And in that moment Warren roared, "Now, Gary! Get him!"
Gary dove across the room, his shoulders crashing the little man to the floor as his hands wrenched and tore the ray pistol from Borisu's grasp.
And the sudden death they had been led to expect?
Nothing happened.
No blinding flame engulfed them. No cascade of heat crushed the Liberty to a blob of molten metal. The gallant ship rode mightily, smoothly, evenly, the hum of its hypatomics a reassuring sound in their ears.
And now the tables were turned, for Muldoon and O'Day had leaped to Lane's assistance. Already Flick had snatched the skittering pistol from the floor, while Lark's strong arms encircled the raging Magogean, locking him in a vise. Meanwhile Warren, lurching to his feet, had charged to the controls, glanced swiftly at the vision plate, made a few swift corrections in their course. Now he turned, grinning.
"Made it," he cried relievedly. "I figured we might. Just in time, though. There's Sirius off the port bow. Too close for comfort."
"B-but," faltered Nora. "What did you do, Hugh? I thought we were headed for certain death? Even the Jovians warned us that if the controls were tampered with—"
"That's right," admitted Warren cheerfully. "But the Jovians were thinking only of their own drive. They didn't take all the factors into consideration. This slimy rascal—" He jerked his head toward the impotently fuming Quisling locked in O'Day's arms—"reset the quadridimensional stops to plunge us into the heart of Sirius. And it would have worked, too, had that been our only means of propulsion.
"But it occurred to me that if we could get the hypos working, adding the Liberty's normal acceleration to the space-twisting speed of the Jovian drive, we might put enough distance between ourselves and Sirius to save our necks.