Within the next half hour tension had grown nearly to fever pitch, and yet there was still some time before the crucial zero hour. Rob found himself pacing restlessly about the navigation compartment. Lieutenant Swenson was rattling keys in his pocket, and Rob guessed that the others must also be similarly tightened up. Clay’s grinning face appeared at the door of the navigator’s cabin. The young cadet looked as calm as if he were on nothing more than a sight-seeing tour. He carried a tray on which sealed containers filled with lavender drinks were held by magnetism. “How about some palm-berry tea, gentlemen?” he said, setting the tray down on a magnetic table. Lieutenant Swenson smiled at the youth whom he had tongue-lashed on the previous flight. “You’re a lifesaver, Clay,” he said, picking up a container and beginning to suck on the connected straw. Palm-berry tea was a tasty beverage made from a dwarf Venusian swamp plant. It was a splendid sedative for “space nerves” and was always carried on long voyages. Under the harried circumstances of their blast-off, Rob had forgotten to have a supply of the tea put aboard. “Where did you get this?” Rob asked, taking a glass. “I knew it would come in handy, sir, when our stomachs got to knotting up,” Clay replied, “and so I got a box from the commissary just before coming aboard. Every crew has to have a cook, so I elected myself.” What a change from the self-centered young fellow he had first met, Rob thought. It was amazing that Clay Gerard, who before must be first in everything, was now satisfied at being what he called a “cook.” Clay distributed drinks to the rest of the crew. In a little while the epidemic of jitters had subsided almost completely. The minutes dragged on as the Cetus X-500 sped toward the bright star Procyon and the malignancy it was believed to have cast into space. When the crew spotted little Pluto plodding his lonely way through the empty deeps, they knew they were at the edge of the solar system. Another hour slipped by, and Lieutenant Swenson began lining up the target on the ground glass of his visi-screen table. The electroscope showed a high count, and the meters Rob and the radiation officer wore were also showing the mounting ray penetration from the “hot” weapons below the insulated flooring. “Only a few minutes to go, Rob,” Lieutenant Swenson said, studying his screen. “Better check your bomb release.” Rob checked and found it ready to go. His fingers itched to pull the lever. Sensing the approach of zero moment, the others drifted into the compartment. The robot pilot was driving the ship, and even Lieutenant Fox had come in. A dozen eyes pored silently over the screen table. Rob could count every tick of his watch. As the final minutes slipped away, he withdrew from the circle and went over to the bomb release. His hand was clammy as it palmed the smooth metal lever.