The inertia gate closed behind the ship, and the entrance hole flowed open. Ahead was the empty blackness of space. The next instant, the planetoid was far behind, and speed was piling at a terrific rate. Curt was grateful then to the man who had invented the stasis force-screen, for at the initial acceleration he had achieved, he should have been dead. But with all atoms of the ship and its contents building speed at the same rate, he felt no discomfort.
He bent toward the vision-port, scanned the Void with slitted eyes. Stars gleamed with a cold brightness far away. The Sun was at his back, and far to his right whirled Earth and Mars. Venus and Mercury fled their celestial ways far below and behind him.
He swore lightly, built up power in the vision-port, sent a scanner beam whirling. He missed the stolen ship on the first round of the beam, caught it on the second try. It was nothing but a tiny spearhead of yellow flame far ahead.
The rockets drummed with an increasing roar and muted vibration, as his fingers flicked the switches and studs before him. And despite the stasis-field, he felt the slightest sensation of travelling at an incredible rate of speed.
The freight ship was obviously moving at top speed, and was fully eighty thousand miles away. It fled in a parabola, travelling above the plane of the ecliptic, its speed now so great that it could not make a sharp turn so as to double back to Earth at Jean Vandor's touch on the controls.
Curt grinned. His ship was a cruiser, built for speed, a model that could outrace the other within a few minutes. He flicked close the last switch, sank back in his seat, watching the freight ship gradually drawing closer. He lit a pulnik cigarette, waited, knowing there was nothing else that he could do for moments.
Then he frowned, leaned forward. His hands grew white on the control board from the stress of his emotions, and he felt dull panic striking at his heart. For the freight ship had swerved, had swung about in an abnormal way, its rocket flow spinning in a flaming arc.
Curt watched with the sickness eating at his heart, for he knew what had happened. Inexperienced as she was, Jean had permitted her ship to be caught within the conflicting tides of gravity in space, and even now was being pulled in the Sargasso of Space.
She could not escape; there was no record of anybody ever escaping the tides. Her only hope lay in Curt Varga, the tractor rays of his cruiser, and the superior power of his ship.