forgetting it's the biggest satellite in the solar system."

"But still little—smaller than Mars. Chances are it has a solid crust, like Callisto, Io, and Europa."

There was a faint, rustling sound behind us. Joan and I swung about simultaneously, startled by what was obviously a space-code infraction. A silvery-haired, wiry little man was emerging through the beryllium steel door of the pilot chamber, his face set in grim lines. I am not a disciplinarian, but my nerves at that moment were strained to the breaking point. "What are you doing here, Dawson," I rapped, staring at him in indignation. "We didn't send for you."

"Sorry, sir," the little man apologized. "I couldn't get you on the visi-plate. It's gone dead, sir."

Joan drew in her breath sharply. "You mean there's something wrong with the cold current?"

Dawson nodded. "Nearly every instrument on the ship has gone dead, sir. Gravity-stabilizers, direction gauges, even the intership communication coils."

Joan leapt to her feet. "It must be the stupendous gravity tug of Jupiter," she exclaimed. "Hadley warned us it might impede the molecular flow of our cold force currents the instant we passed Ganymede's orbit."

Exultation shone in her gaze. I stared at her, aghast. She was actually rejoicing that the Smithsonian physicist had predicted our destruction.

Knowing that vessels were continually traveling to Io and Callisto despite their nearness to the greatest disturbing body in the Solar System, I had assumed we could reach Ganymede with our navigation instruments intact. I had scoffed at Hadley's forebodings, ignoring the fact that we were using cold force for the first time in an atomotor propelled vessel, and were dependent on a flow adjustment of the utmost delicacy.

Dawson was staring at Joan in stunned horror. Our fate was sealed and yet Joan had descended from the pilot dais and was actually waltzing about the chamber, her eyes glowing like incandescent meteor chips.

"We'll find out now, Richard," she exclaimed. "It's too late for caution or regrets. We're going right through forty thousand miles of mist to Jupiter's solid crust."

CHAPTER II THROUGH THE CLOUD BLANKET

I thought of Earth as we fell. Tingling song, and bright 

 Prev. P 3/18 next