"Five!" And after the blow something spluttered in the speaker's throat.
"Four!" Knobs bent, and Andrews' blood drooled along the cabinet front toward the deck.
"Three—" With a fizzling sound the infrawave died, and said no more.
Insanely the man beat upon the bent cabinet in the same rhythm although the sound had died. He beat and he beat until the stun and shock had been wiped out of Jock Norton's face. He came over and hauled Andrews from the cabinet. The financier struggled, but it was futile against Jock's size and strength and youth and stamina.
The pilot trapped Andrews' flailing arms and held him immobile until rage, madness and hysteria had passed. Andrews lay silent, his face blank, his breathing shallow.
Norton looked at Alice. "Stroke?" he asked worriedly. "Has he got a bad heart?"
Alice looked up, the semi-blankness fading from her face. "I—don't know. Is he—"
"He's passed out or burned out, or worked himself into a faint."
Alice brought a blanket as Norton lifted Andrews to one of the bunks. "Jock?" she asked.
"Yes?"