Lodar spun on his heels and stalked out.
"You idiot!" Ray hissed, then hurried after Lodar. She would drive the man to drastic action in spite of all effort to save her silly little neck! As he locked the door, Lodar eyed him curiously.
"Quite the spitfire, isn't she?" he remarked mildly.
Ray wondered if he meant just that or if he was covering up a consuming rage. He was still wondering about it as he uneasily went to his own cabin. Of one thing he was sure, that Lodar would save his own skin at any cost!
That thought kept him tossing on his bunk long after he'd snapped off the light. He could hear the captain's restless movements in his cabin next door. He could hear the sounds of the Number Three repair crew, his ears were straining for the hum of the converters.
There were many noises on the Vulcan, softer and more furtive. The stir of men off duty, the murmur of voices. Uneasy speculations.
Opposition to Lodar's course seemed a material thing, a tangible force distilled of fear. Like a cross current that moved deeply. Ray scowled at the dark ceiling of his cabin. Of course, it was only imagination. The unusual silences. The cessation of driving power on the Vulcan. These were playing tricks with his ears. The Vulcan was drifting, slowly curving off course toward the sun.
McVane was supervising repairs on his machines. He had moaned about feeling sick, but Lodar had refused to listen to his pleas. For one thing, they had drifted two days now and the Vulcan had inevitably expended its momentum against the solar pull. It had begun the long fall sunward. And, beside the threat of being broiled, there was the deadly danger of space rays. They would burn up a man just as surely, even though in a different way. So haste was imperative.
It might take a week to repair the main converters. The insulation was badly charred on the stator coils. Several were burned out completely. So McVane was put to work.