Spinelli bit his thick lips and did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the image of the starship on the viewplate.
A light blinked erratically within the dark cut of its wounded side.
"Get this down, Spinelli!"
The habit of taking orders was still in him, and he muttered: "Aye ... sir."
The light was winking out a message, but feebly, as though the hand that held the lamp were shaking and the mind conceiving the words were failing.
"CONTROL ... LOST ... CAN'T ... NO ... STRENGTH ... LEFT ... SHIP ... WALLS ... ALL ... ALL GOLD ... GOLD ... SOMETHING ... HAPPENING ... CAN'T ... UNDERSTAND ... WHA...." The light stopped flashing, abruptly, in mid-word.
"What the hell?" demanded Spinelli thickly.
"Order them to heave to, Mister," I ordered.
He clicked the Aldis at them. The only response was a wild swerve in the star-ship's course. She left the orbit we had set for her as though the hands that guided her had fallen away from the control.
Spinelli dropped the Aldis and rushed to the control panel to make the corrections in the Maid's course that were needed to keep the hulk in sight.