Again—always; forever—Dane wondered....
But now, abruptly, the ship's com-box came to life to interrupt him: "Cargo Vessel 214XB7! Cargo Vessel 214XB7!"
It brought Dane back to the here-and-now—the cramped, instrument-banked, astrogation chamber of the spaceship. Gripping the yat-stick package tighter than ever, he tore his eyes from the wonders spread on the visiscreen and once again looked on horse-faced Captain Helstrom and pale, silent, tight-lipped Nelva Guthrie.
The com-box blared again: "Cargo Vessel 214XB7! Acknowledge, Cargo Vessel 214XB7!"
"That's us," the grey-haired captain grunted. He started to reach for the switch to the ship's own communicator unit.
Dane caught his arm. "No."
"What—?" The captain's protruding eyes fixed on Dane uneasily. "You can't just ignore that call, mister. That's a Security blockade station. Stall 'em and they'll throw their brain-drain on you!"
Dane laughed harshly. "They'll do it anyhow, won't they, when they find we're heading through the Belt?"
The captain's Adam's apple bobbed. His narrow horse-face drew longer than ever. "Well ... yes, I guess so."
"Get ready for it, then. Set your guides."