The stars scalloped around in the viewpanel until the phanobeacon was on the vertical line. The field leaped a bit as Dusty found the 'Co-ordinates' switch and returned the calibration-presentation to the horizontal and vertical hairlines. "Now?" he asked. "You have a bit of time. Be certain that the star-marker lies firm and true. Be careful!" Dusty gripped the handles and tried to steady his shaking hands. Then, because he had no more complexity of motions to make, he relaxed a bit. The dancing star-field slowed its mad vibration, which calmed Dusty's jumping nerves still more. He leaned back in the pilot's chair slowly, his grip on the 'Tee' bar lightening and becoming more true. He looked at the beacon star and knew what Chat, Bren, and Scyth were working toward. * * * * * It lay there on the center of his panel like a winking flashlight. Lost in the star-field, which showed a myriad of points, some dim cloudy stuff, and a band of milky white, the beacon would have been nothing without that steady wink ... wink ... wink. He, himself, was lost. He had not the foggiest notion of where he was, excepting that Mother Terra must be far behind. Sol, a smallish, yellowish, completely average dwarf would show nothing to call attention to itself from the distance of a few light-years. Yes, somewhere back behind him lay Sol and his planets. But the winking beacon on Dusty's viewpanel was like a banner waved from a distant shore. No man is alone so long as a lighthouse flashes its message of safety, or warns against danger. Dusty took a deep breath. "Barb!" he called. She came up the ladder. "Call me?" "How's Scyth?" he asked. "He's doing all right. How're you doing?" Dusty nodded boyishly. "Look, Maw I'm flyin'," he told her with a chuckle. "Martin Gramer should see me now. This is simple like a duck's ear, and I--" Barbara screamed and Dusty whipped his head back to look along the direction of her horrified eyes. To the viewpanel. One of the stars, lost in the glitter of the distant background had detached itself from the immobile sky. It was moving, forward, and its glow was brightening. It came hurtling towards them like a white hot cannonball. One second it was no more than any other star, distant, aloof, and cold. Then it had exploded into a disc that expanded like a released puff of gas. It came toward them like a ball of fire hurled into their faces. Dusty yelped and twisted on the 'Tee' bar and the stars rolled dizzily across the plate--but not until the white hot monster had flipped past in a quick wave of heat and a final flare of light which made a small section in the back of Dusty's mind recall the effect of having a foil-filled flashbulb fired during a still photography session. Shaking, Dusty's grip on the 'Tee' bar tightened and he moved the lever in tight little jerks until the stars returned to the proper positions and the Phanobeacon was properly centered.