DuChane moistened his lips. "It's an illusion," whispered Marlin. "We can't be--" He glanced up at the girders. The shadows were still shifting in a weird dance to the cadence of swaying lights. "I know when it happened," he breathed hoarsely. "I woke up--a little past midnight--with a terrible sense of oppression. Felt as if I were being crushed. It must have been the acceleration." DuChane swallowed. "Nothing like that now. In fact, it's just the opposite--a touch of weightlessness. We'd better find Eli--have it out with him." The bearded scientist was snoring furiously on his pallet in the control room. They woke him without ceremony. DuChane interrupted the diatribe that trembled on the older man's lips. "What right had you to do this?" he accused. "How do you know you can get us back safely? Damn it all!" DuChane's anger rose as the full enormity of the situation broke over him. "How do you expect to steer the crazy thing--find your way back--land it? That dinky periscope is about as useful for guidance as a cigarette lighter in a blizzard!" Eli stiffened. "If you gentlemen will kindly explain what you are talking about!" "Why, you--!" DuChane broke off. "Mean to tell us you don't know?" The scientist's blank stare continued. "We're in space," Marlin informed him tersely. The older man seemed unable to comprehend. A momentary triumph lighted in his eyes, then faded into suspicion. "Go away!" he ordered gruffly. "I have no mood for silly jokes." Still, he submitted as they assisted him to his feet and hustled him toward the periscope. A few moments later, racing back to the control room, he began a feverish examination of instruments and dials. "I understand now. Yes--it is clear. I should have known, but in dealing with new forces--one lacks the guidance of experience. Lamberton--that imbecile? How I shall laugh. Charlatan eh! Yes, yes. It was necessary to build up a sufficient potential--to do that naturally took a great deal longer--" "Look here," interrupted DuChane. "Isn't it possible that the coating on the sphere somehow acted as a storage reservoir into which your current poured until it built up this--this terrific potential you've mentioned? I mean--well, perhaps this storing up of power multiplied the current generated by your dynamos, until they overcame the objection Lamberton pointed out--that of obtaining sufficient power to produce the atomic stress." "Nonsense!" Eli retorted reddening. "That imbecile has not the brains to grasp even my basic theory. There is no connection between my conversion coils and the mud coating!" "You have a ground of some sort, haven't you?" "Certainly. The steel shell of the sphere--" The inventor paused abruptly. "That dense outer coating of clay--Yes, yes. It might so act." He paused in exasperation. "Gentlemen! Please kindly go away! Is it not enough that I have great responsibilities, but you must come around with your childish theorizing?"