"Yes." Hobbs managed a weak grin. "She got in the way of a paralyzing charge—but she'll be all right."
"Okay." Vanning turned to the controls. They were archaic—in fact, the whole design of the ship was strange to him. It had been built a century ago, and rust and yellow corrosion was everywhere.
"Think it'll blast off?" Callahan asked as Vanning dropped into the pilot's seat.
"We'll pray! Let's see how much fuel—" He touched a button, his gaze riveted on a gauge.
The needle quivered slightly—that was all.
Callahan didn't say anything. Vanning's face went gray.
"No fuel," he got out.
There was a clanging tumult at the port, resounding from the outer hull.
"They can't get in," Callahan said slowly.
"We can't raise the ship," Vanning countered. "When we've used up all the air in here, we'll suffocate. Unless we surrender to the Swamja."