"What in the world?" Jon's eyes snapped open and immediately began scanning the various telltales on the panel, while from the other three came a chorused, "What's wrong?"
"Something out here using atomic energy." Jon's surprised voice made them raise their seats quickly to upright, so they could better see for themselves.
Mr. Carver hastily adjusted his visiplate to maximum magnification, and began searching the heavens surrounding them. "A ship, you think?"
"Yes, and quite close." And a moment later, aided more surely by his more complex instruments, Jon cried, "There it is! RA 11; square 17 on the plate."
His father's flying fingers found the object, then narrowed his focus of vision and stepped up the magnification. His eyes grew large, then hard and tense, as he studied the close-up image. "Slik Bogin's ship—I'd know that anywhere!" he exclaimed, and the boys looked at him in puzzled concern.
"Then I must have been right, that day I thought I heard a ship," Mrs. Carver declared.
"You must have been," Jak agreed.
"But what's Bogin doing out here?" Jon asked with a touch of fear in his voice.
"Nothing good, you can bet." His father's voice was grimmer than any of them had ever heard it before. "Any time you run across that pirate, you can lay mighty big odds there's skullduggery afoot."
"Great catfish! He's trying to beat us out of this system."
"I'll lay a thousand to one he is, if he thinks he can get away with it."
"What can we do about it, Father?" There was now a trace of a tremor in Jak's voice. "Jon and I have worked so hard to map these planets—how can Bogin possibly do the same and still beat us?"
"No telling. He's a slippery cuss, and if he really wants to try claim-jumping, he'll figure out some dirty scheme."
"Can't we get back to Earth ahead of him, Mr. C., and report to the Colonial Board first?" Mrs. Carver was almost in tears.
Her husband gave her a tight-lipped smile. "We'll sure try, Honey." His forehead creased with a frown of concentration for some minutes, then he faced Jon, who was watching him from the pilot's seat.
"Bogin's headed in the opposite direction, so no use chasing him to see what he's doing. Besides, I've heard his ship is armed, and we aren't, except for our rifles, which are absolutely no good in space. I say, continue our course, checking our signals, then beat it for home. After all, we don'tknowfor sure that Bogin's trying anything—and our best bet is to finish our job as though nothing had happened, but not waste any time doing it ... just in case."
"Right, Pop. As near as I could tell, we have twice his speed, and we don't need to worry. We have all the data and pictures to prove we're the Prime Discoverers, and we didn't hear any signals to show he's put out any senders."
But there was an uneasy and unhappy silence as the little space-yacht continued to eat up the millions of miles.
Tad Carver had intended having his younger son slow down near Planet Three and go into an orbit close enough so he could get a good generalized view of this other Earthlike, though colder, planet. But now he would not do so. Speed and time were essential in getting back to Terra. He would try to keep his worries from the others as much as possible, but there was a deep foreboding in his mind.
Only too well he knew the various types of men who braved the spaceways, and that many of them were out and out criminals. And this Slik Bogin was the most ruthless pirate and cutthroat of them all, from reports. There were so many, many crimes charged against him ... though it was true that none had ever been proven. Yet such was the man's evil reputation that all honest spacemen hated him, even as they were somewhat in fear of him.
Mr. Carver was sure that the man's spacer was almost a warship in her armament. Nor did he doubt that the master criminal would not hesitate to use his heavy rays to blast out of existence anyone he felt was a menace to his nefarious plans.
And this new system the Carvers had discovered was a prize well worth stealing, if possible. Although Mr. Carver had not seen these splendid worlds with his own eyes, he had carefully studied the boys' concise and complete reports, and their many detailed pictures, so he knew what a rich treasure they had struck in finding this sun and its planets and moons.
It would make him and his family rich beyond their fondest dreams ... and he would be worse than flat broke if they lost out on getting their claim approved.
For Mr. Carver had not told even his wife that all their possessions, including their ship, were mortgaged for every credit he could secure, to enable them to make this costly journey. It was true he had won great wealth on his previous trips into space—but several of his largest investments on Terra had gone sour, and this was a last desperate chance to recoup his fortune in one intensive campaign.
As they neared the point in their trajectory that brought them to the Earthward side of Planet Three, Jon began tuning his receiver and turning his directional antenna-loops, so he could pick up the continuous message of their sender. Soon he began hearing words, and tuned more closely, stepping up his power. The four sat erect, expectant.
Then their faces blanched and their fists tightened as they heard the words:
"This sun and system of five planets, of which this is the third, were discovered and surveyed by Michael Bogin and his crew, on the tenth day of January in the Terran year of 2136."
Over and over the message was repeated, while the Carvers stared at each other in horrified surprise and consternation.
But Mr. Carver rallied quickly. "He has changed the tape in your senders, boys. We'll probably find the same on Four and Five, and he's on his way to Two now to do the same."
"But he'll not be able to change the one we set out around the sun, will he, Pop?" Jon's voice quavered and broke into a boyish soprano. "He can't get in as close as we did, and still slow down enough to retrieve such a small thing, can he?"
"I don't see how he could. But he has some darned good technies in that pirate crew of his. They'll figure out some way to destroy ours and substitute one of their own, I'll bet. Well, this changes the picture. Now we know what he's up to, so we'll just have to get to Terra ahead of him, and lay our facts before the Board first."
"They'll take our word against his, won't they, especially since we have such complete records and so many photographs?" Jak asked, hoping to be reassured.
"There's no telling," Mr. Carver spoke slowly, shaking his head. "If Bogin is trying to get this claim—and now we know he is—he'll work out some way of getting pictures and records, too. We can only hope."
"And pray," their mother added determinedly.
"We'll make out some way," Jon tried to cheer them all. "Meanwhile, I suggest I cut to one G and that Mom fixes us some grub. We have to eat."
"That's a good idea," his father agreed, and Jon manipulated his controls. They all felt the sudden relief of once more being their accustomed weight. Mrs. Carver unstrapped herself and left for the galley. Jak also unstrapped, saying, "I'll go help Mom."
"Ask her to make a pile of sandwiches, too, and to bring plenty of drinks so we can eat later without slowing our acceleration," his father called, then added, "Don't let your mother talk about this. Get her mind on something else and keep it there."
"Right, Father."
"This is serious, Jon," Mr. Carver said when the two were alone in the control room. "I don't like to worry any of you any more than's necessary, but our chances aren't too good, now that those signals have been changed."
"We've got some hope left, though, haven't we?" came the anxious inquiry.
"I see two fairly good ones—but it all depends on so many factors," Mr. Carver answered after a moment of thought. "We've got to try to get back first and report and show them our records and pictures—which are very detailed, thanks to you two boys. Second, we've got to hope someone back there caught our original signals, and then noticed the change—ifthey could tell they came from the same system."
"How are you making out under this acceleration?"
