing."

"If Bogin holds his acceleration, plus and minus, we can take most of the day, and still beat him in." Jon had been doing some rapid preliminary figuring. "But it'll take a couple of hours--maybe more--to compute the last hop. It's tricky. Especially, I'll have to look in the ephemeris to find the position of Luna when we get near her orbit."

"Right, we don't want to hit her. Well, we can keep at one gravity for at least twelve hours, then," his father said, and Mrs. Carver breathed a sigh of relief. She was still a bit worried about their undergoing such untried experiments, even though she trusted the abilities of her menfolks, and knew they had all come safely through the first time.

"I'll make notes of all this, and ask each of you for your full reactions," Jak said animatedly. "Then when we get home I'll write up a complete report and send it to Dr. Svendholm. I'm sure he'll be tickled pink to get this added confirmation of his studies and experiments."

"That's thoughtful of you, Son." His father smiled. "You're developing into a true research scientist."

"He sure is!" His younger brother paid deserved tribute. Jak reddened a bit and hastily left the control room to help his mother with her work.

They all took warm baths and changed their clothing. As Jak was helping his father, he asked anxiously, "Now that we're alone, Father, did you really come through all right? You look a bit more tired and worn than before we started this."

"Sure, I'm OK," Mr. Carver said quickly, but he could not meet his son's eyes.

"You're not, sir, and you know it and I know it," Jak smiled a bit strainedly. "I don't like it, but I know how you feel about this, so I'll keep quiet. How's your leg?"

"Thanks, Son. Our getting back first is very important to me, and I can rest and get well after we reach Earth and get the Board's confirmation on our claim. And don't forget that we might not get back at all if Bogin catches up with us. He's ruthless about anyone who gets in his way.... As for the leg, it aches some, but not like it did before. I really think it's healing in fine shape."

"Let's have a look." Jak threw back the covers, and peered closely at the leg, lifting it so he could better see all around it.

"Yes," he said finally, as he tucked in the blankets again. "It's almost healed, and there isn't a sign of inflammation. Not even a bump where the break was. I ... I sure hope I set it right, so that it won't bother you later on."

His father patted his hand. "You did a grand job, I know, Son, and I'm very grateful to you--as well as proud of having such a fine boy."

"Two fine boys, then, for Jon is certainly every bit as deserving of your praise as I am, sir."

"That I'll certainly buy!" Mr. Carver's eyes shone.

They all sat about during the day, eating as much as they could hold of Mrs. Carver's fine cooking, and relaxing gratefully in the comfortable one-gravity Earth-weight.

Jon and his father worked tirelessly until they had computed precisely where they were and how soon and how much more deceleration they would have to use to finish their trip. Then they, too, relaxed for the balance of the day.

Late that afternoon Jon suddenly swiveled his chair about to face his father's recline seat.