The pilot stared at him. "They fire one pound projectiles—nuclear bombs."
"That is for me! Come on, Edwards! To your station!" Before anyone could stop him, he was swinging lightly away, from support to support, under the gravity free condition of free fall.
"Better strap in tight!" called Kennedy, coming to life at last. "If I'm going to maneuver out here, you're going to feel some Gs!"
"Let's go!" they heard Weston reply, from his blister. And Edwards was already on his way to the other position.
Grimly, the pilot shifted into emergency flight position and strapped himself in, while Kimnar and Henry and Martia watched him. They heard the Indian Prince stuttering through his prayers again.
"Kennedy," said Kimnar, half rising in his sling. "Don't do it!"
"You better stay strapped," replied the other. Even as he spoke, a great weight pressed upon them and the firmament outside began to revolve, sweeping Xlarn and the star ships momentarily out of sight.
"Kennedy!" persisted Kimnar, doggedly, in spite of the mounting pressure "Think this over! One world—Earth—cannot be worth twelve civilized solar systems! Let me contact those star men for you! You could continue to live—"
Everybody came close to blacking out as the rocket swept down over the row of globular ships and shook with recoil from Weston's and Edward's firing. A horrifying scene of exploding spheres swept by the observation panels, and Martia screamed in her mixed despair. Kimnar sweated profusely. Henry tensed his mind, preparing to paralyze Kennedy. It was an irresistible impulse, not quite tied to logic.
No!—came Kimnar's thought to him. I have decided against that kind of coercion. There's something bigger out here than we. Call it Fate, if you will. And that power alone will have to decide! We can only propose!