"The field has shown no change in intensity that I can detect," said Thomas. "If they haven't dropped their radiated intensity, that means that we are no closer to them than we were before. Of course, we'd probably have to cut the distance by at least a half before any measurable decrement made itself evident." "They must be on the upper limit of that four thousand MPS," observed Walt. "There's one thing certain, we'll never catch them by matching their speed." "Where will another thirty hours at six G put us and how fast?" asked Franklen. Silence ensued while they scribbled long figures on scratch paper. "About eight hundred million miles from Sol," announced Walt. "And about eight thousand MPS," added Chuck. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?" asked Franklen. "By about thirty percent," said Walt, scratching his chin. "If we hold to our original idea of hitting it for six thousand, where will we be?" "That would make it about forty-five hours from take-off, and we'd be about four hundred and sixty million miles from Sol." Chuck grinned widely and said: "By Jove!" "What?" "By Jove!" "'By Jove!' What?" "That's where we'd be--By Jove!" "_Phew!_" "I agree with you," said Franklen to Walt. "Better ignore him." "Sure will after that. So then we'll be 'By Jove' at six thousand. That would be a swell place to make turnover, I think. At one G decel to about four thousand MPS that'll put us about--um, that'd take us about ninety hours! We'll make that three G at twenty hours, which will put us about three hundred and fifty million miles along, which plus the original four hundred and sixty million adds up to eight hundred and ten million--" "When an astronaut begins to talk like that," interrupted Arden, "we of the skyways say that he is talking in Congressional figures. The shoe is on the other foot. What on earth are you fellows figuring?" "Where we'll be and how fast we'll be going at a given instant of particular importance," offered Walt. "When did you wake up?" "About the third hundred million. All of those ciphers going by made a hollow sound, like a bullet whistling in the wind." "Well, we're trying to make the theories of probability match with figures. We'll know in about forty-five hours whether we were right or not." "It's a good thing we have all space to go around in. Are you sure that we have all eternity?" "Don't get anxious. They're still coming in like a ton of bricks four times per hour, which means that they're riding easy. I don't want to overrun them at about three thousand MPS and have to spend a week decelerating, returning, more decelerating, and then matching velocities." "I see. You know best. And where is this Asteroid Belt that I've heard so much about?"