Dr. Bryant, too engrossed in his own thoughts to see the byplay, now raised his head thoughtfully.
"Nevertheless, Gary, Miss Powell raised an important point. What about our known and proven celestial mechanics?"
"My theory," said Gary firmly, "makes them even more valid. Their truth is not reversed—only their meaning. In other words, the principles of the Lorenz equation still hold true, but we must learn to interpret it from a new angle. It is not the yardstick which moves; it is the observers! We of this dwindling galaxy which, alone in all the vastness of the Greater Universe, is becoming ever smaller!"
"But—but why, Gary? Why?"
"That," confessed Lane, "I do not know. But it is a problem we must solve. And quickly. Or—"
"Or—?" prompted Nora Powell as he hesitated.
"Or—" concluded Gary grimly—"oblivion! Unless I erred seriously in my first computations, there is a limit to the amount of shrinkage matter can withstand. And that limit is rapidly drawing near. Matter cannot contract forever. If we cannot find a way to free ourselves from the strange force being brought to bear upon us from out there—" Gary's hand swept the gathering dusk of Earth's twilight—"our Earth and sun, our sister planets, our galaxy—all these are doomed!"
For the second time within minutes, silence followed one of Gary Lane's pronouncements. But this was no moment of dubiety. Something of his deadly earnestness had communicated itself to his listeners; their voices were muted as if with awe at the magnitude of his warning. Muldoon already knew, of course, and already believed. Credence shone in the eyes of Nora Powell. Dr. Anjers' broad, fair brow was drawn; the cherubic mask of his features was marred with white lines of concentration. Dr. Bryant coughed, twisting long, capable fingers into steeples of thought.
It was the foreign scientist who broke the silence. Quietly. Carefully. In a voice which might have been gently chiding, had its accent not been thickened by a note of near-alarm.