"All right. I don't seem to be any weaker ... but then, what with all the excitement and disappointment, there may be a relapse. But that's not important...." Then, hearing his son's gasp of dismay, he continued rapidly and grimly, "No, Jon, really. I mean that, and I want you to keep it in mind at all times on the rest of this trip. I'm expendable, if we can prove our case. Not that I intend to die," he hastened to add with a grin as Jon started to protest. "But I'd rather take longer to get well and know that you all are provided for the way you should be."
"If we cut for Terra right away, without waiting to go on to Four and Five, Bogin couldn't possibly build up speed enough to beat us in, could he?" Jon questioned anxiously.
"Not unless his ship's a lot faster than ours. It probably is, because his crew can undoubtedly stand more acceleration, and he'll drive to the limit. But if he stops to change those other signals, I don't see how he can do it. Go ahead, change course, and let's hike for home."
"Right. Let's see, now. Terra's behind and down from where we are and the way we're heading. I'll set us into a circle while we're figuring out our course."
"Make it just an approximation for now. We can refine it as we go."
"Right." Jon worked swiftly at his computer, then at his controls, and they could feel the gallant little ship begin to strain toward the right.
"Don't try too short a turn," his father warned.
"OK, I'll let up a bit. I was figuring on a two million radius."
"Better make it three for safety."
In time their circling was completed, the new homeward bound course figured. For days the little ship and its anxious crew were on their way. Three times each day their acceleration was stepped up to two Earth-gravities for a period of four hours, then back to one and a quarter for the same period—four on and four off continually, to give them a rest from the burden of doubled weight, and to make it easier to prepare and eat their meals, and to do what personal and ship's chores had to be done. In between times, as they could, they slept.
Jon had set their receptor and analyzer to react to atomics. It was now fanning out behind them in a cone-shaped funnel of force. He hoped by this to be able to tell if Bogin began overtaking them.
Of course, space was so vast, and the distance to Sol and Terra so great, and their points of trajectory so different, that the pirate ship might be taking an entirely different course, and not come anywhere near them until the two ships were almost home. On the other hand, Jon was taking the most direct route—and he was sure Bogin would undoubtedly do the same—so they were quite apt to converge sooner or later.
And since Jon's receptors covered an ever-larger sphere of space the farther away they reached, he and his father hoped they would be able to tell if and when their enemy began catching up with them.
Meantime, the two studied almost continuously together the problem of that supposedly new fuel-metal they had discovered on the planet Marci—hoping it could be used in their engines. They were sadly handicapped, both because neither was an atomic physicist, and because their little ship—well-stocked and provided with many instruments as it was—did not contain anywhere near all the testing equipment needed for such a delicate and complex and dangerous task.
Yet they learned much.
Jak took over the routine duties of their flight, after some additional instruction on points about which he was not sure. In between times, as the lessened pressure allowed, he studied the new specimens he had collected, saw to it that the ship's hydroponics kept operating correctly, and did whatever he could to relieve his brother and his father of their ordinary duties so they could devote all their waking time to study and experiment.
Their mother attended to her housekeeping, and saw to the comfort and well-being of her menfolk.
Mr. Carver knew, deep within himself, that he was overdoing, considering his illness. His partially-healed broken leg so often pained and throbbed that he had difficulty concealing his hurt from the sharp eyes of his family. But he loved his wife and sons so greatly that their future well-being was far more important to him than his own, and so he never mentioned these things.
The sturdy little yacht had covered almost half the tremendous distance back to Sol. The Carvers were beginning to let up a bit in their anxiety and fears. Surely, each one felt, they were winning the race.
Then suddenly their alarm rang.
Three of them found themselves on their feet, rushing toward the control panel.
"How close are they, Jon?" their father yelled from his co-pilot's couch.
"Mmmm.I've stepped this up about two hundred per cent.... I figure it about half a billion miles."
"Not very far—in space. They must have lots more speed than we do to have caught up with us like that."
"What shall we do?" Mrs. Carver grabbed her husband's arm with trembling fingers.
He turned his head and smiled up at her. "We'll figure out some way to beat them, Honey," he soothed. "There's lots more can be done yet."
"Sure, Mom, they're still a long way behind us." Jon tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "And you know the old saying, 'a stern chase is a long chase.'"
"Can't we increase our acceleration and so our speed?" Jak asked.
"Yes, we'll have to do that, at least." Mr. Carver's voice was grim. He looked at Jon. "Step it up to two and a half, as soon as you're all in your seats. We'll stay there more of the time from now on, and we'll change the period to six in and two up."
"How about one and a half for the two hours?"
"We'll try it. If we sleep or nap more while we're at max, we ought to be able to stand it."
"We're still almost ..." Jon figured rapidly at the computer, "... three weeks out of Terra, even at that increased speed."
His father grimaced, while his wife and elder son uttered gasps of dismay. "I know. It'll be tough, but we'vegotto win."
But after a moment he looked first at his wife, than at Jak. "This is an order," he said seriously. "The minute any of you feel you can't take it any more, say so and we'll cut down, even if we do lose speed. I guess I went off half-cocked just now in saying that we had to win. Our health is more important...."
"Except yours, you're trying to say," Jak broke in. "You haven't been sparing yourself any, I notice, and I know enough doctoring to know you're not getting well as fast...."
"Pooh, I'm all right, and I'm used to ship accelerations." Mr. Carver turned his head toward his son and made himself grin. "Even under these three G's, I can still get up and lick you, even with a half-healed leg."
Jon realized at once that his father was warning him not to worry their mother any more, and forced himself to reply, pretending to be shamefaced, "Yes, sir, you could at that. I'll be good."
But the next morning, by the ship's chronoms, after they had fully awakened from a night of tortured sleep, Jon studied his instruments for some time, then reported to his father, "Bogin's still catching up. He's only about four hundred million behind us now."
"But how can he possibly be?" Jak demanded.
"Probably staying on three G's or better all the time," Jon answered.
"Or else he has a different means of propulsion than we have that affects his whole ship and contents, including crew," his father said slowly. "I don't know what it could be. But theoretically there are a lot of different ways of traveling faster than any we've learned how to use yet."
"But how could they, Mr. C.?" his wife gasped. "I don't pretend to know much about such things, but I thought that better fuels merely meant increased efficiency in the use of the engines, not an increase of speed. Isn't it acceleration that makes the speed faster?"
He turned his head with difficulty—at three gravities acceleration their apparent weight was tripled, and his body now "weighed" over five hundred and fifty pounds, instead of its normal one eighty plus!
"You're both right and wrong, Honey," he explained. "The better the fuel, the less we have to carry for the same distance traveled, and that makes our thrust-to-mass ratio less. We can go home faster than we came out here, because some of our fuel is gone and we have less mass. But that's not what I'm talking about. Theoretically, as I said, there are other ways, none of which our scientists have yet figured out how to use, as far as I know. There could be a complete or partial nullification of gravity or of inertia. Or some type of space warp. Or some method of 'cutting through' the other dimensions, so we could go almost instantly from one point in space to another."
