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“We should reach it in about seventeen hours.”
    “Then if we are going to transfer Whitaker and get Mitch back here, we’d better start doing something about it at once.”
    “Where do you intend sending him?” I asked.
    “I don’t know. If he has the same effect on other crews as he has on Frank, wherever we send him could well be disastrous.” Jet thought for a moment and then said:
“He’ll have to go to Number Six--with Peterson. He’s about the toughest freighter pilot we have.”
    I was about to wake the construction engineer and tell him to put his suit on when Lemmy, who occupied the bunk above him, began to moan.
    “What on earth’s the matter with him?” asked Jet in surprise, looking first at Lemmy and then at me. “Is he having a nightmare or something?”
    Apparently Lemmy was, because he suddenly began to twist and turn in his bunk and to cry: “No, no--oh, help. Help!”
    I moved over to the bunk with Jet close behind me. As I did so, Lemmy gave a piercing scream as though he were in great pain. I took him by the shoulder and shook him. “Lemmy,” I called. “Lemmy! What’s the matter?”
    But he just went on yelling and screaming. Then suddenly his eyes opened wide and he sat up in his bunk and began to grapple with me. After a bit of a struggle I freed myself from his grasp and slapped his face. That brought him round. The yelling stopped and he sat quite still, staring at me.
    He said nothing for a few moments; just stared at me as though he were trying to recognise me. Then, with a shudder, he said: “Oh, it’s you, Doc. Where are we?”
    “Now calm down, Lemmy,” I said. “You’re in the Discovery.”
    “Discovery? But Jet and I were . . .”
    “On the way to Mars.”
    “Mars?” It was as though Lemmy had never heard of the word. “Oh, Mars,” he said suddenly. “Yes, that’s right. And this is Jet, isn’t it?”
    “Who else?” I asked him.
    “Yeah, it all comes back to me now.”
    “What happened, Lemmy? Did you have a bad dream?”
    “Yes. Yeah, that’s what it must have been. It was a dream. It didn’t really happen--I mean, I couldn’t have left this ship, could I?”
    “No, Lemmy,” I said, trying to reassure him, “you’ve been lying on that bunk for the last half hour, sleeping.”
    Lemmy breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” he said. “That was about the most horrible dream I ever had.”
    “But it was only a dream,” said Jet. “Now get down out of that bunk. We’ve got work for you to do.”
    “Yes, Jet,” said Lemmy meekly and, donning his magnetic boots, he slung his legs over the side of the bunk and came down the ladder. As he descended to the floor his gaze fell on the still form in the bunk below. Then suddenly he became hysterical again. “Oh no,” he moaned, “that’s him. Jet--that’s the same fellow who was . . .”
    “Lemmy,” Jet shouted. “Pull yourself together.”
    “What’s he doing here?” asked Lemmy frantically. “Where’s Mitch?”
    “Lemmy, shut up “ said Jet. “Mitch is in Freighter Number Two--you know darn well he is. What are you carrying on like this for?”
    Lemmy calmed down at last. With a long look at Whitaker, he said: “Then who’s this?”
    “Whitaker, of course.”
    “Whitaker?”
    “What’s the matter with you, Lemmy? Have you lost your mind or something? I had him transferred to this-ship two days ago.”
    “Yes, so you did,” said Lemmy slowly. “But he . . .”
    “He was in your dream?” I asked.
    “Yes, Doc.”
    “Gave you quite a shock to see him lying on that bunk huh?”
    “Yes.”
    “Me, too, in a way.”
    “How do you mean, Doc?”
    “Well, in spite of all the commotion, he hasn’t even stirred.”
    Realisation of this occurred to Jet for the first time. “No, he hasn’t, has he?” he said slowly.
    Lemmy began to get all worked up again. “I tell you, Jet, there’s something about that fellah. He’s a jinx and he’s putting the mockers on the