y not follow the same path in that dimension that
light does--in fact, they do not. If that path is to be plotted it
requires the solution of five simultaneous equations, each complete and
general, and each of the fifth degree, and also an exponential series
with the unknown in the final exponent, before the fourth-dimensional
concept can be derived ... hm--m--m. No use--we've struck something that
not even Norlaminian theory can handle."

"You surprise me." Crane said. "I supposed that they had everything
worked out."

"Not on fifth-order stuff--it's new, you know. It begins to look as
though we'd have to stick around until every one of those torpedoes gets
somewhere near its mother-ship. Hate to do it, too--it'll take six
months, at least, to reach the vessels clear across the Galaxy. I'll put
it up to the gang at dinner--guess they'll let me talk business a couple
of minutes overtime, especially after they find out what I've got to
say."

He explained the phenomenon to an interested group of white-bearded
scientists as they ate. Rovol, to Seaton's surprise, was elated and
enthusiastic.

"Wonderful, my boy!" he breathed. "Marvelous! A perfect subject for
years after year of deepest study and the most profound thought.
Perfect!"

"But what can we _do_ about it?" asked Seaton, exasperated. "We don't
want to hang around here twiddling our thumbs for a year waiting for
those torpedoes to get to wherever they're going!"

"We can do nothing but wait and study. That problem is one of splendid
difficulty, as you yourself realize. Its solution may well be a matter
of lifetimes instead of years. But what is a year, more or less? You can
destroy the Fenachrone eventually, so be content."

"But content is just exactly what I'm _not_!" declared Seaton,
emphatically. "I want to do it, and do it _now_!"

"Perhaps I might volunteer a suggestion," said Caslor, diffidently; and
as both Rovol and Seaton looked at him in surprise he went on: "Do not
misunderstand me. I do not mean concerning the mathematical problem in
discussion, about which I am entirely ignorant. But has it occurred to
you that those torpedoes are not intelligent entities, acting upon their
own volition and steering themselves as a result of their own ordered
mental processes? No, they are mechanisms, in my own province, and I
venture to say with the utmost confidence that they are guided to their
destinations by streamers of force of some nature, emanating