On the bridge, Captain Nails had been annoyed. Too many queries from people who really didn't have authority over his satellite. Too many directives and counter-directives were flooding at him from various officials on Earth.
Some one down there even had the temerity to suggest that Security take over—not officially, just sort of take over.
If that didn't take the cake, he thought. Trying to put that crumb Security officer into command, real command, of a scientist? Over HIS people? Never!
And just because somebody had a wild idea about sabotage—after all, the whole thing must be some sort of effect or accident. Why couldn't they leave people alone long enough to find out what was really going on?
And where was Elbertson, anyhow? The man had had plenty of time to freshen up. Possibly he had caved in some place. The medic had said he was sick. But even so, I'd best check, he thought.
Reaching for the intercom switch that would give him a private line to Security quarters in the rim, his gaze happened to fall on the panel that still displayed Hot Rod on its taut cable—
—And seven figures riding the end of the cable to the air lock.
Elbertson, of course, he thought furiously. And taking his men out when the proton level was still too high to go beyond the rim shielding....
Then the captain stopped in mid-thought. This was no idle act of a man feeling the effects of drugs.