"What is it?" she asked breathlessly.
"I don't know. But I think we should have reported that suit to the Captain."
Jennifer sank to the edge of the bed. He looked at her, thought again, how striking was the contrast between blue eyes and black hair. He felt dizzy, said, "Jennifer, do you notice anything?"
"I feel faint!" she gasped.
A numbing sensation spread through his limbs. The room tilted crazily, darkened. He cried, "Jennifer!" and fell forward limply on his face. He wondered vaguely, just before consciousness left him, if he were being disintegrated. Then the blackness of infinite space engulfed him.
When Norman Saint Clair returned to consciousness, he was still lying face down on the green fiberon carpet. He groped to his feet, swayed groggily. He glanced at the bed. Jennifer was gone.
Shaking his head to clear it of the cobwebs, he staggered to the door. It was locked. He was a prisoner in his own room.
Still something was missing, something intangible. Then he heard the silence. It screamed at him. The soft overtones of the motors were dead. The engines had been stopped.
He sprang to his port hole, glanced out. The bulk of the battle ship floated a little above the wounded Jupiter. His eyes opened wide in consternation. Half of the warship appeared to have been sheared off as if by a giant cleaver. Even as he watched she was slowly disintegrating.