Off the Beam

Illustrated by Orban
Thirty hours out of Mars for Terra, the Solar Queen sped along her silent, invisible course. No longer was she completely severed from all connection with the planets of the inner system; the trick cams that controlled the beams at Venus Equilateral kept the ship centered by sheer mathematics. It was a poor communications system, however, since it was but a one-way job. Any message-answering would have to be done thirty hours later when the ship made planetfall, and the regular terminal office of Interplanetary Communications could be employed.
In spite of her thirty hours at 2-G, which brought her velocity to eleven hundred miles per second, the beam-director cams did their job well enough. It was only in extreme cases of course-changing to dodge meteors that the beams lost the ship; since the cams were not clairvoyant, there was no way to know when the autopilot juggled the controls to miss a bit of cosmic dust. The cams continued to spear the space through which the ship was supposed to pass according to the course constants.
What made this trip ironic was the fact that Don Channing was aboard. The beams had been bombarding the Solar Queen continually ever since she left Mars with messages for the Director of Communications. In one sense, it seemed funny that Channing was for once on the end of a communications line where people could talk to him but upon which he could not talk back. On the other hand it was a blessing in disguise, for the Director of Communications was beginning to paper-talk himself into some means of contacting the Relay Station from a spaceship.
A steward found Channing in the salon and handed him a 'gram. Channing smiled, and the steward returned the smile and added: You'll fix these ships to talk back one day. Wait until you read that one—you'll burn from here to Terra!
Reading my mail? asked Channing cheerfully. The average spacegram was about as secret as a postcard, so Channing didn't mind. He turned the page over and read: