Now there came the agony of waiting for the next step. He hadn't been able to rig things tightly enough to predict within several hours when it would come. It might be in one hour or in ten. A derelict was drifting in. He'd arranged that, but it might be late or it might be intercepted. He prepared a meal for Waverill and himself; sweated out the interval and cooked another. He wandered from library to gymnasium to out-of-doors, and fought endlessly the desire to stand at the barrier and stare at the ship.
The robot examined Waverill and revealed only that things were going well. Waverill spent most of his time bringing objects before his eyes, squinting and twisting his face, swallowed up in the ecstasy of his slowly returning vision. When darkness came the older man slept. Murdoch lay twisting on his own couch or dozed fitfully, beset with twisted dreams.
When the ship's alarm went off he didn't know at first whether it was real or another of the dreams.
His mind was sluggish in clearing, and when he sat up he could hear sounds at the front of the building. Suddenly in a fright that he would be too late, he jumped up and ran that way. The robot was already out of the building. It turned toward him with a suggestion of haste. "What is this."
Murdoch tried to act startled. "The ship's alarm! There's something headed in! Maybe Earth Patrol!"
"Why did you leave the alarm on."
"We—I guess I forgot in the excitement."
"That was dangerous stupidity. How is the alarm powered."
"It's self-powered. Rechargeable batteries."