Kelly locked the board, got up and joined him. "Well, Captain. I had figured on Kovak and me heel-and-toe, with the boys on one in three. We'll double up later."

Max shook his head. "No. You and me and Kovak. And we'll stay on one in three as long as possible. No telling how long we'll fiddle around out there before we take a stab at it."

Kelly lowered his voice. "Captain, may I express an opinion?"

"Kelly, any time you stop being frank with me, I won't have a chance of swinging this. You know that."

"Thank you, sir. The Captain should not wear himself out. You have to do all the computing as it is." Kelly added quietly, "The safety of your ship is more important than--well, perhaps 'pride' is the word."

Max took a long time to reply. He was learning, without the benefit of indoctrination, that a commanding officer is not permitted foibles commonplace in any other role; he himself is ruled more strongly by the powers vested in him than is anyone else. The Captain's privileges--such as chucking a tiresome female from his table--were minor, while the penalties of the inhuman job had unexpected ramifications.

"Chief," he said slowly, "is there room to move the coffee mess over behind the computer?"

Kelly measured the space with his eye. "Yes, sir. Why?"

"I was thinking that would leave room over here to install a cot."

"You intend to sleep up here, sir?"

"Sometimes. But I was thinking of all of us--you shave up here half the time, as it is. The watches for the next few weeks do not actually require the O.W. to be awake most of the time, so we'll all doss off when we can. What do you think?"

"It's against regulations, sir. A bad precedent ... and a bad example." He glanced over at Noguchi and Smythe.

"You would write it up formal and proper, for my signature, citing the regulation and suspending it on an emergency basis 'for the safety of the ship.'"

"If you say so, sir."

"You don't sound convinced, so maybe I'm wrong. Think it over and let me know."

The cot appeared and the order was posted, but Max never saw either Kelly or Kovak stretched out on the cot. As for himself, had he not used it, he would have had little sleep.

He usually ate in the control room as well. Although there was little to do on their way out to rendezvous with nothingness but take sights to determine the relations of that nothingness with surrounding sky, Max found that when he was not computing he was worrying, or discussing his worries with Kelly.

How did a survey ship find its way back through a newly calculated congruency? And what had gone wrong with those that failed to come back? Perhaps Dr. Hendrix could have figured the other side of an uncharted congruency using only standard ship's equipment--or perhaps not. Max decided that Dr. Hendrix could have done it; the man had been a fanatic about his profession, with a wide knowledge of the theoretical physics behind the routine numerical computations--much wider, Max was sure, than most astrogators.

Max knew that survey ships calculated congruencies from both sides, applying to gravitational field theory data gathered on the previously unknown side. He made attempts to rough out such a calculation, then gave up, having no confidence in his results--he was sure of his mathematical operations but unsure of theory and acutely aware of the roughness of his data. There was simply no way to measure accurately the masses of stars light-years away with the instruments in the _Asgard_.

Kelly seemed relieved at his decision. After that they both gave all their time to an attempt to lay out a "groove" to the unmarked point in the heavens where their photosights said that they had come out--in order that they might eventually scoot down that groove, arriving at the locus just below the speed of light, then kick her over and hope.

A similar maneuver on a planet's surface would be easy--but there is no true parallel with the situation in the sky. The "fixed" stars move at high speeds and there are no other landmarks; to decide what piece of featureless space corresponds with where one was at another time requires a complicated series of calculations having no "elegant" theoretical solutions. For each charted congruency an astrogator has handed to him a table of precalculated solutions--the "Critical Tables for Charted Anomalies." Max and Kelly had to fudge up their own.

Max spent so much time in the control room that the First Officer finally suggested that passenger morale would be better if he could show himself in the lounge occasionally. Walther did not add that Max should wear a smile and a look of quiet confidence, but he implied it. Thereafter Max endeavored to dine with his officers and passengers.

He had of course seen very little of Eldreth. When he saw her at the first dinner after Walther's gentle suggestion she seemed friendly but distant. He decided that she was treating him with respect, which made him wonder if she were ill. He recalled that she had originally come aboard in a stretcher, perhaps she was not as rugged as she pretended to be. He made a mental note to ask the Surgeon--indirectly, of course!

They were dawdling over coffee and Max was beginning to fidget with a desire to get back to the Worry Hole. He reminded himself sharply that Walther expected him not to show anxiety--then looked around and said loudly, "This place is like a morgue. Doesn't anyone dance here these days? Dumont!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Let's have some dance music. Mrs. Mendoza, would you honor me?"

Mrs. Mendoza tittered and accepted. She turned out to be a disgrace to Argentina, no sense of rhythm. But he piloted her around with only minor collisions and got her back to her chair, so timed that he could bow out gracefully. He then exercised the privilege of rank by cutting in on Mrs. Daigler. Maggie's hair was still short but her splendor otherwise restored.

"We've missed you, Captain."

"I've been working. Short-handed, you know."

"I suppose so. Er ... Captain, is it pretty soon now?'

"Before we transit? Not long. It has taken this long because we have had to do an enormous number of fiddlin' calculations--to be safe, you know."

"Are we _really_ going home?"

He gave what he hoped was a confident smile. "Absolutely. Don't start any long book from the ship's library; the Purser won't let you take it dirtside."

She sighed. "I feel better."

He thanked her for the waltz, looked around, saw Mrs. Montefiore and decided that his obligation to maintain morale did not extend that far. Eldreth was seated, so he went to her. "Feet still bothering you, Ellie?"

"No, Captain. Thank you for asking."

"Then will you dance with me?"

She opened her eyes wide. "You mean the Captain has time for po' li'l ole me?"

He leaned closer. "One more crack like that, dirty face, and you'll be tossed into irons."

She giggled and wrinkled her nose. "Aye aye, Captain, sir."

For a while they danced without talking, with Max a little overpowered by her nearness and wondering why he had not done this sooner. Finally she said, "Max? Have you given up three-dee permanently?"

"Huh? Not at all. After we make this transit I'll have time to play--if you'll spot me two starships."

"I'm sorry I ever told you about that. But I do wish you would say hello to Chipsie sometimes. She was asking this morning, 'Where Maxie?'"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry. I'd take her up to the control room with me occasionally, except that she might push a button and lose us a month's work. Go fetch her."

"The crowd would make her nervous. We'll go see her."

He shook his head. "Not to your room."

"Huh? Don't be silly. I've got no reputation left anyhow, and a captain can do as he pleases."

"That shows you've never been a captain. See that vulture watching us?" He indicated Mrs. Montefiore with his eyes. "Now go get Chipsie and no more of your back talk."