"—one ... ZERO!"
Their bodies strained as the ship lurched. Oakey counted the seconds with his hand, for he could not talk now. Al squeezed the control button again. This was repeated again. And again. Then Al cut the rockets. The pressure on their bodies eased. Both men relaxed.
Al unstrapped himself and swung his legs to the floor. He walked toward the porthole. He had to walk carefully, for the centrifugal pitch made the feat like balancing on a turn-table.
He reached up and adjusted the flaps. Into the room streamed warm sunlight. A glowing orb swung into view as the ship turned on its axis. A moment later they saw another disc, a bright green disc, a planet hanging in space.
"We're there!" whispered Oakey.
Al said nothing. His eyes were not on the planet, but on his hand, raised a fraction of an inch from the flap control on the metal wall of the ship. Writhing like a snake from his fingertips to the wall, was a tiny red spark!
Oakey turned his eyes from the porthole to the silent commander. He saw the ribbon of flame. His body grew tense. Slowly his hands fingered the buckles on the straps of his G-harness. He unfastened them and sprang to his feet. Al didn't try to stop him as Oakey swung across the turn-table room toward the tier of drawers.
"Make it quick, Oakey," said Al.
Oakey opened the drawer, took out the gun and thrust it into his pocket.