During the next two or three "waking periods" Jak busied himself studying his reeltext, but this was such a common sight it attracted no special attention. Nor did the others notice that he began disappearing into the ship's storeroom each "up" period, and had to be called repeatedly when the meal was ready, or it was time to strap down again.

He said nothing of what he was doing, nor did any of the others think to ask, for the boys were customarily here and there about the ship, busy at their many tasks and activities.

But at the start of one "up" period Jak went at once to the storeroom and workshop, and when he came back to the table set in the control room he showed his family a large corked test tube filled with a colorless liquid.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining. "I found all the ingredients needed in our stores and my medical kit, and made up a batch of the cataleptic fluid. We inject four cc's in each of us and...."

"What're you talking about?" Jon demanded.

"The stuff to make us unconscious so we can stand five G's of acceleration." Jak looked up in hurt surprise. "What we were talking about the other...."

"I thought we were going to forget that nonsense," his mother said sharply.

"Wait, now, Marci, let's hear what the boy has," her husband said gently. Then, "Go ahead, Jak, tell us more about this."

"This medicine, injected into our blood streams, puts us into suspended animation for several days, depending on how much of the fluid we use. We first take an injection of glucose and other nutrients, of course, then this stuff puts us into deep sleep—slows our metabolism. You said in such a state we could stand much heavier acceleration, Father. Then with this we can beat Bogin."

"What sort of shape will it leave us in?" his father almost raised up in interest, and held up his hand when his wife would have broken in. "Are there any after-effects?"

"The book says the doctor never discovered any, especially after he started giving people the nutrient injections first. He has had people under for as much as two weeks. Four cc's will act for about five days, so I thought we could use that much the first time, at least."

"Five G's would certainly put us 'way ahead of Bogin's ship." Jon had jumped up from the table and had been working swiftly with the computer. "Two such five-day periods—three more days on positive acceleration, then seven on negative—ought to give us a controllable velocity somewhere near Sol. We'd have to compute it more exactly, of course, before we take each shot."

Mr. Carver thought slowly and intently, then spoke decisively. "I believe that this is our best bet, if it's sure. We certainly want to get back first, if possible, and according to our present routine, which is all we can stand as we are, Bogin can beat us in. Besides, he will undoubtedly shoot down the Star Rover if he catches up with it—and you know what would happen to us!"

"Yes, when I checked today he was only about two hundred million behind."

"Let's try it!" Jak was all eagerness.

"Take it easy, Son. We've got to talk and study this a lot first."

Mr. Carver then turned to his wife, who had sunk back into her seat, biting her lips to keep from crying out, her hands clenched tightly. "Well make as sure as we possibly can before we decide to do anything, Honey, but don't you see the advantage of this if it will work? We must get to Terra first if we can, and this seems to be the only way we know of doing it."

"I see that," she said with a sigh of resignation, "and I know you'll know what you're doing before you do it."

"We sure will." Then Mr. Carver turned back to Jak. "Tell us again all about this stuff, and what the book says."

Jak talked rapidly but concisely for nearly five minutes. Afterwards he showed his father the reel, and his table of components of the mixture. Mr. Carver studied the book carefully for some time, and minutely compared the formula as given there with the one Jak had used. Then he lay back and thought with intense concentration for nearly a quarter of an hour. Finally he raised his head with determination.

"I think we should try it. It seems safe, from all the evidence here. I have faith enough in Jak's ability to trust him to have made the fluid correctly—his formula checks exactly with the one in the reels. And if it works, we can win out."

Jon rose purposefully. "Right, Pop. Come on, Jak, let's break out the pressure packs and get them hung."

They went into the storeroom, and soon came back, each staggering under the weight and inconvenience of two packs. These they hung from the bulkhead hooks built into the ship for just that purpose, and made sure they were securely anchored.

"How much time after the injection before we blank out, Owl?" Jon asked then.

"A minute or so, I guess. Why?"

"Figuring how long I'll have to handle the controls. A minute is plenty of time, as I can have everything set up, and only have one switch to throw."

