Furious and extensive checking on the part of the crew resulted in the information that everything was going according to plan.
More time passed, and now within sight, the two ships were converging. They became tense, a single moment of failure would be death for all. But the barrier held, as they expected it to, and with lightning velocity, the two ships crossed at thirty degrees angle.
"Fire!" called the technician.
"Stick to your meters," drawled Turretman Hastings. "This is a job for an eyepiece and fingertip man. A man, may I say, with eyes in his fingertips. A man, may I add ... Ughh. There she goes, fellers!... who is capable of doing things based upon the excellency of his coordination."
"What a line of baloney," snorted Norman. "Did he follow through on that malarkey?"
"And, may I add," drawled Hastings, "a man who never claims ability beyond his capability? Who never claims that which he is unable to produce. The Orionad is now bearing a great, ugly, irregular circle of bright red, gooey paint."
"Are they aware?"
"Apparently not," said Technician Norman. "Also, the projectile we tossed at them is nondetectable and nonradiating, and was in the separation-space too briefly for observation. Another thing, we hit 'em in a blind spot."
"Blind spot?" asked Kane. "I didn't know she had any."
"She hasn't. What I meant was that we hit 'em in a bald spot. They'll not see the mess until they land. Pilot, how're we doing?"