"Yes. If you will be so kind."
Then Dr. Kang stepped to the board and depressed the single black stud he had installed on the instrument panel. "Steer directly for that rock at the greatest speed you can achieve."
O'Day essayed a grin that didn't quite jell. But with the eyes of Pen-N'hi upon him, he had no intention of showing the white feather. He merely shrugged.
"You're calling signals," he muttered ... and did as the old Martian directed.
With the die irrevocably cast, young Dr. Lane could sympathize completely with the Liberty's pilot. He, too, felt qualms of misgiving as the cruiser bore down at flashing speed upon a chunk of rock large enough to shatter the ship into billions of tortured rivets.
Nor was it pleasant to stare into the viewpane, watching that lethal asteroid loom ever larger and more deadly, now like a gray, grim, gaunt and fearsome stony beast, its gaping canyons yawned like fangs bared to destroy them. Nearer and nearer flashed the Liberty. Lane's heart missed a beat ... then another ... then started pounding with an excitement which moistened the palms of his hands and dried his lips. He cast a nervous glance at Dr. Kang. But the aged Martian's features were expressionless.
Flick Muldoon was frankly apprehensive, and Nora Powell, standing next to Warren across the room, moved closer to the sturdy space captain as though to eke from his presence some breath of reassurance.
Nearer and yet nearer. And now they were almost upon the cosmic juggernaut. At the rate at which they were traveling, if something were not done now—immediately!—it would be but a matter of instants before—
Gary was not surprised to hear a cry rip from the group of awed watchers. Only a certain pride had prevented him from being the one to cry aloud. But it was little Dr. Anjers, cherubic face gray, who broke forth.
"O'Day, turn away! It's a failure! We're going to crash! Look out—!"