Mr. Carver reached out a hand and patted his wife's cheek as she stood by his side. "It's going to work out all right, Honey." His voice was bright and assured. "These boys of ours are really up on their stuff."

"Yes," she agreed. "I know they know what they are doing, and that you are checking them carefully. It is mainly my not knowing that makes me afraid sometimes." She gave him a lopsided smile. "I hate being the weak member of the party."

"You're nothing of the kind!" He grinned as the boys murmured protests which meant the same thing. "You're the best fellow in the gang." And he blew her a kiss as the boys helped him into his pack and saw to it that he was securely and comfortably strapped in. Then they did the same for their mother.

Jak went to his room and came back quickly with his hypodermic needles, and the bottles of glucose and concentrates. He put these beside the test tube with the new fluid.

Carefully he administered the dosage of nutrients to the other three, then lay down on his recline seat and gave himself his own dose. He rested there for a couple of minutes, then rose. Carefully he drew four cubic centimeters of the new, clear fluid into his needle, then approached his mother. "Ready?" he asked, smiling, but with tight lips.

She pushed up her left sleeve. "Ready, Son." And now her voice was soft but steady.

He tipped the needle into the light, carefully expelled a couple of drops to make sure all air was out of the tube. Then quickly and with a sureness he had trouble making his hands achieve, he pushed the slim needle into her arm, and injected the drug. With the ball of his thumb he rubbed the puncture gently for a moment. "Sleep tight, Mother." He smiled and leaned down to kiss her.

"Who's next?" He turned to the others.

"Me, of course." His father bared his arm. "Jon has to be awake last to handle the controls."

Again Jak filled his needle, and as carefully as before he injected the sleeping drug into his father. Then he stepped up to the pilot's pressure pack where his younger brother was adjusting the controls. "Ready, Jon?"

"Just a sec." The boy was still working, pushing in a button there, turning a switch here, stopping to tighten a wire or connection somewhere else. But in a few moments he had finished, and then rested his right hand on the handle of the master switch, ready to push it into contact.

But just as Jak brought the needle close to his arm the younger boy pushed it away. "Wait now, Jak. How about you? Can you make it to your pack and get in and strapped down and settled, and then give yourself the shot before I throw the switch and the five G's take effect?"

"Don't worry about me," his brother said gruffly. "I'll make out some way."

"Not good enough," Jon said positively. "Let's figure this down to seconds. If I don't close the switch before I black out, all this'll be wasted. How about if you inject yourself first? Will you have time enough to give me my shot and then get back into your pack and strap down before you go under?"

Jak thought swiftly a moment. "Your point's well taken, Jon, but you didn't figure it right. Your way, I'd have to give you your injection besides doing all the rest in the same length of time. If I give you yours first, I can get into my pack and give myself mine there. You merely stay awake until I'm done."

"Yes, guess you're right. But fix your pack so you can be sure of getting in without any trouble."

Jak did this, then came back, filled the needle and injected it into Jon's arm.

Swiftly then he ran to his own pack, climbed in and fastened the straps. He filled the needle, plunged it into his arm, and pushed home the plunger.

Jon had been watching his brother, forcing back the drowsiness that sought to engulf him. As he saw Jak's nod that all was done, he turned to his panel. A quick glance about his board with his fast-diminishing senses told him everything was on the green. With his last measure of consciousness, he rammed home the switch.

He settled back into a more comfortable position, and felt himself plunging down into the blackness of unconsciousness.

---

Jon felt himself coming awake, and his first, startled thought was, "Didn't the stuff work?"

He began to open his eyes ... and noticed at once how stiff his eyelids felt, but he forced them open. He looked at the date-clock and smiled with relief. The five days and several hours had passed, seemingly in an instant.

Now almost fully awake, his eyes sought the various meters, dials, gauges and telltales on his panel. Everything seemed to be working properly. He tuned in his receptor, and applied greater and still greater power. Space behind was blank of atomics.

Smiling thankfully and beginning to unloosen his straps, Jon now noticed how dry his mouth was, and that his skin felt dry, too, and feverish. But he had no headache, and his thoughts seemed to be functioning as clearly and swiftly as always.

