They were ready. They stood against the far wall and watched the screen across the room. Callisto was looming. They'd soon be within its gravity. Ferris, standing beside Mark, said in a low voice: "What kind of a news-man are you, Travers? Y'oughta be getting pictures of this. Make swell release stuff when you get back to Earth." His tone was mocking. Mark felt a growing dislike of this man. He suppressed a retort, said curtly instead: "Too late now." He had placed his "camera" safely in an inside pocket. The Patrollers' magnetic beams still towed them along at terrific speed, setting up a slight vibration in the walls. Suddenly there was a new kind of vibration. Mark didn't know what it was. Certainly not rocket tubes. "Get set!" Janus warned. Someone muttered: "If he slips out of six magnetic beams--" but that was all. A fierce surge came beneath their feet, and Callisto seemed to leap at them. Within seconds a ghastly nausea gripped their insides. The ballooning suits were pressed so flat against the wall it became impossible to breathe! Their hearts pumped sluggishly, and a gray veil began to form before their eyes.... These were men so accustomed to hardships that space-acceleration meant nothing, but now they were experiencing something new in acceleration. They felt as if their entrails were being compressed into atoms! Mark could barely see the screen now. The way Callisto was rushing at them he felt sure the planet was going to blank them out. He tried to shut his eyes, but even his eyelids wouldn't move! Then Callisto slipped off the screen, and Mark knew they must have made a sharp parabola. Two of the Patrollers were glimpsed far behind, reaching out futilely with dis-rays. Even as he struggled for breath, Mark wanted to laugh; but the desire left him suddenly as the tremendous bulk of Jupiter loomed. If they escaped that gravity-- And they did. They came close, but their parabola tightened, then they were pulling away. Speed remained constant as Jupiter faded. Mark could breathe again but he ached through every inch of his body. He could only think wearily. This, he thought--this meant they must have accelerated to the sixth, seventh or even eighth magnitude! II Phillias Brownell was a tough little character. He still breathed with difficulty as Janus unstrapped him from the pneumatic seat, and his face was ashen; but he hoisted himself up to his full stature of five feet five and his gray hair bristled. He went to work over the control console, jabbing hard at gleaming buttons and adjusting the complex set-up. By now Jupiter was fast fading in the darkness behind them. "All right," he announced finally, "we're on robot control. We can rest easy for a while." He sneered in the direction of Jupiter. "We showed 'em some speed, eh? So they want my Frequency Tuner, do they? Let them come and get it! The dolts, the moronic interfering meddlers!"