"Make it go faster!" she cried. "Faster! Faster!"
She looked out the ports again; looked back behind them—and saw shining specks of glittering blackness falling away to melt into the sootiness of space. She shuddered, and knew without asking that these were stars dropping behind at a rate greater than light speed.
"Now how fast are we going?" she asked. She was sure that her voice was stronger; that strength was flowing back into her muscles and bones.
"Nearly twice light speed."
"Faster!" she cried. "We must go much faster! I must be young again. Youthful, and gay, and alive and happy.... Tell me, Robert, do you feel younger yet?"
He did not answer.
Ninon lay in the acceleration sling, gaining strength, and—she knew—youth. Her lost youth, coming back, to be spent all over again. How wonderful! No woman in all of time and history had ever done it. She would be immortal; forever young and lovely. She hardly noticed the stiffness in her joints when she got to her feet again—it was just from lying in the sling so long.
She made her voice light and gay. "Are we not going very, very fast, now, Robert?"
He answered without turning. "Yes. Many times the speed of light."