They had never expected what happened next. Their path had neatly bisected the line joining the two stars, and they had begun to put both glowing masses behind them. Unexpectedly, as if they had reached the end of a great rubber band to which they had been attached, they had stopped dead in space. The rubber had stretched as much as it was ever going to stretch.
Then, as Jan reversed direction, it seemed as if the band were contracting once more. They picked up speed, and the differential screen glowed green and yellow while their position with respect to the twin stars underwent a change. But the glow quickly dimmed and vanished. Once more they had come to a full stop.
"Road blocked at both ends," said Jan, with grim finality.
"Suppose we cut off at right angles," suggested Karin.
"Naturally," he agreed. "We can't afford to miss a bet."
But the road was blocked above and below as well. Jan said, "I'm afraid, darling, that our divorce is going to be held up."
"Indefinitely."
She looked a little pale and frightened. Even the ghastly lighting could not conceal the beauty in her face, and at that moment he loved her again. He said, "Go ahead and say it. Tell me I should have listened to you. It's true, you know."
"I'm not reproaching you, Jan," she said quietly. "Don't joke about it. It's too serious."
"We're unharmed. We should be thankful for that, I guess."