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personal dossier down on Earth.”
    “Yes, yes, I realise that,” said Jet a little impatiently, “but for some reason Control insists on having it again. So are you ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, first I must have your full name.”
    “James Edward Whitaker.” Whitaker pronounced every word as though he had to think about it; slowly, with long gaps between each name.
    “Date of birth?”
    “12th September, 1940.”
    “Nationality?”
    “British.”
    “Place of birth?”
    “12th September, 1940.”
    Jet and Lemmy looked at each other in surprise. “No,” said Jet, “place of birth.”
    Whitaker’s voice now took on a peculiar quality. “British,” he said, rolling the ‘r’.
    “What’s he talking about?” asked Lemmy.
    Jet was not asking any questions now, but Whitaker continued to talk as though he were--and his voice got slower and flatter, with almost an ethereal quality. “James --Edward--Whitaker,” he said mechanically. “12th September, 1893.”
    At this I sat up in my bunk and Mitch, who had been poring over his tables, looked over towards the radio. “What’s happening over there, Jet?” he demanded. “Is Whitaker crazy or something?”
    “1893, he said,” replied Jet without looking round. “Hullo. Whitaker--Whitaker. . . .” But Whitaker didn’t reply. Not to Jet, anyhow.
    “12th September, 1893,” he repeated slowly.
    “Listen, Whitaker,” said Jet firmly; “put Rogers on.”
    “Rogers is asleep.”
    “Then wake him up.”
    “He cannot be woken.”
“Wake him up, do you hear?” Jet commanded. There was no reply.
    “Hullo, Whitaker--hullo,” went on Jet. Discovery calling. Hullo--hullo . . .“
    “It’s no good, Jet,” said Lemmy. “He must have switched off.”
    Mitch and I had now walked over to where Jet and Lemmy were standing, tense and worried, in front of the radio. “What’s going on, Jet?” I asked.
    “I wish I knew,” replied the captain.
    “You don’t think Number Two’s radio has gone wrong again, do you?”
    “The ship-to-ship system never was wrong, Doc,” put in lemmy indignantly.
“Then you’re quite sure it isn’t our radio that’s wrong?” “Soon see,” said Jet. “Hullo, Space Fleet,” he called. “Flagship calling Space Fleet. Number One, come in please.”
    The voice of No 1 came back immediately. “Hullo, Flagship. Freighter Number One replying. Hearing you loud and clear.”
    “Morgan here.”
    “Yes, sir.”
“Did you hear me talking to Number Two just now?” “Yes, sir.” “And you heard him reply?” “I certainly did.” “Thank you, Number One. That’s all for now.” “Yes, sir.”
    “Well, that settles that. There’s nothing wrong with us. Switch on the televiewer, Doc. Let’s take a look at Number Two.”
    I moved over to the control. A few seconds later the televiewer screen glowed and showed the long line of ships stretching out below us. We could see No 2 quite clearly. She looked no different from any of the other freighters. She was in line, in perfect formation. We all looked at the screen in silence. Then Jet said: “I’d give anything to know what’s going on in there.”
    “Then why don’t we go across and see?” suggested Lemmy.
    “Use your sense, Lemmy,” said Mitch. “If we went across, how would we get inside? If they don’t hear the radio, how do we get them to open the door?”
    “If one of us banged on it with a wrench they’d hear that all right.”
    “I think it’s worth a try, Jet,” I put in. “We have no other way of contacting them.”
    “Very well then,” said Jet. “Lemmy, get my suit.”
    “Shall I get mine, too?” volunteered the Cockney.
    “No, stay here, Lemmy. Keep trying to contact them. Doc will see me safely across.”
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    From my position close to the door I stood by as Jet made his way across to No 2, while back in the ship Mitch watched his progress on the televiewer. Meanwhile Lemmy was constantly calling the freighter on