"Some boss. Some crew of wild men. Can't go off on a fishing trip without having my bunch chasing all over the Solar System."
"What's wrong with a little sightseeing tour? We didn't mean any harm. And speaking of harm, how are you and the rest of that bunch getting along?"
"We're O.K. What do you plan after we finally get close enough together to throw stones across?"
"We've got a whole hold full of spare batteries and a double set of replacement cathodes. There is a shipload of gravanol aboard, too. You'll need that and so will we. By the time we finish this jaunt, we'll have been about as far out as anybody ever gets."
"Yeah—got any precise figures? We've been running on a guess and a hope. I make it out about seven hundred million."
"Make it eight and a half. At 6-G, you'll cover another hundred and fifty million miles before you stop. Take it twenty-two hours at 6-G—and then another twenty-two at 6. That should put you right back here but going the other way at the same velocity. But wait, you've been coasting. Mark off that last twenty-two hours and make it like this: You'll be one thousand million miles from Sol when you come to a stop at the end of the first twenty-two hours at 6-G. That hangs you out beyond the orbit of Saturn by a couple of hundred million. Make it back forty-four hours at 6-G, turnover and continue. By that time we'll all be in so close that we can make any planet at will—preferably you to Terra and we'll head for Venus Equilateral. You'll come aboard us? No need for you to go with the rest."
"I can have the scooter sent out," said Channing. "How's Arden?"
"I'm fine, you big runabout. Wait until I get you!"
"Why Arden, I thought you might be glad to see me."
"Glad to see you?"