"Then I'll kill myself and save you the trouble. But maybe we won't get it. Maybe we're immune for one reason or another."
"We're not alike either in temperament or physically. I'm young, Al. You're older. You're a hell of a lot colder-blooded than I am. Hell, I've got emotions. I couldn't do what you did. Organically we're different, too. My cells may be the same, but they're conditioned differently. I'm allergic to certain kinds of cheese—"
"So are lots of people. I could establish an allergy to the same things you can't take. That shows our chemistry is the same."
Oakey glanced at the instruments again. "Better take over, sir. There's only four minutes left."
Al strapped himself into his seat. Oakey already had adjusted his harness and now the two men adjusted their bodies to fit the contours of the chairs that would lessen the punishment of sudden acceleration.
The commander gripped the lever that would kick atomic fuel into the rocket chambers.
"One minute," said Oakey.
Al injected the fuel and then placed his finger over the firing button.
"Thirty seconds ... twenty ... ten ... five, four, three, two—"
Both men tensed.