“QX. Control room! QX?”
“Ten dead,” the intercom blatted in reply. “Otherwise QX.”
“Fuse the panels?”
“Natch.”
“Let’s go!”
They went. Their vessel flashed away. The passengers rushed to their staterooms. Then:
“Doctor Cloud!” came from the speaker. “Doctor Neal Cloud! Control room calling Doctor Cloud!”
“Cloud speaking.”
“Report to the control room, please.”
“Oh—excuse me—I didn’t know you were wounded,” the officer apologized as he saw the bandaged stump and the white, sweating face. “You’d better go to bed.”