re
was a gravitational force here for which I was not allowing. The
error was not within the _Cometara_; she was responding perfectly. But
there was a force upon her, and not that of the Sun, Earth, Moon or
the distant starfield. I had calculated all of these. It was something
else. Some gravitational pull, so that we were not upon the course of
flight we should have been on.

"But what could be wrong?" Grantline demanded.

It was Drac who guessed it. "That radiance from the enemy's bow?"

It was that, we felt certain. Even at this thirty thousand mile
distance, the bow-beacon seemed streaming upon us. We could not see
that it illumined the _Cometara_, nor could our instruments measure
any added illumination. Our flight-orbit, if held, would carry us with
a swing some ten thousand miles above the South Pole of the Moon. It
would cross diagonally in front of the trajectory that the enemy
vessel was maintaining. But we were off our predetermined course, with
a side-drift toward the enemy. That bow-beacon radiance was exerting a
force upon us, a strange gravitational pull.

Grantline gasped when Drac said it. "If it's that now, what will it be
when we get closer?"

The minutes were passing. The thirty thousand miles between us and the
enemy was cut to ten thousand; to five. The ship was soon visible to
the naked eye. Its visual movement, for all this time measurable only
as a drift upon the amplified images of our instruments, now was
obvious. We could see it plunging forward, could see that probably we
would cross its bow. Within fifty miles? We hoped and guessed that
would be the result, so that with this first passing we could use our
weapons. Fifty miles of distance at combined speeds of some fifty
thousand miles an hour: that would be something like three seconds
from a collision. The danger of a collision, which both ships would do
anything to avert, was negligible; in the immensity of space two
objects so small could not strike each other, even with intention,
once in a million times.

We could not calculate the passing so closely, but suddenly it seemed
that perhaps the enemy could. The bow-beacon radiance, so obviously a
miniature of the weird light-beams streaming from Earth, Mars and
Venus, now swung away from us and was extinguished. Whatever
alteration of our course the enemy had made, they seemed to be
satisfied. The passing would be to their liking. Would it be to ours?

Grantline had left the turre