Then—came the zero minute.
There was an intake of breath as the clock chimed once, to mark the beginning of the period of probability. No man moved a muscle, yet all muscles were tense with expectancy. Nervously, Ben felt in his pocket and took out a cigarette, stuck it into his mouth, and fumbled for a match. "Match?" he grumbled.
Simpkins fumbled and shook his head.
"Nope," he said, and his voice was loud and raw.
Peter felt in his pocket and found a match.
He lit one and held it over. His eyes were solid on the scene, he did not want to miss it.
"Look out!" someone cried in a strident voice.
The mislink was approaching the circles again.
Peter turned and faced the place squarely, casting an eye across the men's faces. They were all set, and in every man's body were muscles tensed against moving forward.