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The ship, then, could move at any angle from the balloon. The Dabney field stretched 178.3 light-years through emptiness to the balloon, and then at any desired direction to the ship. The ship's rockets thrust again and the booster-circuit came into play. There were maneuverings. A second balloon was put out in space.
But the pictures from space were excellent. While the ship floated in orbit, waiting to descend to pick up Babs and Cochrane, Bell had hooked his camera to an amplifying telescope and he did have magnificent shots of dramatic terrain on the planet now twenty light-years behind. Cochrane watched the show in a mingling of jealousy and relief. It was not as good as he would have done.
His voice took six seconds to pass through something over two hundred light-years of space in the Dabney field, and then two seconds in normal space from the relay in Lunar City. It was twelve seconds between the time he finished saying something before the first word of the reply reached him. It was very slow communication.
But it isn't where we are that is worrying me the most we can fix our place in space accurately enough by a few observations it's when." "That's right, too. Say we're two light-years away. You think maybe we're two years older than we were ten minutes ago, then? That's possible, of course, maybe probable: there's been a lot of discussion on that theory.
Without the sun, life would die, but even with the sun the planets must rearrange themselves because of the destruction of balance. Even he could hardly grasp the vast and abysmal catastrophe that without warning had swept from space. How could the dark star have traversed three thousand light-years of space in a week's time? It was unthinkable!
When it touched ground and the grid's force fields cut off, it looked very modern and very crisp and strictly businesslike. Actually, the capture of this particular liner was a bit of luck, for Hoddan. It was not one of the giant inter-cluster ships which make runs of thousands of light-years and deign to stop only at very major planets.
He saw his guest's eyes shine a little with that joyous awe a man feels when he finds out something he has wanted long and badly to know. "Now," said Calhoun, "tell me something! Why does everybody on this planet hate the inhabitants of Dara? It's light-years away. Nobody claims to have suffered in person from them. Why make a point of hating them?" The Wealdian doctor grimaced.
All I have is an ordinary M.D., and a Psych.D. Why, the best psychological brains in the Federation " "Aren't on Zarathustra, Pancho. They're on Terra, five hundred light-years, six months' ship voyage each way. Intervention, of course, is my responsibility, but the sapience question is yours. I don't envy you, but I can't relieve you of it."
Light travels at the rate of 186,000 miles per second. Some of the distant stars are estimated to be fully one thousand light-years distant from us; or, in other words, the light we now perceive as coming from them really is the light that left them one thousand years ago. If one of these stars were to be destroyed, observers on this earth would not become aware of it for a thousand years.
A breakout at no more than sixty light-hours from one's destination wasn't bad, in a strange sector of the Galaxy and after three light-years of journeying blind. "Arise and shine, Murgatroyd," said Calhoun. "Comb your whiskers. Get set to astonish the natives!" A sleepy, small, shrill voice said; "Chee!" Murgatroyd the tormal came crawling out of his small cubbyhole. He blinked at Calhoun.
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