"It is too good to be true," Zen said. Turmoil was—somewhere. He did not know where but it seemed to him that a vast uneasiness had suddenly come into existence. It had to do, somehow, with the future, with a something that was about to happen.
"Halt!" Grant's voice rang out.
Zen swung his gaze around just in time to see an Asian lift himself to his feet near a control board that stood beside the rocket.
"He's walking in his sleep," Larson exclaimed.
"Zero minus one minute," the loudspeaker announced.
"Where in the hell is that man on the speaker?" Grant demanded. "The sleep frequency didn't get to him!"
"No time to be concerned about him now," Zen said. The turmoil that existed somewhere had increased in intensity. Somehow it was concerned with the solitary Asian who was reeling in circles like a drunken man trying to make up his mind.
"Shall I shoot him, colonel?" Grant demanded.
Zen hesitated. He knew that West's deepest wish was to avoid violence if that was possible.
The split second's delay was fatal. Grant's shot rang out—much too late.