"Four minutes!" came as the big outer space lock was cracked.
Norton's hands on the lifeship controls moved and the little spacer leaped out of the doorway.
On the infrawave they heard the call of "Three minutes!" then "Two!" and finally the announcement, "You are now all debarked and are in places of safety. The distress call has been sent constantly from the moment of danger. Sit tight and make no foolish moves until help comes. Do not look to the rear, as the explosion of a collapsed field generator is brilliant enough to sear the eyes—"
The voice stopped abruptly as there came a wave of sheer heat. The ports on the side of the lifeship flared blue-white, and the spacecraft bucked as though it were being driven into a heavy gas cloud.
"What was that?" blurted Andrews, picking himself up off the heaving deck.
Norton shrugged. "That was Spaceflight Seventy-nine going to hell in a wicker basket," he said.
"But why? We weren't hit by anything."
"You can bet not," Norton said cheerfully. "Don't you know about spaceflight factors? The Einstein equation?"
Andrews eyed the pilot coldly. For several hours the younger man had been explaining all sorts of things in a condescending manner, showing off his knowledge in a field that he knew far better than any one else present. This was galling to the financier, who was used to paying mathematicians and physicists small change.
"I don't have time to clutter up my mind with equations," he told Norton coldly. "I usually pay people to have them explain these things to me. So go right ahead."