"We'll get the serum there! Out!"
Rawson glanced once more at the unwavering needle of the direction indicator, and he switched off the televisor with such abrupt force that he broke off the dial. He tore from his desk and rumbled like a Jupiter avalanche across the vibrating deck of the Star Flight into the rocket room. "Mr. Durk, I ordered the rockets reversed."
The crew men looked up, winking at each other. This was it!
Durk raised a short, blunt body like a Venusian alligator and lumbered to attention. His voice came in a hoarse growl.
"The Old Man—you young punks think you know everything! The old man would 'a' headed right into the storm!"
Captain Rawson flushed slightly and felt the tips of his ears turn hot as he stared at the man who was twenty years his senior—the man who had twenty-five years of experience in space flight.
"I'm the captain here," Rawson said in a voice as steady as the beat of the motors. "My commands are to be obeyed without question."
"Sure, now, you're the captain." Durk winked slyly at one of the crew. "You got a gold star and the fixings. But we ain't goin' to get ourselves killed on account o' something you learned in a book."
Surprisingly Rawson laughed, a deep-throated laugh, although he knew that he had to break this man or be broken himself. His words lashed out like a cat-o-nine tails at the senior officer.
"Mr. Durk, don't let your bitterness defeat your common sense. The old man knew all the tricks. You know them. But space navigation has advanced to a science. It requires more than rule of thumb knowledge."