hink," said Cochrane, "that we could have done with a little
interdepartmental cooperation. How long before you know what you're
about?"

Jones shook his head.

"I can't even guess. Ask Babs to come up here, will you?"

Cochrane threw up his hands. He went toward the
spiral-ladder-with-handholds that led below. He went down into the main
saloon. A tiny green light winked on and off, urgently, on the far side.
Babs was seated at a tiny board, there. As Cochrane looked, she pushed
buttons with professional skill. Bill Holden sat in a strap-chair with
his face a greenish hue.

"We took off," said Holden in a strained voice.

"We did," said Cochrane. "And the sun's a fifth magnitude star from
where we've got to--which is no place in particular. And I've just found
out that we started off at random and Jones and the pilot he picked up
are now happily about to do some pure-science research!"

Holden closed his eyes.

"When you want to cheer me up," he said feebly, "you can tell me we're
about to crash somewhere and this misery will soon be over."

Cochrane said bitterly:

"Taking off without a destination! Letting Babs come along! They don't
know how far we've come and they don't know where we're going! This is a
hell of a way to run a business!"

"Who called it a business?" asked Holden, as feebly as before. "It
started out as a psychiatric treatment!"

Babs' voice came from the side of the saloon where she sat at a
vision-tube and microphone. She was saying professionally:

"I assure you it's true. We are linked to you by the Dabney field, in
which radiation travels much faster than light. When you were a little
boy didn't you ever put a string between two tin cans, and then talk
along the string?"

Cochrane stopped beside her scowling. She looked up.

"The press association men on Luna, Mr. Cochrane. They saw us take off,
and the radar verified that we traveled some hundred of thousands of
miles, but then we simply vanished! They don't understand how they can
talk to us without even the time-lag between Earth and Lunar City. I was
explaining."

"I'll take it," said Cochrane. "Jones wants you in the control-room.
Cameras? Who was handling the cameras?"

"Mr. Bell," said Babs briskly. "It's his hobby, along with poker-playing
and children."

"Tell him to get some pictures of the star-fields around us," said
Cochrane, "and then you can see what Jones wants. I will do a little
business!"

He settled do