"How are we on fuel?" Captain Somers asked. "Not enough left to push a kiddy car down Main Street," Watkins said gloomily. "If I could get my hands on that factory inspector ..." Captain Somers turned to Rajcik, who was seated at the navigator's desk, hunched over his charts. "How does this affect our course?" Rajcik finished the computation he was working on and gnawed thoughtfully at his pencil. "It kills us. We're going to cross the orbit of Mars before Mars gets there." "How long before?" "Too long. Captain, we're flying out of the Solar System like the proverbial bat out of hell." * * * * * Rajcik smiled, a courageous, devil-may-care smile which Watkins found singularly inappropriate. "Damn it, man," he roared, "don't just leave it there. We've got a little fuel left. We can turn her, can't we? You _are_ a navigator, aren't you?" "I am," Rajcik said icily. "And if I computed my courses the way you maintain your engines, we'd be plowing through Australia now." "Why, you little company toady! At least I got my job legitimately, not by marrying--" "That's enough!" Captain Somers cut in. Watkins, his face a mottled red, his mustache bristling, looked like a walrus about to charge. And Rajcik, eyes glittering, was waiting hopefully. "No more of this," Somers said. "I give the orders here." "Then give some!" Watkins snapped. "Tell him to plot a return curve. This is life or death!" "All the more reason for remaining cool. Mr. Rajcik, can you plot such a course?" "First thing I tried," Rajcik said. "Not a chance, on the fuel we have left. We can turn a degree or two, but it won't help." Watkins said, "Of course it will! We'll curve back into the Solar System!" "Sure, but the best curve we can make will take a few thousand years for us to complete." "Perhaps a landfall on some other planet--Neptune, Uranus--" Rajcik shook his head. "Even if an outer planet were in the right place at the right time, we'd need fuel--a lot of fuel--to get into a braking orbit. And if we could, who'd come get us? No ship has gone past Mars yet." "At least we'd have a chance," Watkins said. "Maybe," Rajcik agreed indifferently. "But we can't swing it. I'm afraid you'll have to kiss the Solar System good-by." Captain Somers wiped his forehead and tried to think of a plan. He found it difficult to concentrate. There was too great a discrepancy between his knowledge of the situation and its appearance. He knew--intellectually--that his ship was traveling out of the Solar System at a tremendous rate of speed. But in appearance they were stationary, hung in the abyss, three men trapped in a small, hot room, breathing the smell of hot metal and perspiration. "What shall we do, Captain?" Watkins asked. * * * * *