"Chin up," Don Denton said sharply. "I'll have everything all right in a moment. The clutch on the gravity rotor is about shot, and it quits on me every now and then. When the gravity gets back to normal, you'll feel all right again." He turned on his back, wedged himself beneath a small metal box clamped to the rear wall, swinging the light of the hand flash into the interior of the box. He made a one-handed adjustment, and normal gravity grasped them again. The light of his flash faded, went out, as the gravity became stabilized, then flashed on again the moment the trouble shooter edged from beneath the gravity rotor. Jean Palmer gasped, and slowly color came back to her white face. Don Denton nodded to himself, strode back to the pilot's seat, slumped indolently into its padded depths. He flicked the switch on the flashlight, pushed it into its wall-clip. "What made the light go out?" Jean asked curiously. Don Denton shrugged. "The rotor creates some sort of an energy shield," he said, "that blankets out all electrical energy." He gazed solicitously at the girl. "Feel better now?" She nodded. "I think so," she said. "I just felt so funny--as though everything in me was upside down." Don Denton grinned. "I know," he said, "I started spacing when a man rode a ship with the seat of his pants; I've been plenty sick from lack of gravity. Hah! this new crop of spacers don't know what it is to live without gravity for months, then find they can't walk the minute they land on some planet--because of gravity pull." "You've done that?" Jean's eyes were wide with wonder. Don Denton grinned self-consciously. "Without bragging," he said, "I think I've just about done everything and seen everything. There's very little that would surprise me." Jean laughed, and the sound was a tinkling overtone above the dim roar of the rockets. "You know," she said, "you're a rather remarkable person!" Don Denton flushed, dry-washed his hands in embarrassment. "Aw," he said self-consciously, "I'm just doing a job." "Well, I like you." Don Denton became very busy with the compact integrator, his hands suddenly all thumbs. Jean Palmer leaned over, touched his arm with a slender hand. "I'm glad you're the one taking me to my father," she said. "If there is anything wrong, I'm certain you can straighten it out." "I'll try." Don Denton met the girl's eyes squarely. "Now you'd better take a dose of sleep rays; after all, it will be about eighty hours before we land." "Sleep rays on a space ship!" "Yes!" Don Denton paused with one hand on a control stud. "You see, a scouter isn't like a pleasure craft or a freighter. Nine-tenths of the time aboard is spent sleeping--conserves food and oxygen." "All right, Don," Jean said, relaxed comfortably in the cushions. * * * * *