"No you're not, Todd. You're going back to your own universe—now. When you feel the ship lurch, turn the V-I unit dial back to where it was before. Ready? Now!"
And there came, inexplicably, a swift unsteadiness, a lurching halt of the ship. At that instant Todd spoke to Garrity, Garrity obeyed, and—
We were once again traveling smoothly on our proper course. But Jupiter—monstrous missile of solid, terrible death—was no longer before us! It was behind us!
As we saw that, Captain Hanson laughed aloud. And vast was the joy of that laughter. Relief, happiness, sheer triumph. And apology. And he cried:
"You've done it, son! Forgive me for doubting you. We're safe! I don't know how, but—come on in, boy, and tell us all about it!"
But there came no answer. Only the echo of our own harsh breathing, the dry scrape of our own feet shuffling restlessly. And new terror loomed suddenly in the Old Man's eyes.
"Biggs!" he cried. "Lanse, my boy! Lanse!"
And then—
It was like the faintest, winnowed chaff of sound, breathing from far, far away. A voice speaking. To us. A voice that said: