"I hope not. Look, Don, we're moving on the orbit of Venus, at Venus' orbital velocity. Oh, all right, say it scientifical: We're all three, Venus, Sol, and Venus Equilateral, at the corners of an equilateral triangle, and will forever remain, barring outside influences. So that means we're running around a common point, the common center of gravity—which can be construed to mean that we are circling Sol at Venus' speed, or twenty-one point seven five miles per second. Now our beam is curved because of the angular velocity, just like a swung hose. However, it hits the Empress of Kolain at an angle as though we were a couple of thousand feet away. That's fine. But the reflected wave starts back at that angle, right back through the beam, remember?"
"I get it!" shouted Don in glee. "Thirty-two seconds at twenty-one point seven miles per second gives us seven hundred and sixteen miles to the rear. Walt, get your mechanical gang to hitch us up a couple of mirrors—say a yard in diameter. Put 'em so that they can be used as a range finder. Set the angles for seven hundred and sixteen miles; a three-mile base line should do it, I'm sure; and then we'll shoot us a skeeter out there with a detector. Get carving!"
"Shall Jim stop?" asked Walt.
"How long will it take to rig us a range finder?"
"Hour, God willing."
"Jim, get a relief for a half-hour. We'll keep the beam centered. Then he can take over when the going gets critical again."
The mounting of two mirrors at either end of Venus Equilateral gave little trouble. It was the amount of detailed work that consumed the time. There were girders to be cut and welded together. The hundred-odd doorways that centered on the axis of Venus Equilateral had to be opened and the clear, light path had to be cleared of packing cases, supplies, and in a few cases machinery had to be partially dismantled to clear the way. A good portion of Venus Equilateral's personnel of three thousand were taken off of their jobs, haled out of bed for the emergency, or made to work through their play period, depending upon which shift they worked.
The machinery could be replaced, the central storage places could be refilled, and the many doors closed again. But the central room containing the air plant was no small matter. Channing took a sad look at the lush growth of Martian saw grass and sighed. It was growing nicely now, they had nurtured it into lusty growth from mere sprouts in trays and it was as valuable—precisely—as the lives of the three thousand-odd that lived, loved, and pursued happiness on Venus Equilateral. It was a youthful plant, a replacement brought in a tearing hurry from Mars to replace the former plant that was heaved into the incinerator by a well-meaning but ignorant man who thought that an air plant must be huge, moving levers, whirling gears, bubbling retorts, and a sprig of parsley.
Channing closed his eyes and shuddered in mock horror. "Chop out the center," he said.