Jak gasped. "Why, how's that possible, Father?"
Jon answered quickly. "I can illustrate, I think. Imagine a sheet of paper, with a dot near either end. The normal way to connect them would be a straight line drawn from one to the other—which is analogous to the way we travel in space now. What Pop's talking about would be the same as if we folded the paper so the two dots touched, and moved from one to the other direct."
"That wouldn't be...."
"That's silly."
The two phrases came simultaneously from Jak and his mother.
"It's not silly, Honey. We merely haven't figured out how to do it yet. But theoretical science knows that there are 'folds' in space. We just haven't learned how to use them yet."
"No," Jak snorted, "and I'll bet you never do."
"And I'll bet they will," Jon blazed. "You just don't realize how wonderful science is—in other lines than your own, I mean. You think it's perfectly natural that medical science has made such tremendous advances in the past couple of centuries. Why shouldn't other branches make just as great strides?"
"Because the advances in medicine and surgery have been logical," his brother began hotly, but their father interrupted.
"Whoa now, boys, don't get started on an endless argument. You're both right—and both wrong. I'll admit that the three methods I mentioned are pretty far-fetched. But after all, science is always doing the unexpected and the impossible. There's no telling what they'll do next—not even of telling what they may have done while we've been gone."
"I'd read about that 'simultaneity' thing," Jon stated. "It was a concept about being able to reproduce the exact nucleonic pattern of some other space and thus being able to transfer to it instantly."
"Another idea is of a 'tube' or 'vortex' method of transversing space at almost instantaneous speeds—and many other such," Mr. Carver declared. "But it's a cinch none of us have brains enough to figure out any of them before we reach Terra. And that Bogin's not using any of them, either, since he's so apparently on a straight-line flight like we are. He may have better engines, or better fuel, but to overtake us like he is—now that I've stopped to think about it—can only be done by using greater acceleration than we are, and for a longer time. So while those other ideas are interesting conjectures, they won't help us out of our present predicament."
"That's right, Pop." Jon wrenched his mind back to their immediate problem. "We've got to figure out what we can doright nowto beat Bogin."
They all lapsed into silence then, partly to think of their problem, and partly because their personal energy was weakened by the tremendous pressures they were undergoing.
Their new schedule was hard on them all—none of them were really rested, even though they now slept or dozed most of the time. But they were keeping more nearly ahead, although when Jon took his next readings, Bogin's ship had crept up another third of a hundred million miles.
"That means he'll catch up with and pass us in about eleven days, and we're still almost twenty out of Terra." Jon could not entirely keep the worry out of his voice.
During the noon respite, according to ship's time, they cut their acceleration to one and a half, and Mrs. Carver prepared a hot meal, and cold lunches for the balance of that day.
While they were eating, there in the control room, Jak suddenly looked up at his father. "I just wondered, sir. How much pressure could a person stand for long periods, if he was unconscious under some kind of an anaesthetic?"
"Why," the elder hesitated, "I don't know exactly. I imagine around five gravities or so, if it was to be for some time, especially if one was in a pressure pack. Why do you ask?"
"I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I remembered reading about a series of experiments a Swedish scientist has been making about putting animals—even people—into an unconscious state. It's in one of my reelbooks. Seems to me I remember its saying he has found he could keep them there for several days at a time without any sign of permanent harm."
"How'd he do it?" Jon dropped his fork to lean forward.
"With a drug he invented. Wait, I'll go get the book." Jak jumped up from the table, but his mother's voice stopped him.
"We're not going to try anything like that," she said worriedly. "Not even to beat Bogin."
Mr. Carver reached out from his recline seat to lay a hand soothingly on his wife's. "Wait, now, Marci, let's find out first what this is all about. Maybe the boy has something, maybe not. But let's examine it before we decide, shall we?"
Her eyes still held the worried look, but she returned the pressure of his hand. "Well, I guess there's no harm in that, Mr. C. But I just don't like taking dangerous chances, that's all."
He smiled at her fondly. "Pioneers always have to take chances, Honey," he said gently. "Men would never have gotten anywhere if they hadn't. But we'll make sure we know all about what we're getting into before we leap, you can bet."
"Besides," Jon tried to reassure her, "even if this stuff would work, Owl hasn't any of that new drug, so we couldn't try it, much as we might want to."
"Oh, that's right. I hadn't thought of that." She smiled with relief.
In a moment Jak came running back with a reelbook. "Here it is. Let's see now." He rapidly scanned through the reel with his finder. "Ah, here it is!"
He read aloud rapidly, and the three listened intently.
"So you see," Jak raised his head triumphantly when he had finished reading, "it's perfectly possible to put us to sleep for a week at a time. And you said the ship was fully automatic," he turned to Jon, "so it doesn't need guiding, and would keep on its course whether we were awake or not."
"Well, it's way past our two hours." Mr. Carver spoke up hastily to prevent his wife from saying anything. "Time we were getting back into stepped-up acceleration again. Strap down, and we can study this later."
"I still don't like the idea," Mrs. Carver said as the four made themselves as comfortable as possible in the recline seats before Jon turned on more acceleration.
During the next two or three "waking periods" Jak busied himself studying his reeltext, but this was such a common sight it attracted no special attention. Nor did the others notice that he began disappearing into the ship's storeroom each "up" period, and had to be called repeatedly when the meal was ready, or it was time to strap down again.
He said nothing of what he was doing, nor did any of the others think to ask, for the boys were customarily here and there about the ship, busy at their many tasks and activities.
But at the start of one "up" period Jak went at once to the storeroom and workshop, and when he came back to the table set in the control room he showed his family a large corked test tube filled with a colorless liquid.
"I've got it!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining. "I found all the ingredients needed in our stores and my medical kit, and made up a batch of the cataleptic fluid. We inject four cc's in each of us and...."
"What're you talking about?" Jon demanded.
"The stuff to make us unconscious so we can stand five G's of acceleration." Jak looked up in hurt surprise. "What we were talking about the other...."
"I thought we were going to forget that nonsense," his mother said sharply.
"Wait, now, Marci, let's hear what the boy has," her husband said gently. Then, "Go ahead, Jak, tell us more about this."
"This medicine, injected into our blood streams, puts us into suspended animation for several days, depending on how much of the fluid we use. We first take an injection of glucose and other nutrients, of course, then this stuff puts us into deep sleep—slows our metabolism. You said in such a state we could stand much heavier acceleration, Father. Then with this we can beat Bogin."
"What sort of shape will it leave us in?" his father almost raised up in interest, and held up his hand when his wife would have broken in. "Are there any after-effects?"
"The book says the doctor never discovered any, especially after he started giving people the nutrient injections first. He has had people under for as much as two weeks. Four cc's will act for about five days, so I thought we could use that much the first time, at least."
