a long way up north."

"Spud," said Chet, "you're a rotten pilot; you're one of the worst I
ever knew. Careless--that's your worst fault--and if anybody doubts that
they'll believe it after this trip. For, Spud, if you're any friend of
mine, and I know you are, you're going to lose your bearings, and kick
this old sky-hog a long way beyond that factory she is bound for. And
you're going to set me down in a God-forsaken spot in the arctic where
I'm pretty sure I'll find a ship waiting for me.

"And, if you just stick around for a while after that, you will see me
take off for the Moon. Then, if Haldgren is there--"

Chet failed to finish the sentence; he was staring through a rear
lookout, where, over the arc of the Earth's horizon, could be seen a
thin crescent Moon; about it drifting clouds made a halo.

The eyes of Spud O'Malley followed Chet's, and his imaginative faculties
must have been stimulated by Chet's words, for he gazed open-mouthed, as
if for the first time he visioned that golden scimitar as something more
substantial than a high-hung light. He drew one long incredulous breath
before he answered.

"What position, sir? Say the word and I'll lose myself so bad we'll be
over the Pole and half-way to the equator again!"

"Not that bad," was Chet's assurance. "Just spot this ship over 82:14
north, 93:20 east, and I'll give you local bearings from there."

Then to himself: "'Cold storage,' Walt said; he meant our old shop, of
course. Probably had a hunch we would need it."

But to the pilot he said only the one word: "Thanks!"--though the grip
of his hand must have spoken more eloquently.

* * * * *

The eastbound lanes of the five thousand level saw them plod slowly
along, while faster and better-groomed ships slipped smoothly past; then
the red hull rose to Level Twelve and swung out upon the great circle
course that would bear them more nearly in the direction of the
destination Chet had given. There were free levels higher up in which
they could have laid a direct course, but the Irish pilot did not need
Chet to tell him that the old hull would never stand it. Her internal
pressure could never have been maintained at any density such as human
lungs demanded.

But they were on their way, and Chet's customary genial expression gave
place to one of more grim determination as he watched the white-flecked
ocean drift slowly past below.

Once a patrol ship spoke to them