"I wouldn't be too uneasy, sir. We'll pick up our escort this side of the moon. A full ship of the line, sir. We're carrying radium, you know. They wouldn't dare attack a ship of the line. May I see your book, sir?"
Norman Saint Clair fumbled in his wallet, handed the steward his book. Since Terra's ships had begun to disappear on the Earth to Jupiter run, the Terrestial Intelligence Service required them of everyone traveling through space. It contained his photograph, a three-dimensional likeness showing a gaunt likeable face crowned by short, crisp blond hair, a photostatic copy of his birth certificate, his description, nationality, business, fingerprints, history.
Satisfied, the steward said: "This way, sir," and led him to an acceleration chair at the after end of the lounge. "Strap yourself in, sir. We start in a few moments."
The young man eased his lank, six-foot-two frame into the seat, nervously fastened the belt. In spite of the steward's words, he was not reassured. Ship after ship had vanished into the blue. Nor had the vaunted Terrestial Navy or the T.I.S. been able to discover any trace of them thereafter. Somewhere beyond the orbit of Mars their radios crackled and blanked out. Space opened and swallowed them. It was unprecedented. Never before in the history of space travel had anything remotely like it occurred.
His eyes roved among the few passengers strapped in their chairs. They were subdued. The sailing, unlike the gay hectic affairs before the coming of the terror, was grim, quiet. No one, he realized, was making the trip unless it was unavoidable.
With a touch of panic, he considered demanding to be set back on Terra while there was yet time, but a stubborn streak made him hold to his course. It was the same stubborn streak which had led him to book passage aboard the Jupiter in spite of the terror. A hundred times he had regretted accepting the post of Lecturer on Ancient History at distant Ganymede. He loved the quiet sanctuary of his library with its collection of twentieth century authors. He had no ambition to exchange his secure academic life for the uncertainty of a crude, rowdy frontier. But the post had offered a good salary, much better than he could expect on Earth for years.
A party of Colonial Guards swaggering across the lounge drew his attention. They were a hard-faced lot, recruited from Earth's far-flung frontiers. They constituted, he knew, a special armed guard, traveling aboard the Jupiter at the company's request. Universal was taking no risk with the precious cargo of radium.
From the Colonial Guards his eyes strayed across to the occupant of the seat next to his. A girl. He stared, lost in admiration. He'd never seen a creature so beautiful. Her black curly hair framed a pale oval face. Her eyes were blue, her features delicate, chiseled. She was, he realized with a start, regarding him with a mixture of amusement and solicitude.
"First trip?" the girl asked, liking the frank scholarly face of the young man.