Jak stood silent a long moment, rubbing his hand through his hair as he did when concentrating. Then he looked up with determination. "Jon, you and I have got ourselves a job to do." And now his voice was steady and earnest. "It's up to us to take care of Mother and keep her from worrying. So, whenever we're where she can hear us, we've got to act brave and sure of ourselves, no matter how we feel inside." "Yes, she's all broken up about Pop. We ought to do most of the work, too, so she...." "No," Jak shook his head, "that'd be the worst thing we could do. She isn't sick, physically, and if she keeps busy, she won't have time to worry so much. So we must keep her from having too much idle time." "Oh ... maybe you're right, Owl ... yes, guess you are, at that--that's more your dish. But we can act like everything's going to jet fair. It's a deal." He held out his hand, and the two brothers clasped in agreement. They went into the living quarters. "Hi, Mom, lunch ready yet? I'm starved." "As usual," Jak bantered. Mrs. Carver looked up apathetically from the recline seat where she had been sitting, worrying, during the several hours the boys had been in the control room. She looked as though she were almost shocked at their seemingly heartless question, forgetting that she, herself, had used the same excuse the night before. But in a moment she smiled tremulously. "I guess I let myself forget my job, and that we have to go through the motions of living." She rose slowly, and the boys came and put their arms about her. "Mr. C. wouldn't want me to break down like this. I'll try to do better." She gave her sons a quick hug and went into the little galley, where they heard her moving about from the deep-freeze to cupboards to induction-cooker. Soon the smells of appetizing food spread throughout the ship. Jon had gone back into the control room and picked up the reelbook on astrogation, opening it to the chart of the pilot panel. He was still studying this and tracing, from the diagrams in the book, the controls, switches and recorders on the panel itself. He memorized each one as he went along, and made sure he knew its functions. When Jak called him to lunch, Jon carried the reel with him and continued studying it as he absentmindedly ate. His preoccupation with it raised his mother's fears again. "Can you make anything out of it, Son?" "Huh?" He roused himself then, and grinned at her. "Sure, Mom, it's easy. Pop taught me most of it already, and I'm just refreshing my mind. I'll set us down in one piece, don't you fear." "How soon will we arrive?" "About tomorrow noon, I think, by our clocks. No telling what time it'll be there. I'll take measurements again and make sure, right after I'm through eating. We must be about ready to step up our deceleration."