"Five G's would certainly put us 'way ahead of Bogin's ship." Jon had jumped up from the table and had been working swiftly with the computer. "Two such five-day periods—three more days on positive acceleration, then seven on negative—ought to give us a controllable velocity somewhere near Sol. We'd have to compute it more exactly, of course, before we take each shot."
Mr. Carver thought slowly and intently, then spoke decisively. "I believe that this is our best bet, if it's sure. We certainly want to get back first, if possible, and according to our present routine, which is all we can stand as we are, Bogin can beat us in. Besides, he will undoubtedly shoot down theStar Roverif he catches up with it—and you know what would happen to us!"
"Yes, when I checked today he was only about two hundred million behind."
"Let's try it!" Jak was all eagerness.
"Take it easy, Son. We've got to talk and study this a lot first."
Mr. Carver then turned to his wife, who had sunk back into her seat, biting her lips to keep from crying out, her hands clenched tightly. "Well make as sure as we possibly can before we decide to do anything, Honey, but don't you see the advantage of this if it will work? We must get to Terra first if we can, and this seems to be the only way we know of doing it."
"I see that," she said with a sigh of resignation, "and I know you'll know what you're doing before you do it."
"We sure will." Then Mr. Carver turned back to Jak. "Tell us again all about this stuff, and what the book says."
Jak talked rapidly but concisely for nearly five minutes. Afterwards he showed his father the reel, and his table of components of the mixture. Mr. Carver studied the book carefully for some time, and minutely compared the formula as given there with the one Jak had used. Then he lay back and thought with intense concentration for nearly a quarter of an hour. Finally he raised his head with determination.
"I think we should try it. It seems safe, from all the evidence here. I have faith enough in Jak's ability to trust him to have made the fluid correctly—his formula checks exactly with the one in the reels. And if it works, we can win out."
Jon rose purposefully. "Right, Pop. Come on, Jak, let's break out the pressure packs and get them hung."
They went into the storeroom, and soon came back, each staggering under the weight and inconvenience of two packs. These they hung from the bulkhead hooks built into the ship for just that purpose, and made sure they were securely anchored.
"How much time after the injection before we blank out, Owl?" Jon asked then.
"A minute or so, I guess. Why?"
"Figuring how long I'll have to handle the controls. A minute is plenty of time, as I can have everything set up, and only have one switch to throw."
Mr. Carver reached out a hand and patted his wife's cheek as she stood by his side. "It's going to work out all right, Honey." His voice was bright and assured. "These boys of ours are really up on their stuff."
"Yes," she agreed. "I know they know what they are doing, and that you are checking them carefully. It is mainly my not knowing that makes me afraid sometimes." She gave him a lopsided smile. "I hate being the weak member of the party."
"You're nothing of the kind!" He grinned as the boys murmured protests which meant the same thing. "You're the best fellow in the gang." And he blew her a kiss as the boys helped him into his pack and saw to it that he was securely and comfortably strapped in. Then they did the same for their mother.
Jak went to his room and came back quickly with his hypodermic needles, and the bottles of glucose and concentrates. He put these beside the test tube with the new fluid.
Carefully he administered the dosage of nutrients to the other three, then lay down on his recline seat and gave himself his own dose. He rested there for a couple of minutes, then rose. Carefully he drew four cubic centimeters of the new, clear fluid into his needle, then approached his mother. "Ready?" he asked, smiling, but with tight lips.
She pushed up her left sleeve. "Ready, Son." And now her voice was soft but steady.
He tipped the needle into the light, carefully expelled a couple of drops to make sure all air was out of the tube. Then quickly and with a sureness he had trouble making his hands achieve, he pushed the slim needle into her arm, and injected the drug. With the ball of his thumb he rubbed the puncture gently for a moment. "Sleep tight, Mother." He smiled and leaned down to kiss her.
"Who's next?" He turned to the others.
"Me, of course." His father bared his arm. "Jon has to be awake last to handle the controls."
Again Jak filled his needle, and as carefully as before he injected the sleeping drug into his father. Then he stepped up to the pilot's pressure pack where his younger brother was adjusting the controls. "Ready, Jon?"
"Just a sec." The boy was still working, pushing in a button there, turning a switch here, stopping to tighten a wire or connection somewhere else. But in a few moments he had finished, and then rested his right hand on the handle of the master switch, ready to push it into contact.
But just as Jak brought the needle close to his arm the younger boy pushed it away. "Wait now, Jak. How about you? Can you make it to your pack and get in and strapped down and settled, and then give yourself the shot before I throw the switch and the five G's take effect?"
"Don't worry about me," his brother said gruffly. "I'll make out some way."
"Not good enough," Jon said positively. "Let's figure this down to seconds. If I don't close the switch before I black out, all this'll be wasted. How about if you inject yourself first? Will you have time enough to give me my shot and then get back into your pack and strap down before you go under?"
Jak thought swiftly a moment. "Your point's well taken, Jon, but you didn't figure it right. Your way, I'd have to give you your injection besides doing all the rest in the same length of time. If I give you yours first, I can get into my pack and give myself mine there. You merely stay awake until I'm done."
"Yes, guess you're right. But fix your pack so you can be sure of getting in without any trouble."
Jak did this, then came back, filled the needle and injected it into Jon's arm.
Swiftly then he ran to his own pack, climbed in and fastened the straps. He filled the needle, plunged it into his arm, and pushed home the plunger.
Jon had been watching his brother, forcing back the drowsiness that sought to engulf him. As he saw Jak's nod that all was done, he turned to his panel. A quick glance about his board with his fast-diminishing senses told him everything was on the green. With his last measure of consciousness, he rammed home the switch.
He settled back into a more comfortable position, and felt himself plunging down into the blackness of unconsciousness.
Jon felt himself coming awake, and his first, startled thought was, "Didn't the stuff work?"
He began to open his eyes ... and noticed at once how stiff his eyelids felt, but he forced them open. He looked at the date-clock and smiled with relief. The five days and several hours had passed, seemingly in an instant.
Now almost fully awake, his eyes sought the various meters, dials, gauges and telltales on his panel. Everything seemed to be working properly. He tuned in his receptor, and applied greater and still greater power. Space behind was blank of atomics.
Smiling thankfully and beginning to unloosen his straps, Jon now noticed how dry his mouth was, and that his skin felt dry, too, and feverish. But he had no headache, and his thoughts seemed to be functioning as clearly and swiftly as always.
"Boy, I sure need a bath and drink, and something to eat!" he thought—then realized that the others would be feeling the same way. The others! He turned quickly to look at them. They were all still lying in their packs, somewhat pale, but with a peaceful, unstrained look on their faces.
Jon tried to rise, but reeled back and almost fell as he got onto his feet. He held himself erect a moment, and gradually felt a measure of strength returning.
As soon as he could, he went into the galley. Quickly he prepared a cup of instant broth, and drank it gratefully. Much refreshed, he made more of the consomme, and further enriched it with some anti-fatigue pills dissolved in the steaming liquid. He set four cups of it on a tray and carried them into the control room. His first quick glance showed the others beginning to stir.
