The tractors slowed the ship and eventually the whole fleet dropped below the velocity of light and their spacewarp generators thrummed down to a growling halt. The galaxy changed in color as the ships entered prime space and the light of the stars was the real light that mankind had always seen instead of the unreal glow caused by the central energies of the suns of the universe. For space itself is warped naturally in the core of a sun, and the energy glows through a subspace populated only by the phantom cores of prime space stars—and the few puny bits of sentient brain that warped space artificially.
Technicians breached the ship with their kits of tools to make repair as the Guardians broke up their pattern and began the trip back to their bases.
Steve felt gratified; it was the first generator saved by the Guardian tactics. And it was worth anything, any cost, any sacrifice to realize that mankind had some control even over mankind's failures.
He followed the flight back to Base, found a magazine, and relaxed.
Steve was awakened from a light sleep by the ringing of the telephone. Blinking and wondering, he answered it; Lois Morehouse said: "Steve, you're wanted here."
"Okay, what's up?"
"The usual."
Steve hung up and pulled himself together. Why they'd want his opinion again he could not understand. It was obvious this time that the Guardians had done a fine job; nothing was lost. All he could think of was the fact that he had gone as an observer and had seen the incident without taking active part in it. That might possibly give the committee a less distorted picture than the recount of a man whose attention was filled with the mechanics of operating against the possible eruption.
He was preparing his account as he entered Morehouse's office, but once inside, he saw instantly that there was no committee investigation.