I didn't have to answer. Biggs answered. "I've taken care of that, Todd! Now, do as I say! Hurry, hurry!" And--well, am I a fool? After all, Lancelot Biggs and I are old buddies. Once we were bunkmates, even. There came back to me a measure of the confidence I had once had in him. And I nodded to Todd. "Try it, Dick. We've got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Give the order." He did. Chief Garrity must have been startled but he was too good a spaceman to argue an order from the bridge. He said, succinctly, "Aye, sirr!" And then-- I felt the rocking plunge. The moment of brief, incredible dizziness of frightful speed being intensified to the limiting velocity of light. My head whirled, but somehow I managed to turn, stare at that ominous viewpane. And what I saw there brought a shocked cry from my lips! White--white--dazzling white--then grayness! No other scene than dim and vacant void, gray, infinite, impenetrable. A glimpse of the lost universe--the matrix negative wherein are flung such mad things as attain a speed beyond that of the limiting velocity. Then crackling across the room agonizedly, "We're clear, Todd? We're through?" And Todd replying dazedly, "I--I don't know what you mean." "The chronometer, man! Has it touched 9.14?" "Yes, sir. But--but we're slipping into the negative, Lanse! We've escaped one death to find another!" But there was infinite sadness to Lancelot Biggs' denial. "No you're not, Todd. You're going back to your own universe--now. When you feel the ship lurch, turn the V-I unit dial back to where it was before. Ready? _Now!_" And there came, inexplicably, a swift unsteadiness, a lurching halt of the ship. At that instant Todd spoke to Garrity, Garrity obeyed, and-- We were once again traveling smoothly on our proper course. But Jupiter--monstrous missile of solid, terrible death--was no longer before us! _It was behind us!_ * * * * * As we saw that, Captain Hanson laughed aloud. And vast was the joy of that laughter. Relief, happiness, sheer triumph. And apology. And he cried: "You've done it, son! Forgive me for doubting you. We're safe! I don't know how, but--come on in, boy, and tell us all about it!" But there came no answer. Only the echo of our own harsh breathing, the dry scrape of our own feet shuffling restlessly. And new terror loomed suddenly in the Old Man's eyes. "Biggs!" he cried. "Lanse, my boy! Lanse!" And then-- It was like the faintest, winnowed chaff of sound, breathing from far, far away. A voice speaking. To us. A voice that said: "--can't come back ... Skipper.... Sparks will understand. Tell him ... mass-energy ... relationships. And tell ... Diane ... I love...." That was all. And my brain reeled beneath the import of those fading words. Suddenly I _knew_! I didn't need to hear Cap Hanson screaming wild orders to the sailors on the aft deck below, nor to hear their answer.