"Do you mean that?"
Merrill nodded. Lines of repressed suffering marked his lean, wolfish face. "I don't think I'll be here long. Someone will have to take over. There's nobody else to rank you. Just a couple of radiation engineers and those armchair astronauts in our so-called crew. It's all yours, kid. But don't let it worry you too much."
Norman straightened and shook off his jumpiness. He looked around the control room and a ripple of sardonic amusement crossed his face. "My first command," he said. "A coffin ship full of corpses and doomed men. I'm sorry you're so—"
"It won't matter long," Merrill interrupted.
"Maybe it will. I think I have an idea. Can you maneuver this crate at all?"
"I guess we could. The forward propulsion jets are still all right. But the slightest acceleration might wreck things aft."
"What have we got to lose?" Harald asked. "What's on your mind, kid?"
If Norman was aware of the breach of discipline, he did not show it. His body leaned tensely over the chart panel as he pressed button after button, studying sheet after sheet. At last he raised his head. On his face was the expression of a small boy who has made an important discovery.
"Hidalgo," he said. "I was trying to remember what I knew about its orbit."
"Hidalgo? You mean that rogue asteroid which wanders as far out as Saturn's orbit?"