Gary leaped to his feet, lashing a cry of command out over the now swiftly wakening rocketdrome.
"Take his other arm, there, Hawkins! We'll carry him. There, that's it! Now, to the ship, folks—quickly! There's not a second to lose!"
And with the aid of the little steward he swept Anjers to his feet, half-lifted, half-bore him to the entrance port of the Liberty, now shining like a white rectangular beacon in the darkness before them. An instant later, all five were within the craft. The airlock closed behind them, and Captain Hugh Warren was rasping swift commands over the audiophone system:
"Lift gravs! Throw all thrusts at five gees immediately! No time to warm hypos. Give her the gun! Hurry! For God's sake—!"
The shrill, high whine of straining hypatomic motors coursed through the ship, losing itself in the thunderous rumble of spluttering jets as the fuel chambers stirred to power.
A voice clacked over the audio system, "Course and trajectory, Captain?"
"Later!" roared Warren. "Later. Lift gravs—quickly!"
Then a brutal, invisible hand smashed down on Gary Lane's head and shoulders with crushing force. His knees buckled beneath him and the blood drained from his head as he pitched forward helplessly on his face, caught in the grip of a bruising acceleration. The roar of exploding jets smashed furiously at his eardrums. The ship beneath him seemed to pick itself up, shake itself like a huge, metallic beast, and leap into the shrouded darkness.
Earth, an already dwindling ball of glowing green, lay a multitude of miles beneath and behind them. Their journey was begun.