The one-man wordstorm was deafening. But it didn't seem to phase Biggs. He plunked himself down at the pilot's desk, scribbled for awhile, and came up with an orbit chart for Second Mate Dick Todd, seated at the control-board.
Then he heaved a volley of orders over the audio to Chief Engineer Garrity, and that was that. He relaxed. The skipper said nervously, "Is—is that all?"
"That's all, sir," said Biggs.
The Old Man looked dubious.
"I don't hear nothing unusual," he said.
"You will in a minute," said Biggs. "Ah! There it goes now!"
And darned if it didn't! One minute my ears hummed with the familiar drone of the hypatomics, the next, a weird and piercing whine rose in high, shrill crescendo, torturing our ear-drums for a brief instant until it lost itself in an oblivion of super-sonic inaudibility.
That was all. No moment of oppressive weight as if we were lifting gravs at extra gees, no thunderous bellow of rockets, no anything. The ship rode easily, freely. I must have looked disappointed. To Biggs I said, "Too bad, sir."
"Eh, Sparks?"
"Too bad it didn't work," I said.