rgasso.

The battered derelict ships rolled and tumbled and spun out there,
slowly, unhurried, in a mutual gravitational field which their own
Gormann '87 had disturbed. It was a sargasso like the legendary Sargasso
Seas of Earth's early sailing days, becalmed seas, seas without wind,
with choking Sargasso weed, seas that snared and entrapped....

"Can we get out?" Diane asked.

He shrugged. "That depends. How strong the pull of gravity is. Whether
the Gormann's rocket drive is still working. If we can repair the radar.
We'd never get out without the radar."

"I'll get something to eat," she said practically. "You see about the
radar."

Diane went aft while he remained there in the tiny control cabin. By the
time she brought the heated cans back with her, he knew it was hopeless.
Diane was not the sort of woman you had to humor about a thing like
that. She offered him a can of pork and beans and looked at his face,
and when he nodded she said:

"It's no use?"

"We couldn't fix it. The scopes just wore out, Diane. Hell, if they
haven't been replaced since this tub rolled off the assembly line,
they're thirty years old. She's an '87."

"Is there anything we can do?"

He shrugged. "We're going to try. We'll check the air and water and see
what we have. Then we start looking."

"Start looking? I don't understand."

"For a series eighty Gormann cruiser."

Diane's eyes widened. "You mean--out there?"

"I mean out there. If we find a series eighty cruiser--and we might--and
if I'm able to transfer the radarscopes after we find out they're in
good shape, then we have a chance."

Diane nodded slowly. "If there are any other minor repairs to make, I
could be making them while you look for a series eighty Gormann."

But Ralph shook his head. "We'll probably have only a few hours of air
to spare, Diane. If we both look, we'll cover more ground. I hate to ask
you, because it won't be pretty out there. But it might be our only
chance."

"I'll go, of course. Ralph?"

"Yes?"

"What is this sargasso, anyway?"

* * * * *

He shrugged as he read the meters on the compressed air tanks. Four
tanks full, with ten hours of air, for two, in each. One tank half full.
Five hours. Five plus forty. Forty-five hours of air.

They would need a minimum of thirty-five hours to reach Mars.

"No one knows for sure about the sargasso," he said, wanting to talk,
wanting to dispel his own fear so