“Now, Vesta, I s’pose you’ve all picked out your cabins and got located?”
“Yes, sir.”
“QX. Tell ’em all, except Tommie, to go and do whatever they think they ought to be doing. Tell Tommie to sit down at the chart-table. We’ll join her. I want to find out what she’s got on her mind.”
Pulling a chart and rolling it out flat on the table, Cloud went on: “We’re in this unexplored region, here, about thirty two dash twenty five.[[2]] We’re headed for Nixson II, about sixty one dash forty six.”
“Nixson? Why, that’s only three thousand parsecs—a day and a half, say—from Tominga, where I want you to go!” Tommie exclaimed.
“Check. That’s why I’m going to listen to what you have to say. We can pick Manarka up—sixty five dash thirty-five, here; they’ve got two really bad ones—on the way back. It’s a long flit to Chickladoria—’way over there, one seventy seven dash thirty four—but I’ve got to go there pretty quick, anyway. It’s way up on the A list. So, Tommie, start talking.”
* * * * *
The run to Nixson II was uneventful, and Cloud rid that planet of its loose atomic vortices in a few hours. The cruiser then headed directly for Tominga, one man short, for Tommie was not aboard.
“Now remember, no matter what happens, you don’t know any one of us,” had been the Blaster’s parting instructions to her. “After we’ve checked in at the hotel we’ll meet in the lobby. Be sure you’re sitting—or standing—some place where Vesta can pass a couple of words with you without anybody catching on. Check?”
“Check.”