"Well, you'd better make it ten. Because we just got word the Cosmic Corporation freighter _Gemini_ is closing in on Yappy with exactly the same thing you're carrying--a cargo of flower seeds! Orders are to beat them there at all costs. That is all. _Salujo!_" And he signed off. I turned to the Old Man. "You heard that, Skipper?" His face was the color of a 'dobe hut. "I heard it," he croaked feebly, and stared at Biggs with lacklustre eyes. "Trouble, trouble; nothin' but trouble! Lanse, is there anything we can do to speed up a little?" Biggs shook his head. "No," he groaned. "We're spinning the V-I unit almost at maximum acceleration now--185,000 plus. If we boost it any higher we're taking chances. We may exceed the limiting velocity of light and lose ourselves in the negative universe like we did once before." A sudden anger disturbed his usual calm complacency. "If we lose this race," he stormed, "the Company has nobody to blame but itself! _They_ merchandised the V-I unit and made it available to every ship in space. Still--we must beat the C.C. to Iapetus, even if we have to take chances." He turned to me suddenly. "Sparks, call Jenkins again. See if you can get an exact locus on the _Gemini_." I did so. A few minutes later Biggs was seated at my plot table, anxiously scanning the course trajectories of both their ship and ours, reeling off involved and typically Biggsian mathematics that would have warped the gears of a calculating machine. The creases on his brow etched deeper as his columns of figures grew longer. Finally he stopped scribbling, lifted his head. "Well?" asked the Old Man with bated breath. "What's the answer, son?" "It's close," Biggs told us. "Perilously close. As near as I can figure, it's a nip and tuck race. They started later than we did, but their point of departure was nearer our mutual goal. From the viewpoint of distance alone, they should drop gravs on Iapetus one hour before we do." * * * * * Hanson groaned. "Licked again!" "No," said Biggs. "Not quite. There's one thing which may save us. Iapetus' diurnal revolution. It's not simply a matter of _reaching_ the satellite. They must actually beat us to the mining city. If their calculators have figured _our_ position as we have figured _theirs_, they may be overconfident and think they've licked us just because they have an hour's advantage. And--this is risky, Cap, but--" "Go on!" said the Old Man with rising excitement. Risks don't scare him. Danger is his bread and butter. "Go on!" "If we can hold the velocity-intensifier in operation until just before we effect landing, we'll drop to normal acceleration right smack over that sector of Iapetus where the mines are, thus cancelling the sixty-odd minutes of stratosphere cruise the _Gemini_ will have to make--and dropping us into the cradles at practically the same moment."