“Well, I don’t expect a miracle, but the switchover to subspace so suddenly is bound to be dangerous. Therefore, we’ll wait until the last possible moment. It will grow uncomfortably warm, let me warn you, but as long as the subspace drive is in good working order—”
“I see what you mean, Admiral. You have a free hand, sir; let me repeat that. I will not interfere in any way and I have the utmost confidence in you.” The President mopped his brow with an already damp handkerchief. It was growing warm, come to think of it. Uncomfortably warm.
As if everyone aboard the Glory of the Galaxy was slowly being broiled alive….
Ackerman Boone entered the crew quarters with the same smile still on his lips. At first he said nothing, but his silence drew the men like a magnet draws iron filings. When they had all clustered about him he spoke.
“The Exec not only chewed my ears off,” he boomed. “He all but spit them in my face! I was right, men. He admitted it to me after he saw how he couldn’t get away with anything in front of Ackerman Boone. Men, we’re heading on collision course with the sun!”
A shocked silence greeted his words and Ackerman Boone, instinctively a born speaker, paused dramatically to allow each man the private horror of his own thoughts for a few moments. Then he continued: “The Admiral figures we have one chance to get out of this alive, men. He figures—”
“What is it, Acky?”
“What will he do?”
“How will the Admiral get us out of this?”