With one warning blare, The Nebula plunged into the fringe of the dust-cloud.
The boat rocked. A spattering sound like the falling of heavy sleet filled the control room. Needles jumped and wheeled. Dials turned madly, spun back and forth, and jammed.
The lights flickered on and off. For a time they were in darkness. Then the lights came back, but continued their flickering. The screens were dark.
Nea worked with the instruments. When power enough was available she began probing the dust-cloud as though nothing had happened. Then she fed more figures into the calculator and handed the result to Ato.
“Try this,” she said in a tremulous voice. “It may work.”
Ato took the tape from her hands and set the controls accordingly.
The lights dimmed again—came on—and remained steady. The expanses of dim yellow light through which coils and ellipses of darkness crawled like black worms.
Odin knew that such a feeling was impossible out here, but it seemed to him that The Nebula leaped forward.
Ato cried out in triumph. “I’ve got another fix on Grim Hagen. He’s much nearer now.”
“Hurry, Ato. Hurry,” Nea was pleading.