The interphone jingled and Lodar answered it.
"All right, Campora," he said after a moment, "get set for takeoff. Then report up here to me." He turned to Ray. "Take off, Mister. Make it snappy!"
Ray checked the safety lights, then signaled for power. He hoped McVane was sober. The sad-faced little engineer just couldn't stay away from his bottle.
But McVane was at least sober enough, for the metal floor began to throb gently as the converters on the lower deck groaned to life. While the machines built up to speed Ray adjusted the drive for a sixty degree lift. He could hear the soft grate of the Benson Plates shifting on the outer hull.
The interphone tinkled and Ray heard McVane's broad accents. "Ye can rip the bottom off her, Mister!" Yes, McVane was drunk again. He'd been out in the space rays too long perhaps, but the indicators showed him on the job.
Ray closed the ether drive and the ship rose silently as if caught on an elevator belt. He set the course carefully, aware of Lodar at his elbow, watching. If the Captain would only watch McVane as he did the others, things might be a lot better.
Perhaps Lodar was afraid for the hoard of jewels which was rumored to be aboard. Ray had heard whispers of this wealth, but he doubted that Lodar would fear any man, much less the space rats aft. Why, he could whip any ten of them!
Still, it might explain the sudden change in plans. Originally the Vulcan was destined for Mars where the load of Mutes would be sold to the zoos. Lodar's decision to head for Earth was unexpected, as unexpected as so many of his brilliant moves.
Ray had cut in the autopilot when the bulkhead door swung open to admit Campora. The First Mate still wore his rubber marsh boots and a gun slung on his narrow waist.