I looked up, into Barry's face.
"You're ill!" he said quickly. "Is there anything I can do, sir?"
"Yes," I said, forming the words with difficulty. "Give orders to ascend at emergency speed!"
For once my first officer hesitated. He glanced at the attraction meter and then turned to me again, wondering.
"At this height, sir, emergency speed will mean dangerous heating of the surface; perhaps—"
"I want it white hot, Mr. Barry. She is built to stand it. Emergency speed, please—immediately!"
"Right, sir!" he said briskly, and gave the order.
I felt my weight increase as the order was obeyed; gradually the familiar, uncomfortable feeling left me. Silently, Barry and I watched the big surface temperature gauge as it started to move. The heat inside became uncomfortable, grew intense. The sweat poured from us. In the operating room forward, I could see the men casting quick, wondering glances up at us through the heavy glass partition that lay between.
The thick, stubby red hand of the surface temperature gauge moved slowly but steadily towards the heavy red line that marked the temperature at which the outer shell of our hull would become incandescent. The hand was within three or four degrees of that mark when I gave Barry the order to arrest our motion.