He faltered, and came to a stop.

Two things had been happening as he talked. Lesbee squeezed the 'off' switch of the cage control, an entirely automatic gesture, convulsive, a spasmodic movement, result of his dismay. It was a mindless action. So far as he knew consciously, freeing Dzing's thoughts had no useful possibility for him. His only real hope – as he realized almost immediately – was to get his other hand into his remaining coat pocket and with it manipulate the remote-control landing device, the secret of which he had so naively revealed to Browne.

The second thing that happened was that Dzing, released from mental control, telepathed:

'Free again – and this time of course permanently! I have just now activated by remote control the relays that will in a few moments start the engines of this ship, and I have naturally reset the mechanism for controlling the rate of acceleration-'

The robot's thoughts must have impinged progressively on Browne, for it was at that point that the officer paused uncertainly.

Dzing continued: 'As I have rectified the field-control system, the atomic drive will now be able to achieve velocities close to that of light. I have also synchronized the artificial gravity so that there will be a considerable gap between that and the acceleration. They have neglected to take any real precautions against capture by this means -'

Lesbee reached over, tripped on the speaker system, and yelled into the microphone: 'All stations prepare for emergency acceleration! Grab anything!'

To Browne, he shouted: 'Get to your seat – quick!'

His actions and words were automatic responses to danger. Only after he had spoken did it occur to him that he had no interest in the survival of Captain Browne. And that, in fact, the only reason the man was in danger was because he had stepped away from his safety belt so that Mindel's blaster would kill Lesbee without damaging Browne.

Browne evidently understood his danger. He started toward the control chair from which he had released himself moments before. His reaching hands were still a foot or more from it when the impact of acceleration stopped him instantly and flung him backward to the floor. Still going back, he pressed the palms of his hands and his rubber shoes hard against the floor. That probably saved him from a head injury, for his tremendous effort brought him to a sitting position. And so he slid into the rear wall with his back. It was cushioned to protect human beings; it reacted like rubber, bouncing him several times.

Pinned there by several g's of the continuing acceleration, he managed a strangled yell. 'Lesbee, put a tractor beam on me. Save me. I'll make it up to you.'

The man's wild appeal brought momentary wonder to Lesbee. There was of course nothing he could do. He also was pinned in. But he was amazed that Browne hoped for mercy after what had happened.

The thought and the emotion yielded to the reality that the acceleration was now constant at a bone-breaking intensity. Lesbee became acutely aware of his own awkward position.

He had turned around to speak to Browne, and so he was facing in the wrong direction when the forward drive of the ship hit him. The safety belt and the pit of his stomach had taken the blow. Now, he hung in his belt, doubled up, still in his seat but like a man whose hands and feet were manacled together in front of him. He had the peculiar feeling that his insides would simply flow out of him if there were an opening anywhere in his body. His eyes bulged. The sensation was hideous.

...He must swing the chair around so that its back would bear the colossal pressure of acceleration.

He was about to make his first tense effort in that direction, when the lid of the cage lifted and the head of Dzing appeared over its rim... The robot's thoughts had been coming steadily during these momentous seconds.

'...Well, that was simple enough,' the Karn reported. 'I have the acceleration gap set at four of their gravities, enough to hold these two-legged beings but not kill them. How long will the boarding party be?' There was a pause and evidently an answer from below, for Dzing said mentally: 'That should give me time to investigate the engine room directly. There's some kind of control confusion, which operates on such a tiny level that I'm not programmed to deal with it by remote energies -'

As it made these comments, the creature climbed out of its cage and – without any visible effect from the acceleration -walked to the door and disappeared into the corridor beyond. For a few moments longer, Lesbee was aware that it was continuing its description and discussion. But swiftly, the thought waves grew dim and then faded altogether.

Lesbee became conscious that Browne had also watched Dzing's departure. The two men glared at each other, and then Browne attempted to speak. It was awful to watch him; the acceleration pulled his lips and his mouth muscles, and what came through was a strangled sound. Lesbee made out a few of the words.

'... Your mad action... We'll be captured... destroyed -'

Lesbee thought, 'I'll be damned. He's blaming me for our predicament.'

He felt a twinge of guilt, but it was momentary. The question of where cause began in a human disaster, when everyone was being human, was not as simple as Browne seemed to believe... Since when, for instance, did a Browne have the right to name a Lesbee as expendable...?

Lesbee did not give voice to these thoughts. He was trying to draw his right arm from its straight-out position in front of him. By bending his elbow, he found movement was not impossible. Cautiously, he forced the arm backward, and with his fingers – and with nearly all his strength – grasped the seat of the control chair... fumbled along it to the push-button controls of the chair.

Reached them! Poised his finger on the one that would swing the chair around to face the board -

There he stopped. His mind was beginning to work again. And, though it was like speaking with a cake of soap in his mouth, he gulped at Browne: 'How much fuel... in engine?'

Impossible to tell from the stunned expression on Browne's face if the question produced a cunning reaction. The commander's muffled answer was: 'Many hours!'

Lesbee experienced instant disappointment. For that moment, for that brief moment, he had hopefully recalled the continual talk of fuel shortage. There had even been rumors that during the period of slowing down for Alta there had been times when the engine had only an hour or so of fuel. In fact, he himself had several times been asked to torch-cut metals from hidden parts of the ship. And this he had done, and had taken the product of his effort to the engine room, in the understanding that the drive was ravenous; that the stuff would be used immediately.

If that were so, then where did the present relative plenty come from?

Ruefully, Lesbee realized that the colonists had probably been subjected to a propaganda harassment. There was, of course, a fuel shortage. But Browne had exaggerated its immediacy to the point where he had been able to order Lesbee out as an expendable, and no one had said a word.

But regrettably now, he believed Browne. There was fuel in the engines... His brief hope that the available fuel would burn up and release them – was shattered... They'd have to escape from the acceleration pressure some other way...The only method he had was extremely dangerous. Meanwhile, other actions -

Lesbee pressed the button on the side of the control chair.

The chair, power driven, whirled around; the movement did bobbling things to his internal organs, and his legs and arms flip-flopped, were swung about, and forced back. With a thud, he landed breathless against the long, cushioned back of the chair, dizzy but safe and, after a long moment, ready for his next move.