Somewhere, he was sure, there was cause for great pride in his actions.
The peaceful glow of victory seemed to settle about him.
He HAD won. He was in the captain's chair of the only space station that man had ever put in orbit.
His worst enemy was tied to a chair only a few feet away.
At times like this a man could glow, could feel expansive even towards his enemies.
Naylor wasn't such a bad chap. If he hadn't thrown in with the scientists he might even now be a fellow officer, entitled to full respect and honor.
General Elbertson did not consider it odd that his face was suddenly flushed with triumph. There was a glow of energy. Why, he could even get up and dance a jig—and this he proceeded to do.
Around him, the two Security men joined in, followed by the communications officer—and then, realizing that their friends couldn't dance with them, they undid the ropes and invited the captain and Bessie to join them.
Soon they were all whirling giddily, though there was hardly the space for it. Maybe they should go next door, into the large clear area that was the ship's gymnasium when not being used as a morgue.
Surprisingly, amidst these dancing figures, a head emerged from the floor. All of them leaned over to laugh at it; and even the needle gun failed to frighten them.