Altogether, only fourteen returned.
"That's all," Byers said grimly. "The rest of the boys won't be coming back."
For a drastic moment of uncertainty, Underwood wondered if his demand for the records would be worth that sacrifice. It had to be, he told himself. Without hope of a weapon to defeat the Sirenian, there was no purpose in flight into space.
He returned to the control room and gave the order to lift ship.
[CHAPTER TEN]
Through the ports Underwood watched the nearby buildings drop away. The Sun's disk shot up over the horizon and bathed them in golden glow. Then the pilot adjusted the controls and sudden, crushing acceleration was applied to the ship, but to the occupants it was imperceptible.
Like the tired old man that he was, Phyfe slumped down in a cushioned seat beside the navigator's table.
"You look as if you'd had a pretty rough time of it since I saw you last," said Underwood.
Phyfe smiled disparagingly. "For fifty years I've been a scholar and archeologist. It's much too late to find myself in the midst of a planetary crisis, and expect to be able to cope with it."