"Boy, I sure need a bath and drink, and something to eat!" he thought—then realized that the others would be feeling the same way. The others! He turned quickly to look at them. They were all still lying in their packs, somewhat pale, but with a peaceful, unstrained look on their faces.

Jon tried to rise, but reeled back and almost fell as he got onto his feet. He held himself erect a moment, and gradually felt a measure of strength returning.

As soon as he could, he went into the galley. Quickly he prepared a cup of instant broth, and drank it gratefully. Much refreshed, he made more of the consomme, and further enriched it with some anti-fatigue pills dissolved in the steaming liquid. He set four cups of it on a tray and carried them into the control room. His first quick glance showed the others beginning to stir.

"Morning, folks," he called cheerily. "Soup's on."

They opened their eyes slowly, almost uncomprehendingly, but awareness came quickly, and his mother and brother sat up and fumbled at their straps.

"Did we make it?" his father called anxiously. But Jak noticed at once how weak his father's voice sounded, and went across to his side.

"We sure did." Jon smiled broadly. "We were out just a little over five days, and the receptors don't show a thing behind. I woke up just a few minutes ahead of you, and that's one of the first things I looked at. Then I found I was weak and dry, so I went out and made this broth." He passed the cups and, as the others drank gratefully, Jon spoke again.

"I've got to hand it to you, Owl. You sure fixed us fine this time."

"He certainly did." Mr. Carver spoke as forcefully as he could, having already privately warned Jak to say nothing of his weakened condition. He looked solicitously over at his wife. "You all right, Marci?"

"Yes, I feel fine, now that I've had this good consomme Jon was so thoughtful as to make." She smiled with real relief that they had all come through this dangerous experiment so successfully.

Mr. Carver turned to Jon. "It feels like we're only at one gravity."

"Yes, I rigged the automatics so they'd take care of that at the end of one hundred and twenty-five hours," the boy explained. "Probably it was the relief from pressure that woke us, as well as the wearing off of the stuff Jak gave us." Then he looked at his brother. "How come we're not famished after five days? That little glucose and stuff you gave us wouldn't last that long, would it?"

"No, but the drug not only made us unconscious, but slowed down our metabolism so that we burned up hardly any energy."

There was silence then while the four sipped their broth. Finally Mr. Carver looked up at Jak. "How soon can we go through this again?"

"The book says the doctor gave as high as four doses to people, one right after the other as they woke up, with only a few hours' rest between them."

"Hmmm, then we'd better take some time out. We'll all want baths, plenty of your mother's good cooking, and Jon and I will have to do some computing."

"If Bogin holds his acceleration, plus and minus, we can take most of the day, and still beat him in." Jon had been doing some rapid preliminary figuring. "But it'll take a couple of hours—maybe more—to compute the last hop. It's tricky. Especially, I'll have to look in the ephemeris to find the position of Luna when we get near her orbit."

"Right, we don't want to hit her. Well, we can keep at one gravity for at least twelve hours, then," his father said, and Mrs. Carver breathed a sigh of relief. She was still a bit worried about their undergoing such untried experiments, even though she trusted the abilities of her menfolks, and knew they had all come safely through the first time.

"I'll make notes of all this, and ask each of you for your full reactions," Jak said animatedly. "Then when we get home I'll write up a complete report and send it to Dr. Svendholm. I'm sure he'll be tickled pink to get this added confirmation of his studies and experiments."

"That's thoughtful of you, Son." His father smiled. "You're developing into a true research scientist."

"He sure is!" His younger brother paid deserved tribute. Jak reddened a bit and hastily left the control room to help his mother with her work.

They all took warm baths and changed their clothing. As Jak was helping his father, he asked anxiously, "Now that we're alone, Father, did you really come through all right? You look a bit more tired and worn than before we started this."

"Sure, I'm OK," Mr. Carver said quickly, but he could not meet his son's eyes.

"You're not, sir, and you know it and I know it," Jak smiled a bit strainedly. "I don't like it, but I know how you feel about this, so I'll keep quiet. How's your leg?"

