n't we? You _are_ a navigator,
aren't you?"

"I am," Rajcik said icily. "And if I computed my courses the way you
maintain your engines, we'd be plowing through Australia now."

"Why, you little company toady! At least I got my job legitimately, not
by marrying--"

"That's enough!" Captain Somers cut in.

Watkins, his face a mottled red, his mustache bristling, looked like a
walrus about to charge. And Rajcik, eyes glittering, was waiting
hopefully.

"No more of this," Somers said. "I give the orders here."

"Then give some!" Watkins snapped. "Tell him to plot a return curve.
This is life or death!"

"All the more reason for remaining cool. Mr. Rajcik, can you plot such a
course?"

"First thing I tried," Rajcik said. "Not a chance, on the fuel we have
left. We can turn a degree or two, but it won't help."

Watkins said, "Of course it will! We'll curve back into the Solar
System!"

"Sure, but the best curve we can make will take a few thousand years for
us to complete."

"Perhaps a landfall on some other planet--Neptune, Uranus--"

Rajcik shook his head. "Even if an outer planet were in the right place
at the right time, we'd need fuel--a lot of fuel--to get into a braking
orbit. And if we could, who'd come get us? No ship has gone past Mars
yet."

"At least we'd have a chance," Watkins said.

"Maybe," Rajcik agreed indifferently. "But we can't swing it. I'm afraid
you'll have to kiss the Solar System good-by."

Captain Somers wiped his forehead and tried to think of a plan. He
found it difficult to concentrate. There was too great a discrepancy
between his knowledge of the situation and its appearance. He
knew--intellectually--that his ship was traveling out of the Solar
System at a tremendous rate of speed. But in appearance they were
stationary, hung in the abyss, three men trapped in a small, hot room,
breathing the smell of hot metal and perspiration.

"What shall we do, Captain?" Watkins asked.

* * * * *

Somers frowned at the engineer. Did the man expect him to pull a
solution out of the air? How was he even supposed to concentrate on the
problem? He had to slow the ship, turn it. But his senses told him that
the ship was not moving. How, then, could speed constitute a problem?

He couldn't help but feel that the real problem was to get away from
these high-strung, squabbling men, to escape from this hot, smelly
little room.

"Captain! You must have some