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Updated: June 18, 2025
A ship in overdrive feels exactly as if it were buried deep in the core of a planet. There is no vibration. There is no sign of anything but solidity and if one looks out a port there is only utter blackness plus an absence of sound fit to make one's eardrums crack. But within seconds random tiny noises began.
Calhoun drilled him in the use of brightness-charts, by which the changes in apparent brightness of stars between overdrive hops could be correlated with angular changes to give a three-dimensional picture of the nearer heavens. It was a highly necessary art which had not been worked out on Dara, and the prospective astrogators became absorbed in this and other fine points of space-piloting.
His young students took command in four-hour watches, with at least one breakout from overdrive in each watch. He built up enthusiasm in them. They ignored the discomfort of being hungry though there had been no reason for them to stint on food on Orede in growing pride in what they came to know.
A ship from Orede had come out of overdrive and lay dead in emptiness. It did not answer calls. It did not move in space. It floated eerily in no orbit around anything, going nowhere; doing nothing. And panic was the consequence. It seemed to Calhoun that the official handling of the matter accounted for the terror that he could feel building up.
A ship-voice murmured, "Low-power overdrive in circuit, sir." He watched the screen. The Mekinese missiles accelerated at a terrific rate. They left their parent ships far behind. They were a third of the way to the drone-fleet and the Liberty before Bors spoke again. "Launch and inflate another target-globe," he ordered drily. "We could speak for the king since he was late.
The booming voice bellowed. Another voice of higher authority took over. Murgatroyd was entranced that so many people wanted to talk to him. He made what for him was practically an oration. The last voice spoke persuasively and suavely. "Chee-chee-chee-chee," said Murgatroyd. One of the grain-ships flickered and ceased to be. It had gone into overdrive. Another. And another.
Strangely, the speed with which he wrote furnished him with a cause for boasting. More properly, it ought to have filled him with humiliation. Many litterateurs are compelled to drive and overdrive their pens. But, if they have the love of letters innate in them, it will go against the grain to send into the world their sentences without having had leisure to polish each and all.
We always will have 'em. Like old age." Then he made computations with a stubby pencil and asked reflectively: "When're you coming out of overdrive?" Patrolman Willis told him. Sergeant Madden nodded. "I'll take another nap," he observed. "We'll be there a good twenty-two hours before the Aldeb." The little squad ship went on at an improbable multiple of the speed of light.
They were useless in overdrive, of course, Now they were ready to inform him about the normal cosmos as soon as the ship returned to it. He put away the coffee things. Murgatroyd was reluctant to give up his mug until the last possible lick. Then he sat back and elaborately cleaned his whiskers. Calhoun sat down in the control chair and waited.
With the grid operator landed again, and after the grid was operable once more and had sent the Med Ship a good five planetary diameters into space some few hours after the ship was in overdrive again Calhoun and Murgatroyd had coffee together. Murgatroyd zestfully licked his emptied tiny mug, to get the last least taste of the beverage. He said happily, "Chee!" He wanted more.
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