As Stevens had told Nadia, the message was completely informing to those for whom it was intended, and soon Brandon's answer was flying toward the distant satellite. He then started to call the officers of the Interplanetary Corporation, but was restrained by his conservative friend.
"It would be better to wait a while, Norman. In a few hours we will know what to tell them."
At high acceleration the Sirius drove toward the Jupiter-Earth-North plane, and Brandon calculated from his own bearings and from the current issue of the "Ephemeris" the time at which Stevens' reply should be received. Two minutes before that time he was pacing up and down in front of the ultra-receiver, and fifteen seconds after it he snapped:
"Come on, Perce, get busy! Shake a leg!"
"Oh, come, Norman; give him a few minutes' leeway, at least," said Westfall, with amused tolerance. "Even if your calculations are that accurate—which of course they are," he added hastily at a stormy glance from hot black eyes, "since we received that message direct, instead of through one of our relay stations, Stevens probably has been throwing it around for hours or perhaps days, looking for us, and the shock of hearing from us at last might well have put him out of control for a minute or two."
The carrier wave hissed into the receiver, forestalling Brandon's fiery reply, followed closely by the code signals they had been expecting. As soon as the story had been told, and while Brandon was absorbed in the scientific addenda of Stevens, Westfall thoughtfully called up Newton, Nadia's father.
"Nadia is alive, free, safe, well, and happy," he shot out without preliminary or greeting, as soon as the now lined features of the director showed upon the communicator screen, and the careworn countenance smoothed magically into the keen face of the fighting Newton of old, as Westfall recounted rapidly the tale of the castaways.
"They apparently have not suffered in any way," he concluded. "All that Stevens wants is some cigarettes, and your daughter's needs, while somewhat more numerous than his, seem to be only clothes, powder, perfume, and candy. Therefore we need not worry about them. The fate of the others is still unknown, but there seems to be a slight possibility that some of them may yet be rescued. You may release as much or as little of this story as may seem desirable. Stevens is still sending data of a highly technical nature. We shall arrive there at 21:32 next Tuesday."
In due time the message from Ganymede ended and Brandon, with many pages of his notebook crammed with figures and equations, snapped off the power of the receiver and turned to his bench. Gone was the storming, impetuous rebel; his body was ruled solely by the precise and insatiable brain of the research scientist.
"He's great, that kid Perce! When I see him, I'm going to kiss him on both cheeks. He's got enough dope on them to hang them higher than Franklin's kite, and we'll nail those jaspers to the cross or I'm a polyp! He's crazier than a loon in most of his hunches, but he's filled four of our biggest gaps. There is such a thing, as a ray-screen, you kill-joy, and there are also lifting or tractor rays—two things I've been trying to dope out and that you've been giving me the Bronx cheer on. The Titanians have had a tractor ray for ages—he sent me complete dope on it—and the Jovians have got them both. We'll have them in three days, and it ought to be fairly simple to dope out the opposite of a tractor, too—a pusher or presser beam. Say, round up the gang, will you, while I'm licking some of this stuff into shape for you to tear apart? Where are Venus and Mars? Um ... m ... m. Tell Alcantro and Fedanzo to come over here pronto—give 'em a special if necessary. We'll pick up Dol Kenor and Pyraz Amonar on the way—no, get them to Tellus, too. Then we'll get action quicker. Those four are all I want—get anybody else you want to come along."