_A long, flat orbit in relation to the ship_, he told himself, remembering in time to avoid speaking aloud that Braigh might be at the ship's radio, _but actually weaving back and forth across the rocket's course, just nipping it at this end_. He edged a hand inside the suit again and turned off his radio. If he found an answer, it would be fatal to be overheard mumbling about it. * * * * * The ship now seemed to be rushing at him, and Tremont deduced that his orbital speed had increased as he approached the focus represented by the _Annabel_. He would doubtless pass near the air lock at about his expulsion speed. "Here's the chance!" he exulted. "A little air let out to slow down ... or even just to veer close enough to lay hands on something! You launched me, Peters, but you didn't lose me." Getting through the airlock should be easy enough. He might be well up the shaft before the others emerged from the control room. In fact, unless Peters were on watch, the air lock operating signal might flash unnoticed on the board. "And I'll be cracking skulls before they know what's up!" he growled. It struck him with a flash of ironic amusement that he had not felt half so much hate when believing himself doomed. After two hours of sweating out his helplessness, he had discovered a lively resentment of the vicious callousness with which he had been jettisoned. He was only about twenty-five yards away now, seemingly circling the ship. Peering closer, he saw that actually he was sweeping in toward it. _Now, be ready with the air tank valve, just in case!_ he warned himself. The great fins loomed to his right; the hull blotted most of the sky from his view. It looked as if he would curve down to a spot beside the same air lock from which he had been expelled. It seemed to be still open. Then he saw the shape of a helmet rise around the curve of the ship. Someone was out on the hull. Tremont switched on his radio and listened. The spacesuited figure climbed completely into view. There appeared to be a line running from the belt into the air lock, and the figure carried a long pole of some sort. "Oh, there you are, Tremont!" came Braigh's voice over the receiver. "I've been waiting for you." The chuckle that followed made Tremont curse, which in turn provoked a hearty laugh from the other. "You didn't think I'd forget you?" asked Braigh. "We figured out what happened as soon as we heard you putting out those distress calls. After that, it was just a matter of timing. Have you had an amusing trip?" "Have you found out you can't make anything of those papers yet?" countered Tremont. "Oh, the coding? It might take a little time, but we have plenty ... now, now, Tremont! That kind of abusive language will get you nowhere."