t of equilibrium, the peak of the faster-than-light motion.

"Perhaps a true limiting speed beyond which nothing will ever go,"
Vorongil said, touching the charts with a varnished claw. Rugel's
scarred old mouth spread in a thin smile.

"Maybe there's no such thing as a limiting speed. Someday we'll reach
true simultaneity--enter warp, and come out just where we want to be, at
the same time. Just a split-second interval. That will be real
transmission."

Ringg scoffed, "And suppose you get even better--and come out of warp
_before_ you go into it? What then, Honorable Bald One?"

Rugel chuckled, and did not answer. Bart turned away. It was not easy to
keep on hating the Lhari.

There came a day when he came on watch to see drawn, worried faces; and
when Ringg came into the drive room they threw their levers on
_automatic_ and crowded around him, their crests bobbing in question and
dismay. Vorongil seemed to emit sparks as he barked at Ringg, "You found
it?"

"I found it. Inside the hull lining."

Vorongil swore, and Ringg held up a hand in protest. "I only _locate_
metals fatigue, sir--I don't _make_ it!"

"No help for it then," Vorongil said. "We'll have to put down for
repairs. How much time do we have, Ringg?"

"I give it thirty hours," Ringg said briefly, and Vorongil gave a long
shrill whistle. "Bartol, what's the closest listed spaceport?"

Bart dived for handbooks, manuals, comparative tables of position, and
started programming information. The crew drifted toward him, and by the
time he finished feeding in the coded information, a row three-deep of
Lhari surrounded him, including all the officers. Vorongil was right at
his shoulder when Bart slipped on his earphones and started decoding the
punched strips that fed out the answers from the computer.

"Nearest port is Cottman Four. It's almost exactly thirty hours away."

"I don't like to run it that close." Vorongil's face was bitten deep
with lines. He turned to Ramillis, head of Maintenance. "Do we need
spare parts? Or just general repairs?"

"Just repairs, sir. We have plenty of shielding metal. It's a long job
to get through the hulls, but there's nothing we can't fix."

Vorongil flexed his clawed hands nervously, stretching and retracting
them. "Ringg, you're the fatigue expert. I'll take your word for it. Can
we make thirty hours?"

Ringg looked pale and there was none of his usual boyish nonsense when
he said, "Captain, I swear I wouldn