"B for blue," explained Moore affably. "Horta's draining the blue stars, or I'm no Harvard man."
Ross eyed the navigator narrowly. "You really think that?"
"What else?" countered Moore calmly. "Horta was a washout on the R-ray—and besides, our red ray doesn't burn like that. I think Horta's got something."
Ross turned to the helmsman, then studied the chart that Artana had provided. "We can circle just like this, and make Peak Four if we can cut that drag a bit. Try reducing the speed."
It worked. At reduced speed the ship flew more truly, with less pressure on the rudder. Ross sighed in relief. "Keep her there." He spied the Princess leaning against the stanchion, and walked over. "Quite a scare, wasn't it?"
She regarded him steadily. "You do not like me?"
He gaped at her. "Why do you say that?"
"You pushed me away from you."
"Oh, that!" Ross was nettled. "A man must fight his ship, Princess."
"Yes." She nodded agreement. "But I was afraid. I thought we were doomed. And I wished you to be with me. It is not given to every woman to die with the man of her choice. And you are the man I wish for."