Strykalski opened his eyes and stretched his battered body. His head was bandaged, and he could feel the familiar tingle of paratannic salve on his burns. Pain still throbbed in little red needles behind his dazzled eyes. He drew a long rasping breath and looked around him. He was in the Cleopatra's infirmary. A Medic was standing near the bulkhead. Cob lay on a bunk nearby. Ivy and Celia Graham were leaning over him.
"Great Space!" he muttered, "What happened?"
"The shot Cob fired ... it ... it blew up," Celia said.
"That's putting it rather mildly. But why? And how did we get back here?"
"Celia found you on the Radar," said Ivy, "And Bayne took a skeeterboat out and picked you up after we got Lover-Girl back right side up."
"Cob?"
As though in answer to Strykalski's question, a low moan came from the bandaged form of the Executive. "Ohhh.... Ye gods and ... little catfish! I wish I ... had a Martini...."
Strike smiled through cut lips. Cob was all right. He looked up at Ivy again. "But what happened?"
"Listen!" Ivy was saying excitedly, "I've got it! The answer! All the answers, I think! The glowing of the ship ... the lack of mass for everything native to this space ... the solid shot exploding!"
Things were becoming clear to Strykalski now. Of course! He sat up painfully. It was really simple enough when one thought it through. In negative space....