"It's fifth magnitude," said the pilot happily. "We really did pile on the horses!" Jones looked momentarily pleased again. Cochrane said in a voice that even to himself sounded outraged: "You mean the sun's a fifth-magnitude star from here? What the devil happened?" "Booster," said Jones, nearly with enthusiasm. "When the field was just a radiation speed-up, I used forty milliamperes of current to the square centimetre of field-plate. That was the field-strength when we sent the signal-rocket across the crater. For the distress-torpedo test, I stepped the field-strength up. I used a tenth of an ampere per square centimetre. I told you! And don't you remember that I wondered what would happen if I used a capacity-storage system?" Cochrane held fast to a hand-hold. "The more power you put into your infernal field," he demanded, "the more speed you get?" Jones said contentedly: "There's a limit. It depends on the temperature of the things in the field. But I've fixed up the field, now, like a spot-welding outfit. Like a strobe-light. We took off with a light field. It's on now--we have to keep it on. But I got hold of some pretty storage condensers. I hooked them up in parallel to get a momentary surge of high-amperage current when I shorted them through my field-making coils. Couldn't make it a steady current! Everything would blow! But I had a surge of probably six amps per square centimetre for a while." Cochrane swallowed. "The field was sixty times as strong as the one the distress-torpedo used? We went--we're going--sixty times as fast?" "We had lots more speed than that!" But then Jones' enthusiasm dwindled. "I haven't had time to check," he said unhappily. "It's one of the things I want to get at right away. But in theory the field should modify the effect of inertia as the fourth power of its strength. Sixty to the fourth is--." "How far," demanded Cochrane, "is Proxima Centaurus? That's the nearest star to Earth. How near did we come to reaching it?" The pilot on the other side of the control-room said with a trace less than his former zest: "That looks like Sirius, over there ..." "We didn't head for Proxima Centaurus," said Jones mildly. "It's too close! And we have to keep the field-plate back on the moon lined up with us, more or less, so we headed out roughly along the moon's axis. Toward where its north pole points." "Then where are we headed? Where are we going?" "We're not going anywhere just yet," said Jones without interest. "We have to find out where we are, and from that--" Cochrane ran his hand through his hair. "Look!" he protested. "Who's running this show? You didn't tell me you were going to take off! You didn't pick out a destination! You didn't--" Jones said very patiently: