He heard rather than saw Wonstead blunder in to follow his example,
and for the first time in months the other was dumb, not uttering a
word as he stowed away for the breakthrough which should take them
back into normal space and the star worlds. Raf tore a nail on a
fastening, muttered.
"Condition red--condition red--Strap down for breakthrough--" Hobart
chanted at them from the walls. "One, two, three"--the count swung on
numeral by numeral; then--"ten--Stand by--"
Raf had forgotten what breakthrough was like. He had gone through it
the first time when still under take-off sedation. But this was worse
than he remembered, so much worse. He tried to scream out his protest
against the torture which twisted mind and body, but he could not
utter even a weak cry. This, this was unbearable--a man could go mad
or die--die--die....
He aroused with the flat sweetness of blood on his tongue, a splitting
pain behind the eyes he tried to focus on the too familiar scrap of
wall. A voice boomed, receded, and boomed again, filling the air and
at last making sense, in it a ring of wild triumph!
"Made it! This is it, men, we've made it; Sol-class sun--three
planets.
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