"Thanks, Son. Our getting back first is very important to me, and I can rest and get well after we reach Earth and get the Board's confirmation on our claim. And don't forget that we might not get back at all if Bogin catches up with us. He's ruthless about anyone who gets in his way.... As for the leg, it aches some, but not like it did before. I really think it's healing in fine shape."

"Let's have a look." Jak threw back the covers, and peered closely at the leg, lifting it so he could better see all around it.

"Yes," he said finally, as he tucked in the blankets again. "It's almost healed, and there isn't a sign of inflammation. Not even a bump where the break was. I ... I sure hope I set it right, so that it won't bother you later on."

His father patted his hand. "You did a grand job, I know, Son, and I'm very grateful to you—as well as proud of having such a fine boy."

"Two fine boys, then, for Jon is certainly every bit as deserving of your praise as I am, sir."

"That I'll certainly buy!" Mr. Carver's eyes shone.

They all sat about during the day, eating as much as they could hold of Mrs. Carver's fine cooking, and relaxing gratefully in the comfortable one-gravity Earth-weight.

Jon and his father worked tirelessly until they had computed precisely where they were and how soon and how much more deceleration they would have to use to finish their trip. Then they, too, relaxed for the balance of the day.

Late that afternoon Jon suddenly swiveled his chair about to face his father's recline seat.

"I think I've figured out something on that new fuel and how to use it, Pop. Ships'll have to be changed, though. The bins will have to be heavily lead-lined, of course, and so would the injector tubes have to be shielded. The nozzles would have to be made smaller, so the pellets will fit better. I figure the people who used to handle the stuff made the nuggets that exact size on purpose—that we'd not want to try making them the same size as our copper ones."

"That sounds reasonable. What about shielding for the generators?"

"There'd have to be a lot more of that, too. Probably thick shields of neocarbolloy and paraffin. But can't they surround the generators, bins and everything with force fields, as an added precaution?"

"Mmmm, maybe they could at that. We'd better put it up to the scientists and technies back on Terra. Neither of us knows enough to handle it ourselves, when it comes down to the actual work."

The boy's face fell, then he forced a smile. "I hate to give in to anyone else on this, but you're right as rain, Pop. It is too big a fish for us to handle alone. But I'm sure going to learn before I finish, and some day when I run up against anything like this again, you can bet I'll know what to do."

"What's the use of going to all that trouble when you only have that small amount of fuel you found?" their mother asked curiously.

"Ouch! You would have to think of that," Jon grumbled, but Mr. Carver smiled up at his wife.

"There's plenty on Planet Five, remember? And probably in other places about the universe. You can bet that prospectors will be hunting—and finding it—once we announce our discovery ... IF we and the scientists can figure out what it was before it started losing its half life, and IF we can learn how to use it," he said firmly. "Once metallurgists have had the chance to analyze it, they won't take long to figure out exactly what it is, and where it can probably be found—the type of sun and planet that would have it, I mean," he added.

"And under the Prime Discoverer's code, we'll get a percentage of the process, won't we, Pop?"

"I think so. That'll be up to the Board, but they're usually pretty square about such things."

When it was time, Jak again gave the family the dosages of nutrients, and then the shots. Jon had filled four thermos bottles with strength-regaining soup his mother had made, and these were placed at each pressure-pack, ready for their awakening. Again the four lapsed into the complete unconsciousness of suspended animation—knowing neither discomfort nor the long passage of time—while their little ship bored through the immensities of space at a constant negative acceleration of five gravities.

As before, when they awakened they felt as though they had just gone to sleep. As soon as they had taken their initial feedings of the thermos-hot broth, Jon and his father set to work taking observations and making long and intricate calculations of their present speed and placement. Where were they? How much of their utterly incomprehensible top speed did they have left?

"Practically perfect!" Jon exclaimed happily after nearly an hour of careful computations, as he read the last tapes from the calculator. "It works out at one point eight four G's to atmosphere."

"O positively K," Mr. Carver agreed. "A master computer couldn't have done any better. And Jak has certainly proved himself to be a grand doctor."

