The latter looked about the room, and no glance was raised to meet his own. Reynolds, the Ray Control Officer stared glumly at his calculators, and fingered the phone that had waited vainly for his range data and fire commands. Clemens, stood quietly, awaiting orders. Engineer McTavish sat in stony silence, gaze fixed on the desk before him, where sensitive indicators flashed red damage signals against a three dimensional scale projection of the ship.
McPartland felt his eyes misting, and ground his teeth, remembering the alien ship and using his hatred of it to fight back the weakness of his own pride in his men. They wanted to fight! They hated cowardice almost as much as they did the murderers they were running from; and these Earthmen thought their own commander a coward. But discipline and training held them to his judgment.
"Hell!" barked McPartland. "We're going back after them."
His words shattered the silence and the gloom. Reynolds' face was suddenly radiant; Clemens relaxed into an expression of smug worry; McTavish grunted.
"Mister McTavish, what about that damage?" demanded the Commander.
Engineer McTavish brought his lanky form up from the chair and into rigidity. "You gave no orders, sir," he reproached, his grey eyes eager.
"Have your men break out two space-suits, Mister," said McPartland. "You and I will go through the bulkheads and inspect the damaged hull."
"Yes, sir." McTavish turned eagerly to his phone.
"Mister Clemens," snapped the Commander, "hold our course. And you may tell the men we're not through fighting."