"Morning, folks," he called cheerily. "Soup's on."
They opened their eyes slowly, almost uncomprehendingly, but awareness came quickly, and his mother and brother sat up and fumbled at their straps.
"Did we make it?" his father called anxiously. But Jak noticed at once how weak his father's voice sounded, and went across to his side.
"We sure did." Jon smiled broadly. "We were out just a little over five days, and the receptors don't show a thing behind. I woke up just a few minutes ahead of you, and that's one of the first things I looked at. Then I found I was weak and dry, so I went out and made this broth." He passed the cups and, as the others drank gratefully, Jon spoke again.
"I've got to hand it to you, Owl. You sure fixed us fine this time."
"He certainly did." Mr. Carver spoke as forcefully as he could, having already privately warned Jak to say nothing of his weakened condition. He looked solicitously over at his wife. "You all right, Marci?"
"Yes, I feel fine, now that I've had this good consomme Jon was so thoughtful as to make." She smiled with real relief that they had all come through this dangerous experiment so successfully.
Mr. Carver turned to Jon. "It feels like we're only at one gravity."
"Yes, I rigged the automatics so they'd take care of that at the end of one hundred and twenty-five hours," the boy explained. "Probably it was the relief from pressure that woke us, as well as the wearing off of the stuff Jak gave us." Then he looked at his brother. "How come we're not famished after five days? That little glucose and stuff you gave us wouldn't last that long, would it?"
"No, but the drug not only made us unconscious, but slowed down our metabolism so that we burned up hardly any energy."
There was silence then while the four sipped their broth. Finally Mr. Carver looked up at Jak. "How soon can we go through this again?"
"The book says the doctor gave as high as four doses to people, one right after the other as they woke up, with only a few hours' rest between them."
"Hmmm, then we'd better take some time out. We'll all want baths, plenty of your mother's good cooking, and Jon and I will have to do some computing."
"If Bogin holds his acceleration, plus and minus, we can take most of the day, and still beat him in." Jon had been doing some rapid preliminary figuring. "But it'll take a couple of hours—maybe more—to compute the last hop. It's tricky. Especially, I'll have to look in the ephemeris to find the position of Luna when we get near her orbit."
"Right, we don't want to hit her. Well, we can keep at one gravity for at least twelve hours, then," his father said, and Mrs. Carver breathed a sigh of relief. She was still a bit worried about their undergoing such untried experiments, even though she trusted the abilities of her menfolks, and knew they had all come safely through the first time.
"I'll make notes of all this, and ask each of you for your full reactions," Jak said animatedly. "Then when we get home I'll write up a complete report and send it to Dr. Svendholm. I'm sure he'll be tickled pink to get this added confirmation of his studies and experiments."
"That's thoughtful of you, Son." His father smiled. "You're developing into a true research scientist."
"He sure is!" His younger brother paid deserved tribute. Jak reddened a bit and hastily left the control room to help his mother with her work.
They all took warm baths and changed their clothing. As Jak was helping his father, he asked anxiously, "Now that we're alone, Father, did you really come through all right? You look a bit more tired and worn than before we started this."
"Sure, I'm OK," Mr. Carver said quickly, but he could not meet his son's eyes.
"You're not, sir, and you know it and I know it," Jak smiled a bit strainedly. "I don't like it, but I know how you feel about this, so I'll keep quiet. How's your leg?"
"Thanks, Son. Our getting back first is very important to me, and I can rest and get well after we reach Earth and get the Board's confirmation on our claim. And don't forget that we might not get back at all if Bogin catches up with us. He's ruthless about anyone who gets in his way.... As for the leg, it aches some, but not like it did before. I really think it's healing in fine shape."
"Let's have a look." Jak threw back the covers, and peered closely at the leg, lifting it so he could better see all around it.
"Yes," he said finally, as he tucked in the blankets again. "It's almost healed, and there isn't a sign of inflammation. Not even a bump where the break was. I ... I sure hope I set it right, so that it won't bother you later on."
His father patted his hand. "You did a grand job, I know, Son, and I'm very grateful to you—as well as proud of having such a fine boy."
"Two fine boys, then, for Jon is certainly every bit as deserving of your praise as I am, sir."
"That I'll certainly buy!" Mr. Carver's eyes shone.
They all sat about during the day, eating as much as they could hold of Mrs. Carver's fine cooking, and relaxing gratefully in the comfortable one-gravity Earth-weight.
Jon and his father worked tirelessly until they had computed precisely where they were and how soon and how much more deceleration they would have to use to finish their trip. Then they, too, relaxed for the balance of the day.
Late that afternoon Jon suddenly swiveled his chair about to face his father's recline seat.
"I think I've figured out something on that new fuel and how to use it, Pop. Ships'll have to be changed, though. The bins will have to be heavily lead-lined, of course, and so would the injector tubes have to be shielded. The nozzles would have to be made smaller, so the pellets will fit better. I figure the people who used to handle the stuff made the nuggets that exact size on purpose—that we'd not want to try making them the same size as our copper ones."
"That sounds reasonable. What about shielding for the generators?"
"There'd have to be a lot more of that, too. Probably thick shields of neocarbolloy and paraffin. But can't they surround the generators, bins and everything with force fields, as an added precaution?"
"Mmmm, maybe they could at that. We'd better put it up to the scientists and technies back on Terra. Neither of us knows enough to handle it ourselves, when it comes down to the actual work."
The boy's face fell, then he forced a smile. "I hate to give in to anyone else on this, but you're right as rain, Pop. It is too big a fish for us to handle alone. But I'm sure going to learn before I finish, and some day when I run up against anything like this again, you can bet I'll know what to do."
"What's the use of going to all that trouble when you only have that small amount of fuel you found?" their mother asked curiously.
"Ouch! You would have to think of that," Jon grumbled, but Mr. Carver smiled up at his wife.
"There's plenty on Planet Five, remember? And probably in other places about the universe. You can bet that prospectors will be hunting—and finding it—once we announce our discovery ... IF we and the scientists can figure out what it was before it started losing its half life, and IF we can learn how to use it," he said firmly. "Once metallurgists have had the chance to analyze it, they won't take long to figure out exactly what it is, and where it can probably be found—the type of sun and planet that would have it, I mean," he added.
"And under the Prime Discoverer's code, we'll get a percentage of the process, won't we, Pop?"
"I think so. That'll be up to the Board, but they're usually pretty square about such things."
When it was time, Jak again gave the family the dosages of nutrients, and then the shots. Jon had filled four thermos bottles with strength-regaining soup his mother had made, and these were placed at each pressure-pack, ready for their awakening. Again the four lapsed into the complete unconsciousness of suspended animation—knowing neither discomfort nor the long passage of time—while their little ship bored through the immensities of space at a constant negative acceleration of five gravities.
