And he galloped from my turret like a bolt of goosed lightning, hauling me along in his wake by sheer suction. We hightailed it through the corridors, up the ramp, and onto the bridge. There we found both Todd and Biggs. Todd was still a delicate shade of bilious green, but he was hunched over the plot table, scribbling hurried calculations. Biggs was in the pilot's bucket seat, punching away at the studs as cheerfully as if this were a routine test flight in home atmo.
He glanced around as we came in, and his eyes popped out on stalks. He half rose from his seat.
"A—a message, Sparks?" he quavered.
I shook my head.
"No word yet," I reassured him. "I'll let you know. Meanwhile, what's the trouble around here?"
"Trouble?" repeated Lancelot wonderingly.
The Old Man groaned and pawed at what little remains of his hair.
"Don't look now," he rasped, "but didn't Todd call me a couple of minutes ago with some wild-and-woolly tale about Themis disappearing?"
"Oh—that!" smiled Biggs gently. "I thought for a second you meant there was something wrong. Why, yes, Dad. Themis has disappeared—temporarily. Oddest thing—"
"Talk sense!" I moaned. "Todd said something about there being a large body in our path, too. Did it—" I took a look at the central vision plate which reflected nothing between us and the far stars—"did it go away?"