"But _nothing_ can't _go_ any faster!" protested Ugh. "According to
Einstein--"

"To hell with Einstein!" roared Brad. "Is he paying your salary?"

So they went faster.

The ship sped onward--unless it was upward--to fulfill its Mission.
Again and again Brad found himself wondering where he was going. The
Mission was a real stiff. He knew only that since there was
practically no life anywhere in the solar system, except for good,
kind, old Earth--Earth had seen to that--anyone attacking Earth--or
not doing so--was obviously somewhere in outer space! But here the
trail ended.

Courage, he told himself, courage! After all, was he not the grandson
of Pierre Fromage, inventor of the rubberband motor? With a start, he
realized he was not.

His own heritage, while covered with peculiar glory, was a more tragic
one--the spacemen's heritage. The Broadshoulders were brave, but
things happened to them. His grandfather, a traffic officer, had
chased a comet for speeding, and had, unfortunately, overtaken it. His
father had been spared the fire, but one day, aboard his spaceship,
someone spilled a glass of water. The gravity was off at the time, and
the water just hung there in mid-air until Brad's father walked into
it and drowned.

What would be his own end, he wondered? What other way was there to
die? Just then, through the bulkhead, he could hear Ugh swinging in
his hammock, playing the violin. He wondered if the rats were dancing,
like the last time he'd surprised him. Another thought was on the way,
something about rats and a new way to die, but Brad was already
asleep, mercifully having a nightmare.

* * * * *

It was morning of the fifth day when the _Emergency Alarm_ (E-A) was
suddenly activated! Instantly, a host of automatic devices went off.
One turned on the fan, another blew the fuses, a third made the beds.
Bells clanged and bugles sounded every call from _Battle Stations_
(B-S) to _Abandon Ship_ (J-r). Brad and Ugh slept through it all.
Nothing was wrong, except with the _Emergency Alarm_ (E-A). It wore
itself out and the eventful voyage continued.

Brad woke on the ninth day. The 2-day pill he'd taken on the third day
had evidently done its work well. He was rested, he felt optimistic
again. When he looked out the porthole, he could see plenty of space
for improvement.

--But what was _that_?

There, half obscured in a tumbling, swirling mass of misty gray
clouds, he