What a change from the self-centered young fellow he had first met, Rob thought. It was amazing that Clay Gerard, who before must be first in everything, was now satisfied at being what he called a “cook.”
Clay distributed drinks to the rest of the crew. In a little while the epidemic of jitters had subsided almost completely.
The minutes dragged on as the Cetus X-500 sped toward the bright star Procyon and the malignancy it was believed to have cast into space. When the crew spotted little Pluto plodding his lonely way through the empty deeps, they knew they were at the edge of the solar system.
Another hour slipped by, and Lieutenant Swenson began lining up the target on the ground glass of his visi-screen table. The electroscope showed a high count, and the meters Rob and the radiation officer wore were also showing the mounting ray penetration from the “hot” weapons below the insulated flooring.
“Only a few minutes to go, Rob,” Lieutenant Swenson said, studying his screen. “Better check your bomb release.”
Rob checked and found it ready to go. His fingers itched to pull the lever. Sensing the approach of zero moment, the others drifted into the compartment. The robot pilot was driving the ship, and even Lieutenant Fox had come in. A dozen eyes pored silently over the screen table.
Rob could count every tick of his watch. As the final minutes slipped away, he withdrew from the circle and went over to the bomb release. His hand was clammy as it palmed the smooth metal lever.
“Steady, Rob,” Lieutenant Swenson spoke in a dramatic whisper. “A few minutes more—twelve—nine—”
The compartment was silent as a tomb except for the soft throb of the ship’s power plant. Rob’s eyes drifted out the side port, and the stars out there dazzled him.
“Three—two—one—fire!”