"Now?" Lt. George Packer asked, pulling on his helmet, reaching for the red button to sound the klaxon alarm. One long finger almost touched the scarlet dot which would send a hundred crews on a hundred Earth ships into the action which they had awaited for these long weeks.
Curt Wing, wing Space Commander, shook his black shock of hair with deliberate slowness, wiped the sticky sweat from the palms of his hands on his gold-striped blue breeches.
"Wait."
"But, Curt! We've waited two weeks. And for the last seven hours the crew has been going mad. They know the Mercurians must be out there now. We got the flash on the intercommunicator and it's tuned to all-ship length."
"I know," Wing said. "But what's another moment or two. This has to be right. We'll never get another chance like this again. Be patient, George."
Curt Wing still stared at the visaplate.
"They must have the whole fleet with them! I've never seen so many Mercurian ships in my life."
"They'll spot us," Lt. Packer said anxiously. "Let me signal, Curt."
"Easy, George. This is Earth's last chance. We've got to be sure it's good. They've got us—ten to one. Surprise is our only chance of whittling down the odds."
"But every minute, Curt, every minute counts. They'll spot us sure."