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I considered for a moment, scowling at the microphone.

“Very well, Mr. Kincaide,” I said at length. “Set a course for her. We’ll give her a glance, anyway.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Kincaide promptly. One of the best officers in the Service, Kincaide. Level-headed, and a straight thinker. He was a man for any emergency. I remember–but I’ve already told that story.

* * * * *

I turned back to my reports, and forgot all about this wandering Strobus. Then I turned in, to catch up somewhat on my sleep, for we had had some close calls in a field of meteors, and the memory of a previous disaster was still fresh in my mind.[1] I had spent my “watch below” in the navigating room, and now I needed sleep rather badly. If the scientists really want to do something for humanity, why don’t they show us how to do without food and sleep?

[1] See “The Ghost World” in the April issue of Amazing Stories.–Ed.

When, refreshed and ready for anything, I did report to the navigating room, Correy, my first officer, was on duty.

“Good morning, sir,” he nodded. It was the custom, on ships I commanded, for the officers to govern themselves by Earth standards of time; we created an artificial day and night, and disregarded entirely, except in our official records, the enar and other units of the Universal time system.

“Good morning, Mr. Correy. How are we bearing?”

“Straight for our objective, sir.” He glanced down at the two glowing charts that pictured our surroundings in three dimensions, to reassure himself. “She’s dead ahead, and looming up quite sizeably.”

“Right!” I bent over the great hooded television disk–the ponderous type we used in those days–and picked up Strobus without difficulty. The body more than filled the disk and I reduced the magnification until I could get a full view of the entire exposed surface.

Strobus, it seemed, bore a slight resemblance to one view of my own Earth. There were two very apparent polar caps, and two continents, barely connected, the two of them resembling the numeral eight in the writing of Earth-men; a numeral consisting of two circles, one above the other, and just touching. One of the roughly circular continents was much larger than the other.

“Mr. Kincaide reported that the portions he inspected consisted entirely of fluid sir,” commented Correy. “The two continents now visible have just come into view, so I presume that there are no others, unless they are concealed by the polar caps. Do you find any indications of habitation?”

“I haven’t examined her closely under high magnification,” I replied. “There are some signs….”

* * * * *

I increased power, and began slowly searching the terrain of the distant body. I had not far to search before I found what I sought.

“We’re in luck, Mr. Correy!” I exclaimed. “Our friend is inhabited. There is at least one sizeable city on the larger continent and … yes, there’s another! Something to break the monotony, eh? Strobus is an ‘unknown’ on the charts.”

“Suppose we’ll have trouble, sir?” asked Correy hopefully. Correy was a prime hand for a fight of any kind. A bit too hot-headed perhaps, but a man who never knew when he was beaten.

“I hope not; you know how they rant at the Base when we have to protect ourselves,” I replied, not without a certain amount of bitterness. “They’d like to pacify the Universe with never a sweep of a disintegrator beam. ‘Of course, Commander Hanson’ some silver-sleeve will say, ‘if it was absolutely vital to protect your men and your ship’–ugh! They ought to turn out for a tour of duty once in a while, and see what conditions are.” I was young then, and the attitude of my conservative superiors at the Base was not at all in keeping with my own views, at times.