As before, when they awakened they felt as though they had just gone to sleep. As soon as they had taken their initial feedings of the thermos-hot broth, Jon and his father set to work taking observations and making long and intricate calculations of their present speed and placement. Where were they? How much of their utterly incomprehensible top speed did they have left?
"Practically perfect!" Jon exclaimed happily after nearly an hour of careful computations, as he read the last tapes from the calculator. "It works out at one point eight four G's to atmosphere."
"O positively K," Mr. Carver agreed. "A master computer couldn't have done any better. And Jak has certainly proved himself to be a grand doctor."
"It's not my credit. Dr. Svendholm's the one who...."
"But it was you who made up the fluid and induced us to take it." His mother came over and ran her hand gently through his hair. "I'm proud of you all."
Jon had been tuning his receptors carefully, but was unable to get any trace of Bogin's ship, and all were happy at his report.
Warm baths and changes of clothing, and the fine meals prepared by Mrs. Carver, plus the fact they were rapidly nearing Sol, which could be seen on their telescopic plates, made them all very gay and full of chatter.
"I've decided I want to go back to the hospital-school and really prepare myself to be a doctor," Jak said in no uncertain terms. "Later I want to go into medical research."
"And I still want to enroll at the Centropolitan Institute of Atomics." Jon's eyes were shining.
"Aren't you boys forgetting one little detail?" their father asked drily. While the long sleeps had relaxed his body, and had practically completed the healing of his broken leg, the pressure had not been good for him, and his condition as a whole was worse. But his spirits were high, and he was careful not to let any of his family know just how weak he felt.
At his question they all looked up, astonished, and he continued, "There's the small matter of getting the Colonial Board's approval of our claim against the counter-claim we feel so sure Bogin is coming in to make."
"Pooh, he hasn't got a chance," Jon said airily.
"You hope," Jak scoffed, suddenly serious and worried.
"How about it, Mr. C.?" Mrs. Carver asked.
"Our pictures and data are so detailed I don't see how Bogin can possibly match them," her husband answered slowly and thoughtfully. "I think we can prove our claim. Besides, their receivers there on Terra should have picked up the broadcasts of our signals, and then the change—and that should have made them wonder why, so our explanation ought to satisfy them."
"That reminds me." Jon swung back to his panel. "Let's see if we can pick up our signals from here ... or Bogin's, rather!" His lips tightened.
In a few moments his tubes had warmed up, but nothing came in over his ultra-range receivers. He stepped up the power, and swung his directional loops forth and back, although mostly he aimed them directly toward the Carveria system's known coordinates. For long, anxious minutes he worked, but still no sounds, save the noise of cosmic rays and the other forces of the void that made long-distance communication such a problem.
With a weary gesture Jon finally turned off the set, and swung about with a stricken face. "What do you suppose is wrong, Pop?"
The elder shook his head slowly. "Only thing I can think of is that we're so far away the senders can't reach this far."
"Won't that be in our favor?" Jak asked. "If they can't hear any signals at all, our records ought to be enough."
"Maybe yes, maybe no," Mr. Carver answered with a tired smile.
"And after all our hard work, too." Jon's tone was dispirited.
"And the dangers you were up against." Mrs. Carver's eyes were tear-dimmed.
Their father caught himself and looked at each with a disarming grin. "Hey, we're all crossing bridges where maybe there isn't even a creek to be spanned." He made his voice mockingly cheerful. "What's happened to the good old Carver spirit?"
"You're right, Pop." Jon shook away his dismay and began to smile. "We're not licked yet."
But while they were eating, a short time later, Jon turned his seat to face his father.
"Don't like to start worrying again, Pop," he said in a low voice, "but our receptor is picking up atomic activity behind us again. Of course," he added quickly, "this close to Terra it could be some other ship, not Bogin's."
"Could be, and probably is." His father stroked his chin reflectively.
"I don't see how he could've caught up with us, but we don't know what his ship can do."
"The guy's tricky and dirty, but he does have a brain and he has some darned good technies in his crew. He'd know, from his own receptors, when we started speeding up so fast, and he'd do something to counteract that, if he could."
"I've heard things like that about him, but I don't know him."
"I do," grimly. "We've had brushes before, when I was in other ships. He's a skunk and ought to be behind bars—but so far no one has been able to produce any real evidence of what all spacemen know must be true."
"If the Board accepts our claim and data against his, won't that be proof against him?"
"It should be. You can bet your tackle I'll work on that angle. Space will be cleaner if that hellhound isn't in it."
"You bet, Pop. I hope you sink your hook in him this time."
His father laughed grimly. "It won't be for lack of trying, that's for danged sure."
Jon Carver spoke into the microphone of his ship radio. "Exploration shipStar Rover, Tad Carver owner, Jon Carver pilot, asking permission to land. We are circling at ten miles up."
A moment's crackling noise from the speaker, then a cheery, feminine voice, "Centropolitan spaceport. Landing permission granted. What size is your ship?"
"A seventy-two foot space-yacht."
"Do you need servicing?"
"We will in a day or so, but not at the moment."
"Use cradle forty-three in section D. Land in four minutes."
"Instructions received with thanks.Star Roveroff."
Carefully Jon sighted through his visiplate until he located the cradle marked with a large "43" in the section of the tremendous spaceport also clearly marked "D." He lowered the ship slowly and gently, keeping his eyes closely on the chronom and its big sweep-secondhand.
So expert had he become at handling the ship, and so well did his new automatic technique work, that the ship settled gently into the cradle dead center ... and only one point three zero seconds off the four minutes specified.
"Nice handling, Chubby," Jak cheered as they felt the mighty engines and generators shut off.
"Aw, it was rotten. I was almost a second and a half off in my timing."
"Who cares?" There was a lilt of joy and pure thankfulness in their mother's voice. "We are back on Earth—home—and all of us are whole. That's the best part of all."
Her husband looked up from the recline seat where he was still lying, and winked at his sons. Then he faced his wife. "The eternal mother." He smiled gently at her, and his voice was soft with emotion. "Happiest when her brood is safe. And," he added hastily at the look coming into her eyes, "how thankful mankind is, or should be, that womenfolk have always had that feeling. Man would never have gone as far as he has if she hadn't."
Jak soon came in from the other part of the ship. "All our data books, pictures and specimens are packed and stashed by the inner lockdoor," he reported.
Jon jumped from his pilot's seat and started toward the living quarters. "Let's get our street clothes on, and get going to the Colonial Board headquarters."
"Yes," Mrs. Carver said eagerly. "After all we've gone through to make sure we beat that Bogin and his ship back home, let's not waste any time."
"Well," Mr. Carver's eyes twinkled, "go put on your prettiest frock and all your war paint, so you can make a good impression on the Board members."
She krinkled her nose at him, but went in to the bunkroom. Mr. Carver raised his chair to upright, and began struggling to get up. The two boys, watching closely, saw how weak he was, and ran to help him. With his arms across their shoulders, he finally managed to half-walk, half be carried, into the other room. The boys lowered him into a seat.
