The flame-thing suddenly recoiled, drew back as though stung. Cautiously it advanced again; again sprang back. It rose upright, stood weaving and swaying.
"You fool! Don't you know we're—"
"Sure I know!" Parker shut off the timer to turn and answer. "We're going out! To hell with it! Sit there and cry about it, if you want! But before I go I'll know what's wrong with this damned thing!"
The "infant" flame was advancing again.
Parker switched on the timer, and began his rhythmic movement of the control. The instant the timer began its hissing little beat, the "spaceworm" stopped, sprang erect, began twisting, winding. It had approached quite close. A tiny sound came from it—a thin, high squealing—the first sound Cargyle had ever heard them make.
Something strange was happening to the spaceworm. It had lost its unity; its upper end was splitting up into fine threads of twisting color that spread out, separated.
The squealing ceased; there was a final faint pop! a brighter flash of color, then the thing was gone!
Cargyle at first watched curiously, then with a growing intentness. When the spaceworm vanished he sat staring. Slowly his eyes swung around to the timer, mumbling feebly as Parker moved its control. It spat its brisk, blue sparks.
And suddenly Cargyle got it! The timer ... Parker working on it hour after hour ... and no spaceworms in the control cabin—no spaceworms in the cabin till Parker slept, and the timer was still!
"Barfield!" he yelled, in a voice that brought the men to their feet. "Send our position! We've won! We're going in!"