"Darned good thing, too," said Thompson. "I don't know how else we'd swing it."
Again came that feeling of wrenching. And it increased as before.
"Does it feel left-handed or right-handed?" asked Lane nervously.
"I don't know and if I did I wouldn't remember which way it was the last time," grumbled Downing.
And then the warp formed, and there was the impression, just before it snapped-quick, that the stars in that universe were flowing like spots on a watery surface.
And they emerged into a space completely devoid of anything. Not a star, not a speckle in the complete sphere of utter blackness.
"Obviously went the other way again," grunted Lane.
Jack Rhodes looked up from his calculations. "We had a fifty-fifty chance, according to the Law of Probabilities. But tossing one head does not make the next toss any better than fifty-fifty chance for tails. In fact," mused Rhodes, "tossing a hundred coins may bring you forty heads and sixty tails—plus or minus ten percent of the true chance. Tossing a thousand coins may give you four hundred seventy against five hundred thirty—a three percent error. But though the latter is more to the true division, the numerical deviation from zero is only ten in the first case but thirty in the second."
"I hate mathematicians," grunted Downing. "They're all pessimists. So the longer we try the more distant we get, huh?"
"Unless we can get something to upset the Law of Probability."