"I'll get your clean clothes, and your razor and some hot water," Jak said.
Jon went back into the control room, and turned on his radio-sender. "Service, please," he said when the operator came on, and in a moment, "Star Rover, cradle 43, section D. Please have a taxi-hopper here in thirty minutes, and a wheel chair with it. Thanks."
When the four got outside on the landing platform and Tad Carver saw the wheel chair he was indignant. "I'm not going to ride in any lousy perambulator," he grumbled, but the boys were insistent.
Finally his wife came over and put her hand on his arm. "You might as well give in, Mr. C. Besides, your leg is not strong enough to do without one—yet."
Still grumbling, he let the boys help him into the wheel chair ... but they noticed his sigh of relief when he was settled and the weight was taken off his feet. His body trembled with weakness, in spite of his efforts to control himself.
The chair, their books and cases were soon loaded into the copter, then Jon directed, "Colonial Board building, please."
The little ship rose swiftly on her whirling vanes, then streaked through the clear air toward the center of the great city of Centropolis, while the four watched the familiar sights of "home" with eager, happy eyes.
"Look at the trees and flowers," Jak called excitedly, pointing at the riot of color below. "They're getting green and in full bloom. It's late spring here, yet it was fall back on Three."
"Different suns, different seasons on the various planets." There was amusement in his father's voice.
"Sure, you ought to know that," Jon said condescendingly.
"I do know it, you fathead. I was just...."
"Now, Boys," their mother interposed—and the two grinned covertly at each other. Poor mother never seemed to realize there was no real animosity behind their bickerings.
It took only a few minutes for the swift taxi-hopper to ferry them from the spaceport to the roof of the huge Colonial building. Tad Carver paid the fare, the boys again filled their arms with their books and cases, and Mrs. Carver pushed the wheel chair to the elevator. They descended to the Board headquarters' floor.
In the anteroom their father propelled his chair to the receptionist's desk.
"I'm Tad Carver, owner of theStar Rover, just back from a trip. We wish to present a claim as Prime Discoverers of a new planetary system."
"Oh, splendid!" The stately brunette's eyes lighted. "Is it a good one?" she asked as she reached into one of the drawers of her desk for a sheet of forms.
Mr. Carver smiled. "Five planets and seven moons. Two of the planets are very Earthlike, and there are lots of metal, wood and many other worth-while things."
A distant look came into the girl's eyes. "I've never been out in space. It must be wonderful...." She straightened with determination. "Please answer these preliminary questions. Then I'll get your appointment with the Board." Rapidly she put the questions as listed on her forms, and filled in the vacant places as he answered her.
Finished, she rose, said, "Just a moment, please," and went in through a side door with the papers in her hand.
Mr. Carver wheeled himself back to his family, who were sitting stiffly in chairs against the further wall. "Are they going to allow our claim?" Jon asked nervously. The others leaned forward to hear the answer.
"Take it easy." Mr. Carver's eyes showed amusement. "The girl has merely gone in to make an appointment for us. This takes time, you know. We probably won't have the answer for several days."
"Oh!" It was a trio of disappointment, and they sat back to wait, glumly, impatiently.
But only a few minutes later they straightened expectantly as they saw the receptionist coming back. She crossed over to them.
"The Board is at liberty to hear your preliminary claim now," she told them. "Please follow me."
She led them through the same side door and into a large room beyond. The four looked eagerly about them, seeing a well-lighted, wood-paneled office. Across the room was a large, heavy table-desk, behind which were seated five men.
"Mr. and Mrs. Tad Carver, and their two sons," the girl introduced them before leaving.
"Please take those chairs." From his seat at the center of the table the chairman indicated comfortable chairs on the side of the table opposite him. Jon pushed one aside while Jak propelled the wheel chair into the vacant space. Then the other three Carvers seated themselves in adjoining seats.
"I am Robert Wilson, Chairman of the Board. The other members are Phil Silverman, James Dougherty, Will Irwin, and Sam Reardon." He indicated in turn the other men at the table. "I see you claim to be the Prime Discoverers of a new Solar System. That's wonderful! We're expanding so rapidly, what with the increasing birth rate on Terra and the other colonized planets, that we already and always need more room. Tell us more about your find."
"It's a five-planet system with a sun much like Sol, only about a quarter larger. The coordinates are Right Ascension 17.45, Declination Minus 11.4, distance about sixty-two light years."
Swiftly Mr. Carver gave the pertinent facts about the habitability of planets Two and Three, and presented their books of data, and their cases of photographs.
"How come we haven't received your signals—or didn't you place any?" Irwin asked.
"We did place them, sir, but we noticed several days ago, coming in, that we could not hear them with our own receivers. It is my opinion that the distance is too great for the strength of the senders."
"That's possible," Silverman spoke up. "Your claim is farther away than any yet presented to us. I happen to know that the signal-senders furnished by our Board technicians ordinarily have a theoretical range of not quite fifty light-years."
Mr. Carver half-rose, then settled back and spoke with a level voice, while his eyes swept from one to the other of the five men.
"I want to report honestly on this case, sirs. Just before we left, we started back along a course that would take us fairly close to all our planets and the sun, to make sure our senders were functioning correctly. We started from Two, where we had just completed marking-out our city site, went past One and around the sun, planning to make a big swing to the other planets and so back home. The senders of One, Two and the sun were working all right, but as we neared Three we heard, instead of our own, signals stating that the system had been charted and claimed by Michael Bogin and his...."
"Slik Bogin!" Several of the Board members exclaimed in concert, and Chairman Wilson added, grimly, "So he's at work again."
Mr. Carver waited until they were silent, then continued, "We think he either destroyed our senders or substituted his own tapes in ours. However, we put our sun-signal into an orbit so close to the sun's surface we doubt if he'll be able to do anything about it. It's only about ten million miles...."
"Ten million!" Reardon almost yelled the question, and the others sat upright in excited astonishment, doubt showing in their faces. "How could you do that?"
"I figured a van Sicklenberg, sir, to give our sender a circular orbit apexing at ten million miles," Jon Carver explained simply. "We used the servo-mechs in our lock to throw the sender out when at minimum distance."
"You?" There was a concerted expression of disbelief and Mr. Reardon said, witheringly, "Why, you're not a listed astrogator. How could you compute a ... a what was it you called it?"
"A van Sicklenberg throw-out orbit, sir. I...."
"Never heard of a van Sicklenberg. What is it ... what sort of nonsense are you talking?"
Jon opened his mouth to reply, but his mother forestalled him. She rose determinedly. "My Jon is 'only a boy,' gentlemen, but he has also become an expert pilot and an excellent astrogator, if I do say so myself. He is also an inventor, and will shortly apply for patents on a new automatic piloting system—which I don't pretend to understand anything about, but which I do know from watching its use is far in advance of anything you now have. You can be sure he knows how to do such a simple thing as plot an orbit." She sat down, eyes defiant, her mouth in a straight line.
