ol," replied Jonner. "That
planet-loving G-boat jockey missed orbit. We'll have to swing out a
little and go to him."

On a conventional space craft, the order for acceleration would have
sent the engineer to the engine deck to watch his gauges and report by
intercom. But the _Radiant Hope_'s "engine deck" was the atomic tug two
miles ahead, which T'an, in heavy armor, would enter only in
emergencies. He calculated for a moment, then called softly to Jonner:

"Pile One, in ten."

"In ten," confirmed Jonner, pulling a lever on the calibrated gauge of
the radio control.

"Pile Two, in fifteen."

"In fifteen."

"Check. I'll have the length of burst figured for you in a jiffy."

A faint glow appeared around the atomic tug far ahead, and there was the
faintest shiver in the ship. But after a moment, Qoqol said in a puzzled
tone:

"No Gs, Jonner. Engine not work?"

"Sure, she's working," said Jonner with a grin. "You'll never get any
more G than we've got now, Qoqol, all the way to Mars. Our maximum
acceleration will be 1/3,000th-G."

"One three-thousandth?" exclaimed T'an, shaken out of his Oriental calm.
"Jonner, the _Marsward_ will blast away at one or two Gs. How do you
expect to beat that at 1/3,000th?"

"Because they have to cut off and coast most of the way in an elliptic
orbit, like any other rocket," answered Jonner calmly. "We drive
straight across the system, under power all the time. We accelerate half
way, decelerate the other half."

"But 1/3,000th!"

"You'll be surprised at what constant power can do. I know Baat, and I
know the trick he's going to use. It's obvious from the blastoff time
they arranged. He's going to tack off the Moon and use his power right
to cut 20 days off that regular 237-day schedule. But this tug-boat will
make it in 154 days!"

They took aboard the 200-ton landing boat. By the time they got it
secured, the radio already was sounding warnings for blastoff.

Zero hour arrived. Again Jonner pulled levers and again the faint glow
appeared around the tail of their distant tug. Across space the exhaust
of the _Marsward XVIII_ flared into blinding flame. In a moment, it
began to pull ahead visibly and soon was receding like a meteor.

Near the _Radiant Hope_, the space station seemed not to have changed
position at all.

"The race is not always to the swift," remarked Jonner philosophically.

"And we're the tortoise," said T'an. "How about filling us in on this
jaunt,