The other ship was a minute speck in the distance. Then a ship-alarm rang and the entire crew came to the alert. Barden said: "This is it!" in a strained voice and he pulled the big switch.
Along the wall was the bank upon bank of synchrometers, reading every possible factor in the controlled ship. Before the panel were trained technicians, each with a desk full of controls. Behind them were the directors with the master controls, and behind them stood Barden and Edith Ward. From holes above peeked the lenses of cameras recording the motions of every technician, and behind the entire group, more cameras pointed at the vast master panel. The recorders took down every sound, and the entire proceeding was synchronized by crystal-controlled clocks running from a primary standard of frequency.
At the starting impulse, the warm-up time pilot lit and the relays clicked as one, like a single, sharp chord of music. When the warm-up period ended the pilot changed from red to green and another bank of relays crashed home with a flowing roar, each tiny click adding to the thunder of thousands of others like it.
"That's the end of the rattle," observed Barden. "From here on in we're running on multi-circuit thyratrons."
The meter panel flashed along its entire length as the myriad of Ready lights went on. The automatic starter began its cycle, and the synchrometers on the vast panel began to indicate. Up climbed the power, storing itself in the vast reservoir bit by bit like the slow, inexorable winding of a mighty clock spring. Up it went, and the meters moved just above the limit of perception, mounting and passing toward the red mark that indicated the critical point.
As slow as their climb was, each meter hit the red mark at the same instant.