He sobered quickly. For he knew that he didn't have much time. A few minutes—perhaps less ... the auto-pilot—he had set it—the unbalanced fuel mixture—Miles and Carol—they should be here! What had gone wrong?
He struggled with the straps. The hum of the auto-pilot. The precision hum, the hum of death—death he had arranged, planned....
In an agony of time he tore the straps loose. He rolled groggily from his grav bunk. He staggered to the control panel. Time, he must beat time. How much time did he have left?
He fumbled at the latch controls of the auto-pilot. A minute now was all he needed. One minute to divert eternity....
The panel opened, his fingers shook as he reached for the automatic setting.
The hum grew, a click in the electronic mechanism. He knew then it was too late. He screamed. Once. Only once. That was all he had time for. A flash of light engulfed him. A roar he didn't hear. A roar that was swallowed by the vast hunger of empty space.
The Viking exploded into a myriad atomic particles.
"You get him off all right, Jeff?"
Miles Berendt adjusted the video-screen as Jeff Morrow's face grinned back at him from the operations office on Earth. Beside Miles, Carol smiled at Jeff as she sat in the co-pilot's seat.