I don't like being without protection; I always wear a gun
in one pocket and my recorder in the other."

"You'll scarcely be in any danger on the ship, Burl. Better leave it in
your cabin."

"All right. But about the Ripples--you aren't going to take them
seriously, are you?"

"I wish you'd be a little more frank, Mr. Chairman. Has the Star Line
suddenly lost confidence in me?"

"No, no, nothing of the sort! We've every confidence in you, of course.
But I've been hearing rumors, hints that we may have to make a slow
crossing, and I've been wondering. But then, I'm sure that a man of your
intelligence doesn't take the Ripples any more seriously than I do."

"I don't know what gossip you have been hearing," said the Captain,
hesitantly. "'Ripples' is probably a very inaccurate and inadequate name
for the phenomenon. Thakura might equally well have called them rapids,
falls, bumps, spaces, holes, or discontinuities."

"Then why did he choose to call them Ripples?"

"Probably because he didn't know exactly what they are. The whole
problem is a very complicated one."

"Complicated nonsense, I call it. Well, we won't quarrel, my dear
Josiah, but don't let them hold us back. Remember, we're out to break
all records!"

* * * * *

Under the artificial sky, crowds of people streamed into the
administration building of Satellite Y. The jumping-off place for all
rockets and ships going to and from the stars, Y-port was a world of its
own, dedicated to only one purpose, the launching and berthing of ships.

It was a quiet and orderly place as a rule, and its small permanent
colony of workmen and officials lived a spartan existence except for
their yearly vacations on Earth. But today it seemed as if half the
earth's people, friends and relatives of the passengers, had chosen to
make the port a holiday spot of their own, to help celebrate the
launching of the _Star Lord_ on her maiden voyage. The rocket ferry
between Y-port and Earth had had to triple its number of runs in the
past week, and this morning's rocket had brought in the last of the
passengers for Almazin III.

Alan Chase trudged wearily along with the crowd entering the building,
trying to close his ears to the hundreds of chattering voices. He was
tall and very thin, and his white skin clothed his bones like brittle
paper. Walking was an effort, and he tried to move with an even step so
he would not have to gasp for breath a