A pair of crewmen stood in the corridor leading to the boats. "What's the matter, sir?" one asked.
"Collapsed—radiation from the machines—got to get her to a hospital ship," gasped Daryesh.
They stood aside, wonderingly, and he spun the dogs of the blister valve and stepped into the gig. "Shall we come, sir?" asked one of the men.
"No!" Laird felt a little dizzy. The radiation was streaming through him, and death was coming with giant strides. "No—" He smashed a fist into the insistent face, slammed the valve back, and vaulted to the pilot's chair.
The engines hummed, warming up. Fists and feet battered on the valve. The sickness made him retch.
O Joana, if this kills you—
He threw the main-drive switch. Acceleration jammed him back as the gig leaped free.
Staring out the ports, he saw fire blossom in space as the great guns of Vwyrdda opened up.
