THE SPACE BETWEEN By ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT _Somewhat like Nathan Hale of old, Jak SP regretted having but one vitality to give for his Planet ... and the starry-eyed Drusilla._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] One hour and forty-one minutes before deceleration, the spacecopter materialized off to right, matching precisely the 3360 kilometers per second speed of the Box. Jak SP34509260 jerked erect in answer to blinking red lights and screeching collision whistles. The dark glass and liquid ozone of the control cabin windows gave but a distorted view of space, although enough to show the sleek shape outside. Drusilla GW414249834, asymmetric in a flowing, floreated, red robe, clamped slender hands over her ears and squawled, "What now, Jak? You know I have a headache! Can't you be considerate?" Jak pressed a switch, to stop the whistles, and hoped she would not faint again. His wide mouth drooping with concern, he said, "It's O.K., sweetjet. That spacecopter did it. See?" He activated all viewers. With rotorwings and fins retracted, the spacecopter resembled a thick, but sharply pointed, needle. Jak increased the magnification of Number 3 viewer until he could read the license, SE-YNWGR. "From Enceladus!" he said. "Saturn's second moon. If I'd known she had a station, we could have looked there for a doc. Did you take that tomato juice off my uniform?" Drusilla's gray eyes squinted. She stood with such rigidity that her feet floated clear of the deck. She said, "I informed you I'll accept no substitute for the Wollongong Obstetric Hospital on Earth, and I didn't clean your uniform. That cleanser makes me vomit." "Sorry, sweetjet," Jak mumbled. He wished he could say something just once without upsetting her. He magnetized his shoes and pulled Drusilla down from the ceiling. "I was thinking of you," he pleaded, "but don't you worry. We'll be on Luna in a bit over four earth-days. From there to--" Drusilla pulled loose and flitted to Number 3 viewer. "Why couldn't you have a plane like that?" she demanded with a dramatic gesture at the needle shape. "The Box! That's what this wreck looks like, a prehistoric boxcar!" "But, sweetjet, I've told you. Streamlining is useless except in atmosphere. The Box is the most economical construction for--" "What's that insignia?" Drusilla interrupted. "Like a skull and two bones. What is it?" Jak turned the knob to maximum magnification. "Umm. I believe that's an old pictograph for poison. Perhaps they're carrying some poisonous cargo, and--" "In a yatch?" Drusilla sneered. "Why can't you have a yatch?" "My salary. I hoped to pick up enough ore in the Rings, this trip, but we had to bring you back, and--"