"Well," he said absently. "I suppose—" he looked comprehensively around, checking the position of the cargo. "There is something—" He punched the power button, moved his hand to start the machine.
Dolan glanced at Moirta. She sat on one of the boxes on the far side of the machine, watching him.
This was the time, now—
He stepped forward and opened his mouth to shout.
He never did. Something went suddenly wrong. Brown flicked a thumb, Smith moved like lightning, and before Dolan realized what was happening, he found himself flat on his back, wondering numbly what had happened.
Brown snapped a syllable at Moirta. She answered with a shrug and a word. He frowned momentarily and then his face lightened.
"Ah," he said softly. "I think I see, now. You were going to shout to Moirta to run out of range of the machine, while you jumped in and activated it, isn't that so? Really, it would have done no good, we could still have returned, and besides Moirta—" he frowned suddenly. "Oh could we have returned?"
He bit delicately at his lower lip. "Moirta," he said. "Step a little closer to the machine, please."
"Now," he turned back to Dolan, "I am going to push the buttons, with Moirta quite close to the machine. Are there any last-minute changes you wish to make?"
Dolan hesitated, studying both Moirta's and the men's positions, and then nodded sullenly.