Time passed--interminable time. The sun flared and flamed and writhed in emptiness. The great gas-giant planet rolled through space in splendid state, its moonlets spinning gracefully about its bulk. The oxygen-atmosphere planet to sunward was visible only as a crescent, but the mottlings on its lighted part changed as it revolved--seas and islands and continents receiving the sunlight as it turned. Meteor swarms, so dense in appearance on a radar screen, yet so tenuous in reality, floated in their appointed orbits with a seeming vast leisure. The feel of slowness was actually the result of distance. Men have always acted upon things close by. Battles have always been fought within eye-range, anyhow. But it was actually 06 hours 35 minutes ship time before the two spacecraft sighted each other--more than two hours after they plunged toward a rendezvous. The Plumie ship was a bright golden dot, at first. It decelerated swiftly. In minutes it was a rounded, end-on disk. Then it swerved lightly and presented an elliptical broadside to the _Niccola_. The _Niccola_ was in full deceleration too, by then. The two ships came very nearly to a stop with relation to each other when they were hardly twenty miles apart--which meant great daring on both sides. Baird heard the skipper grumbling: "_Damned cocky!_" He roared suddenly: "_Mr. Baird! How've you made out in communicating with them?_" "Not at all, sir," said Baird grimly. "They don't reply." He knew from Diane's expression that there was no sound in the headphones except the frying noise all main-sequence stars give out, and the infrequent thumping noises that come from gas-giant planets' lower atmospheres, and the Jansky-radiation hiss which comes from everywhere. The skipper swore. The Plumie ship lay broadside to, less than a score of miles away. It shone in the sunlight. It acted with extraordinary confidence. It was as if it dared the _Niccola_ to open fire. Taine's voice came out of a speaker, harsh and angry: "_Even-numbered tubes prepare to fire on command._" Nothing happened. The two ships floated sunward together, neither approaching nor retreating. But with every second, the need for action of some sort increased. "_Mr. Baird!_" barked the skipper. "_This is ridiculous! There must be some way to communicate! We can't sit here glaring at each other forever! Raise them! Get some sort of acknowledgment!_" "I'm trying," said Baird bitterly, "according to orders!" But he disagreed with those orders. It was official theory that arithmetic values, repeated in proper order, would be the way to open conversation. The assumption was that any rational creature would grasp the idea that orderly signals were rational attempts to open communication.