"Yes, Sir," the Navigation Officer acknowledged, laconically.

"Begging your pardon, Sir," McTavish said fiercely, as his commanding officer turned away from the phone, "absolute lack of visibility. We will have interior lights, Sir—I guarantee it—at least the emergency circuits."

Clemens turned his pale blue, worried eyes of the Engineer. "Light, Mister? Light, if we can see it! There's light in and beyond that—that place ahead, but we can't see it!" he said mournfully.

"Man, there's an interference screen," the Engineer snapped. "Once we're through it, we'll see what's going on." He jerked his lanky frame up from his chair suddenly, his thin nose twitching excitedly, and turned to McPartland. "The screen may play merry havoc with our machinery, Sir. Perhaps we should hit at full speed and let our momentum crash us through."

Ray Control Officer Reynolds answered the other's first assertion. "A spherical interference screen, Mister?" he asked quietly. "Six hundred thousand miles in diameter! We know how much equipment it takes for a protective screen around this ship—and that screen doesn't stop light or radio."

McTavish's grey eyes widened. "Man, that's right! It would be a fantastic job." But he insisted stubbornly: "As long as there's ether in there, we'll have light!"

"I don't believe there's ether in there," Jon interposed thoughtfully. "That's the only answer. Radar waves would be reflected from a screen of any sort—but our beams simply vanish."

Clemens gasped. "Then the fluorescent markings on our controls—we won't see them!" he said anxiously. "Light travels through ether—"

"Mister McTavish," McPartland interrupted curtly, "get your men and rig up a fixture for Lieutenant Parek. He'll have to work by touch—everything must be at his fingertips."

"Yes, Sir," the Engineer responded briskly. He glanced respectfully at his commanding officer; McTavish's thin face brightened as he saw the strength of the Captain's reasoning, and found himself with a job he could handle. He started out of the control room.

"There won't be much time, Mister," Jon reminded him.

"Begging your pardon, Sir, we won't need much."

With that, the officer was gone.

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