"To the south of us by a few million miles. Those bright specks that you can't tell from stars are asteroids. The common conception of the Asteroid Belt being filled to overflowing with a collection of cosmic rubble like the rings of Saturn is a lot of hooey. We'll be past in a little while and we haven't even come close to one. Space is large enough for all of us, I think." "But not when all of us want the same space." "I don't care for their area," said Walt with a smile. "Let 'em have it, I don't care. I'll stay up here and let them run as they will." "You mean the ones that are moving downward?" asked Arden, indicating the sky. "Those are asteroids, yes. We're to the north, as you may check by going around the ship to the opposite side. You'll see Polaris almost directly opposite, there. Sol is almost directly below us, and that bright one that you can see if you squint almost straight up is Saturn." "I won't bother crossing the ship to see Polaris. I prefer the Southern Cross, anyway. The thing I'm most interested in is: Are we accomplishing anything?" "I think that we've spent the last thirty hours just catching up," explained Walt. "Up to right now, we are going backwards, so to speak; we're on even terms now, and will be doing better from here on in." "It's the waiting that gets me down," said Arden. "Oh, for something to do." "Let's eat," suggested Walt. "I'm hungry, and now that I think of it, I haven't eaten since we left the station. Arden, you are hereby elected to the post of galley chief. Get Jimmy from the dome if you need help." "Help? What for?" "He can help you lift it out of the oven. Don must have a cast-iron stomach." "That's hearsay, I'll show you! As soon as I find the can opener, breakfast will be served." "Make mine dinner," said Chuck. "We've been awake all the time." "O.K., we will have a combined meal, from grapefruit to ice cream. Those who want any or all parts may choose at will. And fellows, please let me know as soon as you get something tangible." "That's a promise," said Walt. "Take it easy, and don't worry. We'll be catching up with them one of these days." * * * * * "Hadley, how much coating have we got on those cathodes?" asked Don Channing. "Not too much. We had about twenty G hours to begin with. We went to a half G for twenty hours, and now we're running on a quarter G, which would let us go for forty hours more." "Well, look. If it should come to a choice between floor and signal gun, we'll choose the gun. We've about eight hours left in the cathodes, and since everybody is now used to quarter G we might even slide it down to an eighth G, which would give us about sixteen hours." "Your gun is still putting out?" "So far as I can tell. Six hours from now, we should know, I think, predicating my guess on whatever meager information they must have." "We could save some juice by killing most of the lights in the ship."