He flicked over a switch on the wireless grapple.
"Got it!" he cried triumphantly a moment later.
"How do you know?" demanded Myra. "You can't see any more than I can—and I don't notice any difference."
"Try decelerating," Steve suggested.
Myra cut the motor. There was a silence they hadn't experienced since the start of their trip to Jupiter, more than two weeks before. It was broken almost immediately by a series of less-deep, sonorous staccato bursts from the Retarderockets in the nose of the ship.
"You're right, Steve. There is a definite forward drag not caused by momentum."
"'Course, I'm right."
"But, Steve," said Myra abruptly, "that can't be gold. Since when has gold been attracted by a magnet?"
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again and looked disgusted.
"Oh, well," Myra said after a moment, "don't let go. Maybe we can sell it to a Jovian museum as a rare curio. Probably worth millions!"