Part 3 (1/2)
He _was_ impaled. It was horrible. Looking down Lawton could see his twisted body dangling on a crimson-stippled thornlike growth forty feet in height.
Slashaway was standing at his elbow in that Waterloo moment, his rough-hewn features twitching. ”I can't stand it, sir. It's driving me squirrelly.”
”I know, Slashaway. There's something worse than marijuana weed down there.”
Slashaway swallowed hard. ”That poor guy down there did the wise thing.”
Lawton husked: ”Stamp on that idea, Slashaway--kill it. We're stronger than he was. There isn't an ounce of weakness in us. We've got what it takes.”
”A guy can stand just so much.”
”Bosh. There's no limit to what a man can stand.”
From the visiplate behind them came an urgent voice: ”Radio room tuning in, sir.”
Lawton swung about. On the flickering screen the foggy outlines of a face appeared and coalesced into sharpness.
The Perseus radio operator was breathless with excitement. ”Our reception is improving, sir. European short waves are coming in strong.
The static is terrific, but we're getting every station on the continent, and most of the American stations.”
Lawton's eyes narrowed to exultant slits. He spat on the deck, a slow tremor shaking him.
”Slashaway, did you hear that? _We've done it._ We've won against h.e.l.l and high water.”
”We done what, sir?”
”The bubble, you ape--it must be wearing thin. h.e.l.l's bells, do you have to stand there gaping like a moronic ninepin? I tell you, we've got it licked.”
”I can't stand it, sir. I'm going nuts.”
”No you're not. You're slugging the thing inside you that wants to quit.
Slashaway, I'm going to give the crew a first-cla.s.s pep talk. There'll be no stampeding while I'm in command here.”
He turned to the radio operator. ”Tune in the control room. Tell the captain I want every member of the crew lined up on this screen immediately.”
The face in the visiplate paled. ”I can't do that, sir. s.h.i.+p's regulations--”
Lawton transfixed the operator with an irate stare. ”The captain told you to report directly to me, didn't he?”
”Yes sir, but--”
”If you don't want to be cas.h.i.+ered, _snap into it_.”
”Yes--yessir.”
The captain's startled face preceded the duty-muster visiview by a full minute, seeming to project outward from the screen. The veins on his neck were thick blue cords.
”Dave,” he croaked. ”Are you out of your mind? What good will talking do _now_?”
”Are the men lined up?” Lawton rapped, impatiently.