Over and over he roared the inane words, and as he roared, his anger and madness increased until he was beating a fist on the cabinet in a violent rage.
The infrawave said crisply, "Flight Squadron Nineteen in flight pattern for Procyon Four."
"No!" screamed Andrews.
"—time," continued the infrawave.
"No!" screamed Andrews again, beating the cabinet with both fists now.
"Ten!" said the infrawave, and Andrews came down on the cabinet with all of his wiry strength.
"Nine!" The beat became a rhythm with the call.
"Eight!" Another hard slam left blood marks on the metal.
"Seven!" The cabinet bent inward. A shower of glass fell from the tuning indicator.
"Six! Almost lost in a solid thunk.