"What is there to see?" Neill whispered.
"I thought—there was a flash...." MacPherson's voice trailed off, and he rubbed his eyes.
"But I didn't see anything," said Neill. "There's nothing to see."
A minute went by. The desert remained calm, the blue sky was unmarked by even a cloud, the air was still.
A second minute went by.
Neill drew out his watch, looked wonderingly at the steady march of the second hand. Then he turned and stumbled into the lavatory. They could hear his dry heaves.
Rothman's eyes wavered from MacPherson to Avery, and back to MacPherson, and he sighed.
"Looks as if I was wrong, gentlemen," he said. "Maybe I am crazy, after all. I wonder if that integration constant could have been wrong." He reached down to the floor to pick up the fallen slide-rule, sat down and drew a pad of paper toward him.
MacPherson leaned against the window, too weak to move. He saw Avery take his hands away from his eyes. He could hear the chattering of Avery's teeth, could hear them click as he clamped them together, trying to control his lips. It seemed a long time before Avery managed to speak.