His trembling hands turned up the power and the ship shuddered at the overload drive. The upper air shrilled against rivet head and port sill. The burble point came and the ship shook and rattled terribly. Yet he knew that he had but an even chance. For Jenna was driving a superspeed plane that could race as fast as the big ship—with less danger in atmosphere.
No spacecraft was made to travel horizontally across a planet. But Ralph Lindsay in a frenzy, swore at the sidelong pace, and turned his ship to arrow through the upper air. The burble died, but throughout the ship came the rattle of falling objects, dumped from table and shelf.
He continued to cry into the microphone, and strained his ears for the answer that was not there.
He depressed the nose of the ship and went into a steep, screaming dive.
He—saw her. A minute speck, even through the telescope.
And at the moment he saw her, she stepped from the plane onto the ground, and spoke to him through the radio.
"I've no receiver on, Ralph. But listen—and stay back!"
"Jenna!" he screamed.
"Your duty, remember?" she said quietly. "It is to solve these—things. Your duty, I took away, and now I will return it."
"Jenna!" he pleaded. "I don't want—"