Duncan looked at Hartman. “What armament are we carrying?”
“Six four-inch blaster cannons, fully charged.”
“Okay.” Duncan turned again to the controls, slipping into the cushioned basket-seat. “Everything oiled and clean, eh? Doors?” He touched a stud; the valve of the door closed silently.
“Everything is ready,” Hartman said.
“Air-conditioning?” Duncan tried it. “Good. Course?” He checked the space-chart before him. His back to the others, he said quietly, “You’re asking Andrea to take a big risk, Olcott. You too, Hartman, going into space without a Helmet.”
Olcott moved uneasily; Duncan could see him in the mirror above the instrument panel. “Hell! It was her own choice—”
“You blackmailed her into it.”
Olcott’s lips thinned. “Backing out? If you are, say so.”
“No,” Duncan said, “I’m not backing out. I’m going into space. But you two are going with me—right now!”
His poised fingers shot down on the instrument board. Olcott’s oath and Hartman’s startled yell were both drowned in a sudden raging fury of rockets. In the mirror Duncan could see the gun that flashed into Olcott’s hand, but at the same instant terrific acceleration clamped hold of the little ship.