Icy as outer space, Haller surveyed them. The pilots at Mercis had likened him, since the Cosmic affair, to a living robot, devoid of all feeling, all emotion. Now, as he stared at the sullen crew, this simile was especially apt. His lean, set face held a curious hardness, as if it had been hammered from steel, and one sensed about him a terrible determination, an unswerving singleness of purpose, found in men who pursue a self-imposed duty rather than the call of adventure. Haller's eyes made one think that he had gazed upon all the worlds, all things that lived, and found them dull, futile.
"So you think you've a right to know where we're bound?" he said deliberately. "You'll recall that I chartered this ship, that you all signed on for three months, no questions asked. However," ... he smiled unhumorously ... "since you're so interested, I'll tell you."
Haller turned to the big chart upon the control room's wall, pointed.
"Our present position is about here ... ten days out of Mars and rather off the regular lanes. Our destination is this." He indicated a shaded area forming the apex of a vague triangle of which Mars and Jupiter were the other angles. "This area is known, for want of a better name, as the Magnetic Spot. Ships passing near it report radio disturbances, variations in their instruments. And that's where we're going! Any more questions?"
"The ... the Magnetic Spot?" Seltzsky, the wizened little navigator, cried. "But.... Good God! Every ship that goes near it disappears! Dozens, hundreds of 'em! The Valerian, the Explorer, the Io! Warships, liners, freighters! You're mad! Only two months ago, the Cosmic...."
At mention of the Cosmic a bitter flame leaped in Haller's eyes. His hand shot to the atomite gun at his waist.
"That's enough!" he barked. "You wanted to find out where you were going, and now you know! Get back to your quarters!"
Carlson and Seltzsky leaned forward, their savage faces intent, fists knotted. Haller's cold gaze did not flicker. For a long moment the tension was like a dark bubble, growing, growing, as it approached the breaking point. Suddenly old Barger, the quartermaster, laughed.
"You're licked!" he grated. "Just as I said you'd be! I'll take one man, like Cap'n Haller, to a dozen blustering bullies like you!" He touched his cap, submissively. "To the Magnetic Spot or to hell, sir, if you say so! Come along, you lily-livered space-rats! Back to your stations!"
And then Carlson leaped, his face contorted with rage. Haller's hand gripped the atomite gun, jerked it from its holster, but before he could fire, the engineer's huge fist crashed against his jaw. One moment's glimpse, he had, of Barger going down under the assault of the other spacehands, and then the world went black.