Nor did Lodar relax his driving vigilance one whit as the hours dragged by. He raged from crew to crew, hammering down all sign of opposition, aflame with a single purpose—to repair the ship and take it to Earth. Anger, pride, or stubbornness—it made no difference which drove him—his mind was made up.
There was no turning him now.
"I'll run the Vulcan where I wish if I have to kill every man of you!" he raged.
Ray searched the crew's quarters and removed all likely weapons. He got a spare key for McVane's cabin and took it to the girl.
"Better lock yourself in," he told her. "There may be trouble!"
"I know." Her dark eyes were serious. "If you would only persuade the captain—"
"Nothing doing!" Again he felt an impulse to touch her, to hold her. He wondered if it sprang from his own mind or hers—or was he just nuts? But her smile, at least, sent a flood of warm relief coursing through him as he left.
He turned to his own cabin.
As navigator, there was nothing at present for him to do. It might be best for him to get some rest while he could. He was afraid to sleep, but long training had taught him how to cat-nap. He relaxed, keeping an ear trained for trouble.
The repair work must go on or the Vulcan was lost, for the sun was perilously close. Ray had been afraid to tell the crew just how close, because the single escape ship would hold only a fraction of them.