Borion nodded and reached toward the repellor lever. He pushed it gently forward and then looked at his altimeter. He seemed to be dissatisfied with the altimeter reading and pushed forward the repellor lever a little more. Then he looked again at the altimeter, and an expression of bewilderment came over his face. With a muttered exclamation he jammed the repellor lever as far ahead as it would go, at the same time watching the altimeter. Dynamon sensed that something was wrong as he watched the color drain out of the navigator's face.
"The Saints preserve us!" the navigator cried hoarsly. "Something has gone terribly wrong—the repellor isn't working! We're dropping at a frightful rate of speed—!"
Borion leapt to the loud-speaker system and issued rapid orders to the navigating engineers.
"What's going to happen to us?" Dynamon demanded.
"I don't know," Borion said, his face ashen. "I think it is just a simple mechanical failure in the controls from the repellor lever down to the magnets. I don't know how soon my workers can discover the trouble and repair it. In the mean time—"
"In the mean time," Dynamon broke in gloomily, "we may all be spattered all over that gray landscape."
"Either that," Borion gritted, "or we burn to a crisp from the atmospheric friction. I can feel it getting warmer in here already."
Dynamon fought down the sickening sensation of panic that was starting to creep over him.
"How long do you think we have got?" he said with an effort.