"It's not my credit. Dr. Svendholm's the one who...."

"But it was you who made up the fluid and induced us to take it." His mother came over and ran her hand gently through his hair. "I'm proud of you all."

Jon had been tuning his receptors carefully, but was unable to get any trace of Bogin's ship, and all were happy at his report.

Warm baths and changes of clothing, and the fine meals prepared by Mrs. Carver, plus the fact they were rapidly nearing Sol, which could be seen on their telescopic plates, made them all very gay and full of chatter.

"I've decided I want to go back to the hospital-school and really prepare myself to be a doctor," Jak said in no uncertain terms. "Later I want to go into medical research."

"And I still want to enroll at the Centropolitan Institute of Atomics." Jon's eyes were shining.

"Aren't you boys forgetting one little detail?" their father asked drily. While the long sleeps had relaxed his body, and had practically completed the healing of his broken leg, the pressure had not been good for him, and his condition as a whole was worse. But his spirits were high, and he was careful not to let any of his family know just how weak he felt.

At his question they all looked up, astonished, and he continued, "There's the small matter of getting the Colonial Board's approval of our claim against the counter-claim we feel so sure Bogin is coming in to make."

"Pooh, he hasn't got a chance," Jon said airily.

"You hope," Jak scoffed, suddenly serious and worried.

"How about it, Mr. C.?" Mrs. Carver asked.

"Our pictures and data are so detailed I don't see how Bogin can possibly match them," her husband answered slowly and thoughtfully. "I think we can prove our claim. Besides, their receivers there on Terra should have picked up the broadcasts of our signals, and then the change—and that should have made them wonder why, so our explanation ought to satisfy them."

"That reminds me." Jon swung back to his panel. "Let's see if we can pick up our signals from here ... or Bogin's, rather!" His lips tightened.

In a few moments his tubes had warmed up, but nothing came in over his ultra-range receivers. He stepped up the power, and swung his directional loops forth and back, although mostly he aimed them directly toward the Carveria system's known coordinates. For long, anxious minutes he worked, but still no sounds, save the noise of cosmic rays and the other forces of the void that made long-distance communication such a problem.

With a weary gesture Jon finally turned off the set, and swung about with a stricken face. "What do you suppose is wrong, Pop?"

The elder shook his head slowly. "Only thing I can think of is that we're so far away the senders can't reach this far."

"Won't that be in our favor?" Jak asked. "If they can't hear any signals at all, our records ought to be enough."

"Maybe yes, maybe no," Mr. Carver answered with a tired smile.

"And after all our hard work, too." Jon's tone was dispirited.

"And the dangers you were up against." Mrs. Carver's eyes were tear-dimmed.

Their father caught himself and looked at each with a disarming grin. "Hey, we're all crossing bridges where maybe there isn't even a creek to be spanned." He made his voice mockingly cheerful. "What's happened to the good old Carver spirit?"

"You're right, Pop." Jon shook away his dismay and began to smile. "We're not licked yet."

But while they were eating, a short time later, Jon turned his seat to face his father.

"Don't like to start worrying again, Pop," he said in a low voice, "but our receptor is picking up atomic activity behind us again. Of course," he added quickly, "this close to Terra it could be some other ship, not Bogin's."

"Could be, and probably is." His father stroked his chin reflectively.

"I don't see how he could've caught up with us, but we don't know what his ship can do."

"The guy's tricky and dirty, but he does have a brain and he has some darned good technies in his crew. He'd know, from his own receptors, when we started speeding up so fast, and he'd do something to counteract that, if he could."

"I've heard things like that about him, but I don't know him."

"I do," grimly. "We've had brushes before, when I was in other ships. He's a skunk and ought to be behind bars—but so far no one has been able to produce any real evidence of what all spacemen know must be true."

"If the Board accepts our claim and data against his, won't that be proof against him?"

"It should be. You can bet your tackle I'll work on that angle. Space will be cleaner if that hellhound isn't in it."

"You bet, Pop. I hope you sink your hook in him this time."

His father laughed grimly. "It won't be for lack of trying, that's for danged sure."

---