“I don’t, either. That relationship certainly means something, too, but I’m damned if I can make any sense out of it. And what sense is there in a spherical surface that big? And why so ungodly accurate? Alphacent, there, is less than one parsec outside the surface, but it didn’t have a blow-up for over seven hundred years. How come? Anybody or anything capable of traveling that far could certainly travel half a parsec farther if he wanted to. And look at the time involved—over a thousand years! Assuming some purpose, what could it be? Human operations, or any other kind I know anything about, simply are not geared up to that kind of scope, either in space or in time. None of it makes any kind of sense.” “So you consider it purely fortuitous that this surface is as truly spherical as the texture of the medium will permit?” she asked, loftily. “No, I don’t, and you know I don’t—and don’t misquote me, woman! It’s too fantastically accurate to be accidental. And that ties right in with the previous paradox—that vortices can’t possibly be either accidental or deliberate.” “From a semantic viewpoint, your phraseology is deplorable. The term ‘paradox’ is inadmissible—meaningless. We simply haven’t enough data. I simply _can’t_ believe, Storm, that those horrible things were set off on purpose.” “Deplorable phraseology or not, I’ve got enough data to put the probability out beyond the nine-sigma point—the same probability as that an automatic screw-machine running six-thirty-two brass hex nuts would accidentally turn out a thirty-six-inch jet-ring made of pure titanite, diamond-ground, finished, and fitted. We’re getting nowhere faster and faster—with an acceleration of about 12 G’s instead of any simple velocity.” He fell silent; remained silent so long that the woman spoke. “Well . . . what do you think we’d better do next?” “All I can think of is to find out what’s out there at the center of that sphere . . . and then to see if we can find any other leads in this mess on the chart. I’ll call Phil.” _Chapter 12_ ▂▂▂▂▂▂VESTA PRACTICES SPACEAL THE CONNECTION was made and he brought Lensman Strong up to date, concluding: “So will you please get hold of Planetography with a crash priority on anything they know about that point?” “I’ll do that, Storm. I’ll call you back.” Since Lensmen are potent beings, the call came soon. “There’s one sun there,” Strong reported, “but it doesn’t amount to much. A red dwarf—it may or may not be a single. Unexplored. Astronomical data only.” “How close did I come to it?” “Allowing for proper motion, you speared it. Less than two hundredths of a parsec off. And there’s nothing else within twelve parsecs—stars are mighty thin out beyond the Rim, you know.” “I know. That nails it, Phil. They don’t know, of course, whether it has any planets or not?” “No . . . I see what you mean . . . shall I get a special on it for you?”