Max stayed in his room and worried. He fretted over being kept out of the control room, wanting very badly himself to check the sky for known stars. B- and O-type stars--well, that was all right, but there were half a dozen other ways. Globular star clusters, now-- they'd be easy to identify; snag four of them and you'd know where you were as clear as reading a street sign. Then it would be just a case of fining it down, because you'd know what to look for and where. After which you'd high-tail it for the nearest charted congruency, whether it took you a week or a year. The ship couldn't _really_ be lost.

But suppose they weren't even in the right galaxy?

The thought dismayed him. If that were the case, they'd never get home before the end of time. It was chased out by another thought--suppose Kelly's suspicion had been correct, that this was an entirely different universe, another system of space and time? What then? He had read enough philosophical fancies to know that there was no theoretical reason for such to be impossible; the Designer might have created an infinity of universes, perhaps all pretty much alike--or perhaps as different as cheese and Wednesday. Millions, billions of them, all side by side from a multidimensional point of view.

Another universe might have different laws, a different speed of light, different gravitational ballistics, a different time rate--why they might get back to find that ten million years had passed and Earth burnt to a cinder!

But the light over his desk burned steadily, his heart pumped as always, obeying familiar laws of hydraulics, his chair pressed up against him--if this was a different sort of space the differences weren't obvious. And if it _was_ a different universe, there was nothing to be done about it.

A knock came at the door, he let Kelly in and gave him the chair, himself sitting on the bed. "Any news?"

"No. Golly I'm tired. Got those pix?"

Max took out the drawer, fished around behind it, gave them to Kelly. "Look, Chief, I got an idea."

"Spill it."

"Let's assume that we're in the right galaxy, because--"

"Because if we ain't, there isn't any point in trying!"

"Well, yes. All right, we're in the Milky Way. So we look around, make quick sample star counts and estimate the distance and direction of the center. Then we try to identify spectra of stars in that direction, after deciding what ones we ought to look for and figuring apparent magnitudes for estimated distance. That would ..."

"--save a lot of time," Kelly finished wearily. "Don't teach your grandpop how to suck eggs. What the deuce do you think I've been doing?"

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be. It's more than our revered boss thought of. While I been trying to work he's been bellyachin' around, finding fault, and trying to get me to say that he was dead right in everything--worrying about himself instead of worrying about his ship. Pfui! By the way, he grabbed the records just like I thought he would--'to show the Captain.' _He_ says." Kelly stood up. "I'd better go."

"Don't rush. I'll ring for coffee."

"Running out of my ears now." Kelly took the films from his pocket and looked at them dutifully. "I had Noggy make two shots of everything; this is a double set. That's a good hidey-hole you've got. What say we stick one set in there and let it cool? Never can tell."

"Kelly, you aren't really expecting trouble over those records? Seems to me we've got trouble enough with the ship being lost."

"Huh? Max, you're going to make a good officer some day. But you're innocent. Now I'm a suspenders _and_ belt man. I like to take as few chances as possible. Doc Hendrix--rest his soul!--was the same way." Kelly waited until Max had returned the spare set to the space back of the drawer, then started to leave. He paused.

"One thing I forgot to tell you, Max. We happened to come out pretty close to a star and a G-type at that."

"Oh." Max considered it. "Not one we know?"

"Of course not, or I would have said so. Haven't sized it yet, but figuring normal range in the G's we could reach it in not less than four weeks, not more than a year, at high boost. Thought you'd like to know."

"Well, yes. Thanks. But I can't see that it makes much difference."

"No? Doesn't it seem like a good idea to have a Sol-type star, with maybe Earth-type planets around it, not far off?"

"Well ..."

"It does to me. The Adam-and-Eve business is rugged at best--and we might be in for a long stay." With that he left.

No steward's mate came to tell Max it was time for dinner; when he noticed that it was past time, he went to the lounge. Most of the passengers were already seated, although some were standing around talking. It was impossible to miss the feeling of unrest in the room. Max saw that the Captain was not at his table, nor was Mr. Walther at his. As he headed for his own table a Mr. Hornsby tried to grab his arm. Max shook him off. "Sorry, sir. I'm in a hurry."

"Wait a minute! I want to ask you ..."

"Sorry." He hurried on and sat down. Chief Engineer Compagnon was not at the table, but the usual passengers were present. Max said, "Good evening," and reached for his soup spoon, just to keep busy.

There was no soup to be toyed with, nor were there rolls and butter on the table, although it was ten minutes past the hour. Such things simply did not happen in Chief Steward Dumont's jurisdiction. Come to think about it, Dumont was not in sight.

Mrs. Daigler put a hand on his arm. "Max? Tell me, dear--what is this silly rumor going around?"

Max tried to maintain a poker face. "What rumor, ma'am?"

"You must have heard it! After all, you're in astrogation. They say that the Captain turned the wrong corner or something and that we're falling into a star."

Max tried to give a convincing chuckle. "Who told you that? Whoever it was probably couldn't tell a star from his elbow."

"You wouldn't fool your Aunt Maggie?"

"I can assure you positively that the _Asgard_ is not falling into a star. Not even a small star." He turned in his chair. "But it does look like something's fallen into the galley. Dinner is awfully late."

He remained turned, trying to avoid further questions. It did not work. Mr. Arthur called out sharply, "Mr. Jones!"

He turned back. "Yes?"

"Why stall us? I have been informed authoritatively that the ship is lost."

Max tried to look puzzled. "I don't follow you. We seem to be in it."

Mr. Arthur snorted. "You know what I mean! Something went wrong with that whatyoumucallit--transition. We're lost."

Max put on a school-teacherish manner, ticking off points on his fingers. "Mr. Arthur, I assure you that the ship is in absolutely no danger. As for being lost, I assure you just as firmly that if we are, the Captain neglected to tell me so. I was in the control room at transition and he seemed quite satisfied with it. Would you mind telling me who has been spreading this story? It's a serious thing, starting such rumors. People have been known to panic."

"Well ... it was one of the crew. I don't know his name."

Max nodded. "I thought so. Now in my experience in space ..." He went on, quoting from his uncle. "... I have learned that the only thing faster than light is the speed with which a story can spread through a ship. It doesn't have to have any foundation, it spreads just the same." He looked around again. "I wonder what has happened to dinner? I'd hate to go on watch hungry."

Mrs. Weberbauer said nervously, "Then we are all right, Maxie?"

"We're all right, ma'am."

Mrs. Daigler leaned toward him again and whispered, "Then why are you sweating, Max?"

He was saved by a steward's mate rushing up to the table and starting to deal out plates of soup. Max stopped him when he came around and said quietly, "Jim, where's Dumont?"