Stevens translated the brief message, but Nadia remained unimpressed.
"But it doesn't say anything!" she protested. "It isn't addressed to anybody, it isn't signed—it doesn't tell anybody anything about anything."
"It's all there, ace. You see, since the beam is moving sidewise very rapidly at that range and we're shooting at a small target, the message has to be very short or they won't get it all while the beam's on 'em—it isn't as though we were broadcasting. It doesn't need any address, because nobody but the Sirius can receive it—except possibly the Jovians. They'll know who's sending it without any signature. It tells them that Ganymede wants to receive a message on the ultra-band centering on forty-seven thousandths. Isn't that enough?"
"Maybe. But suppose some of them live right here on Ganymede—you'll be shooting right through the ground all night—or suppose that even if they don't live here, that they can find our beam some way? Or suppose that Brandon hasn't got his machine built yet, or suppose that it isn't turned on when our beam passes them, or suppose they're asleep then? A lot of things might happen."
"Not so many, ace—your first objection is the only one that hasn't got more holes in it than a sieve, so I'll take it first. Since our beam is only a meter in diameter here and doesn't spread much in the first few million kilometers, the chance of direct reception by the enemy, even if they do live here on Ganymede, is infinitesimally small. But I don't believe that they live here—at least, they certainly didn't land on this satellite. As you suggest, however, it is conceivable that they may have detector screens delicate enough to locate our beam at a distance; but since in all probability that means a distance of hundreds of thousands of kilometers, I think it highly improbable. We've got to take the same risk anyway, no matter what we do, whenever we start to use any kind of driving power, so there's no use worrying about it. As for your last two objections, I know Brandon and I know Westfall. Brandon will have receivers built that will take in any wave possible of propagation, and Westfall, the cautious old egg, will have them running twenty-four hours a day, with automatic recorders, finders, and everything else that Brandon can invent—and believe me, sweetheart, that's a lot of stuff!"
"It's wonderful, the way you three men are," replied Nadia thoughtfully, reading between the lines of Stevens' utterance. "They knew that you were on the Arcturus, of course—and they knew that if you were alive you'd manage in some way to get in touch with them. And you, away out here after all this time, are superbly confident that they are expecting a call from you. That, I think, is one of the finest things I ever heard of."
"They're two of the world's best—absolutely." Nadia looked at him, surprised, for he had not seen anything complimentary to himself in her remark. "Wait until you meet them. They're men, Nadia—real men. And speaking of meeting them—please try to keep on loving me after you meet Norm Brandon, will you?"
"Don't be a simp!" her brown eyes met his steadily. "You didn't mean that—you didn't even say it, did you?"
"Back it comes, sweetheart! But knowing myself and knowing those two...."
"Stop it! If Norman Brandon or Quincy Westfall had been here instead of you, or both of them together, we'd have been here from now on—we wouldn't even have gotten away from the Jovians!"