Three weeks passed in the timeless limbo of second-order flight. Blast tubes silent, the Cleopatra rode the curvature of space toward Eridanus. At eight and a half light years from Sol, the second-order was cut so that Bayne could get a star sight. As the lights of the celestial globe slowly retreated from their unnatural grouping ahead and astern, brilliant Sirius and its dwarf companion showed definite disks in the starboard ports. At a distance of 90,000,000 miles from the Dog Star, its fourteen heavy-gravity planets were plainly visible through the electron telescope.
Strykalski and Ivy Hendricks stood beside Bayne in the dorsal blister while the astrogator sighted Altair through his polytant. His long, horse face bore a look of complete self-approbation when he had completed his last shot.
"A perfect check with the plotted course! How's that for fancy dead reckoning?" he exclaimed.
He was destined never to know the accolade, for at that moment the communicator began to flash angrily over the chart table. Bayne cut it in with an expression of disgust.
"Is the Captain there?" demanded Celia Graham's voice excitedly.
Strike took over the squawk-box. "Right here, Celia. What is it?"
"Radar contact, sir! The screen is crazy with blips!"
"Could it be window?"
"No, sir. The density index indicates spacecraft. High value in the chlorine lines...."