"So did mine," Jones said. "So just hold one gravity on eighteen dash forty-seven dash two seventy-one and I'll correct you as necessary."
After setting course, and still thinking of his watch, Deston said; "But it's nonmagnetic. It never stopped before."
The gray-haired man spoke. "It was never in such a field before. You see, those two observations of fact invalidate twenty-four of the thirty-eight best theories of hyper-space. But tell me—am I correct in saying that none of you were in direct contact with the metal of the ship when it happened?"
"We avoid it in case of trouble. You? Name and job?" Deston jerked his head at the younger stranger.
"I know that much. Henry Newman. Crew-chief, normal space jobs, unlimited."
"Your passengers, Herc?"
"Vincent Lopresto, financier, and his two bodyguards. They were sleeping in their suits, on air-mattresses. Grounders. Don't like subspace—or space, either."
"Just so." The gray-haired man nodded, almost happily. "We survivors, then, absorbed the charge gradually——"
"But what the——" Deston began.
"One moment, please, young man. You perhaps saw some of the bodies. What were they like?"