ything to me. Congratulations! What comes next?"

"I thought you'd be pleased," said Jones. "What I'm really telling you
is that now we've got fuel enough to reach the Milky Way."

"Let's not," suggested Cochrane, "and say we did! You've got a new star
picked out to travel to?"

Jones shrugged his shoulders. In him, the gesture indicated practically
hysterical frustration. But he said:

"Yes. Twenty-one light-years. Back on Earth they're anxious for us to
check on sol-type suns and Earth-type planets."

"For once," said Cochrane, "I am one with the great scientific minds.
Let's go over."

He made his way to the circular stairway leading down to the main
saloon. On his clumsy way across the saloon floor to the communicator,
he felt the peculiar sensation of the booster-current, which should
have been a sound, but wasn't. It was the sensation which had preceded
the preposterous leap of the space-ship away from Luna, when in a
heart-beat of time all stars looked like streaks of light, and the ship
traveled nearly two light-centuries.

Sunshine blinked, and then shone again in the ports around the saloon
walls. The second shining came from a different direction--as if
somebody had switched off one exterior light and turned on another--and
at a different angle to the floor.

Cochrane reached the communicator. He felt no weight. He strapped
himself into the chair. He switched on the vision-phone which sent
radiation along the field to a balloon two hundred odd light-years from
Earth--that was the balloon near the glacier planet--and then switched
to the field traveling to a second balloon then the last hundred
seventy-odd light-years back to the moon, and then from Luna City down
to Earth.

He put in his call. He got an emergency message that had been waiting
for him. Seconds later he fought his way frantically through no-weight
to the control-room again.

"Jamison! Bell!" he cried desperately. "We've got a broadcast due in
twenty minutes! I lost track of time! We're sponsored on four continents
and we damwell have to put on a show! What the devil! Why didn't
somebody--"

Jamison said obviously from a blister-port where he swung a squat
star-telescope from one object to another:

"Noo-o-o. That's a gas-giant. We'd be squashed if we landed
there--though that big moon looks promising. I think we'd better try
yonder."

"Okay," said Jones in a flat voice. "Center on the next one in, Al, and
we'll toddle over."