The men's faces showed astonishment at her words as much as at her outburst.
"I had been knocked unconscious and my leg was broken," Mr. Carver took up the explanation, "so I was out of action for a long time. I'm not fully recovered yet, which is the reason for the discourtesy of this wheel chair. The two boys had to take over all the work of mapping the new system. But I have examined their books and pictures, and feel sure you will find everything in order and complete, and that it will prove our rights as Prime Discoverers, no matter what Bogin may have to say when he gets here. He is following us, but we managed to beat him in."
"Hmmm." The chairman frowned in thought, then whispered for some moments to the other men on either side of him. The four Carvers sat nervously, awaiting the decision of the final arbiters.
Finally Chairman Wilson addressed them directly. "You can well understand that we will have to make a rather more thorough examination than usual in this case, Mr. Carver, and that we will have to wait a few days to see whether or not Michael Bogin is going to make a counter-claim. Knowing you got here first, he may decide not to do so. Where are you located, so we can get in touch with you later?"
"We came directly from our ship, sir, so do not have an address as yet. However, as soon as we have found a place, I'll call your secretary and leave our address and visiphone number."
"You do that, please." Then, as the Carvers rose to depart, Chairman Wilson halted them, his voice kindly, yet grim. "This is a peculiar case, Carver, as you can well understand. We know the reputation of Bogin, but we also know he has never been found guilty of any of the things rumor claims he has done. We Board members try always to be fair and honest in these matters, and you can feel certain and confident you and your claims will be given careful consideration. We will get in touch with you in a few days."
"Thank you, Gentlemen. I'm content to rest my claim in your hands."
The four bowed, then left the office and the building.
"What do you think, Father?" Jak asked anxiously as they were riding a ground-cab whose driver had been instructed to find them a good apartment hotel.
"I don't know," Mr. Carver added a weary smile. "It's all in the future, and I'm not a seer. However, I'm sure we'll get an honest and unbiased hearing and decision, and I'm equally positive we have the better claim. So let's forget it until we're notified to appear, and enjoy our return to Terra."
"Mr. C.'s right, Boys," their mother agreed. "We've done our best, and thanks to you boys, it's a very fine best. Now we must wait, but not worry."
Their cabby found them a nice place where there was a vacancy, and soon the four were unpacking their gear and getting settled in their new home. Mr. Carver visiphoned at once to give the new address and phone number to the Board's receptionist.
Then the Carvers settled down to wait, with as much patience as they could muster, for the call.
Jak insisted on having a good doctor called at once. The latter made a thorough examination. He had Mr. Carver taken to an X-Ray laboratory, where it was determined that the broken leg had been perfectly set, and was now practically healed, although it would be some time before the strength returned to it. He also prescribed a course of medications to bring back the invalid's full health and vigor.
The call came from the Board three days later, in the middle of a morning when, fortunately, the four Carvers were all in the apartment. They hurried down to the street, where they flagged a ground-cab and were driven swiftly to the Colonial building. The same brunette girl ushered them at once into the Board room.
Inside, they found the complete Board in session, and in chairs opposite them sat Slik Bogin and his chief lieutenant, who glared at the Carvers sullenly as they entered. Hardly were the four seated when Bogin sprang to his feet.
"What's the big idea, Carver," he almost yelled, "trying to claim our discovery? You've got a crust, trying something...."
"Sit down, Mr. Bogin, and keep quiet," Chairman Wilson spoke in a low but commanding voice. "We're here to judge the facts as presented, not to indulge in charges, countercharges and vituperation. Now, the Board has examined minutely both sets of claims. Both parties have presented all the data required by us, and these have been studied by each of us individually. Dougherty," he turned to one of the Board members, "please review the data sheets for us."
A tall, serious-faced man rose, and arranged the two sets of sheets before him.
"According to the Carver claim, as presented here," he gestured toward one set of books, "they arrived at the system and made their first landing on Planet Two on January 14th of this year, 2136. The Bogin claim is that they first discovered the system and landed on Planet Three on January tenth, also of the year 2136. Both parties claim they set out the required signal-senders, although neither have been heard by our listening posts here. However, we know that signals from these senders cannot, ordinarily, be read at distances in excess of fifty light-years, and the system under consideration is said to be over sixty. We have asked the communications department to check with ships and planets nearer the system in question, to learn whether or not any signals from it have been received."
He paused a moment and looked at his fellow members first, then at the expectant six across the table. "I said that both parties have presented complete data. However, it seems to us, after careful scrutiny, that one set of data was obtained from the air and from the surface of three of the five planets, and from a height of less than twenty miles above the seven moons, and less than five from the other two planets, as our regulations specify. The other books clearly show that the observations were all taken from above the surface."
There was relief on the faces of the four Carvers, nervous side glances between Bogin and his henchman, none of which escaped the sharp eyes of the five Board members, watching closely the reactions of the two opposing parties.
"We have here the two sets of photographs, taken from a height of five miles as specified by our rulings, of the townsite that we require to be laid out." He held one set out to each party across the table. "Please examine them and let us know if you see any differences."
There was silence for several long, anxious moments, then after the two groups had studied the photographs handed them, Jon Carver suddenly let out a gasp, and looked up eagerly.
"May I speak, sirs?"
"You may."
"This is not the picture we took," indicating one. "If you will compare the two, you will find that this one was taken before the work was fully completed. See, there is a gap here along the east side where not all the stakes are in."
"Oh," his mother looked up quickly, and took up the story. "Then I was right, that time. I did hear a ship. You see, sirs," she addressed the Board members more directly, "the boys ran out of stakes and had to go to the forest there some miles to the northwest of the ship to cut more. Look, you can see just the edge of our ship right here on the margin. While they were gone, I thought I heard a ship passing over ours, but when I got to the control room and could look through a plate, either it had gone out of sight or I was mistaken. The boys said, when asked after they got back, that they had neither heard nor seen it—they were in the woods at the time. But I believe now that I did hear a ship, that it was Mr. Bogin's, and that he took this picture at that time. It took the boys nearly a day and a half longer to complete their work, and not until after that was our picture taken."
The Board chairman smiled at her, then turned a severe face toward Bogin and his lieutenant. "That is exactly what the pictures show—that one is complete and the other is not. What have you to say about that?"
The man's face was black with fury. "I say they're liars," he shouted. "This one here," shaking the photograph he held, "is our picture. That one is theirs."
Mr. Carver started to rise, but Jak was before him, and it was the latter whose voice cut through the din. "Oh, no, and I can prove which is our picture, if you will examine all the rest. I did all the developing and printing, and you'll find a small 'C' down in the lower right-hand corner of all our pictures. I marked all our negatives that way, as you can determine if you'll send someone to our ship to get the negatives from the darkroom."