Bleck's color faded with the commander's last words. "Why the hell all the realism, Hiller? Your rank puffing you up?"
Keeping his eyes on Bleck, the commander went on, "One minute to test drill. Only this isn't a test drill. Repeat, this is not a test drill. It's the real thing. We are now into the Belt. Repeat, this is the real thing."
Bleck clawed over the bulkheads of master control's cubicle searching tactilely for the deceleration straps, his eyes riveted blankly on Hiller.
"I take complete responsibility for this deception," Hiller spoke to the crew, "and I can justify it. Yes, Hollender, Eastburn, and Merrick were in on it. They also agree with me that our chances of getting through are good as long as everyone does his job. You should be glad I saved you worrying.
"We're inside the Belt now and the way to get out alive is to stay alert and follow the drill plan. I'll keep you informed from master control how we're doing without pulling punches. Let's have nothing on the intercom unless it's strictly business."
Bleck had found the straps, but he had not fastened any. Instead he crouched, burrowing his head into one of the pads. He was curling up in a knot and sobbing.
"I figured you'd break," Hiller mumbled more to himself than to the quasi-comatic nuclear engineer. Breaking, this was the best place for him. He wouldn't exactly boost the others' morale were he around them. Nor with Hiller's dirty pool, could Bleck get the chance now to lower morale enough to push over a mutiny.
"Art, let's gyro her to the transit angle," he broadcast. "I'll cross-check on my indicator up here."
A faint vibration seeped through his feet as the electric motors revved. Watching the unmoving star-scape through the front ports, he waited for the slow shifting of the field. The effect was as if the heavens had begun an expansive revolution about the ship, the stars drifting lazily from their familiar positions in the ports.