"
What do you make it?" I asked the observer. He glanced up from his instrument.
"Jaron, sir. Three degrees to port; elevation between five and six degrees. Approximate only, of course, sir."
"Good enough. Please ask Mr. Barry to hold to his present course. We shall not stop at Jaron."
The observer glanced at me curiously, but he was too well disciplined to hesitate or ask questions.
"Yes, sir!" he said crisply, and spoke into the microphone beside him.
None of us wore menores when on duty, for several reasons. Our instruments were not nearly as perfect as those in use to-day, and verbal orders were clearer and carried more authority than mental instructions. The delicate and powerful electrical and atomic mechanism of our ship interfered with the functioning of the menores, and at that time the old habit of speech was far more firmly entrenched, due to hereditary influence, than it is now.
I nodded to the man, and made my way to my own quarters. I wished most heartily that I could talk over my plans with someone, but this had been expressly forbidden.
"I realize that you trust your men, and more particularly your officers," Kellen had told me during the course of his parting conversation with me. "I trust them also—yet we must remember that the peace of mind of the Universe is concerned. If news, even a rumor, of this threatened disaster should become known, it is impossible to predict the disturbance it might create.
"Say nothing to anyone. It is your problem. You alone should leave the ship when you land; you alone shall hear or see the evidence they have to present, and you alone shall bring word of it to us. That is the wish of the Council."