Hank said hesitantly, "Well, if you say so--" and moved to the audio. With his unerring sense of assurance, he selected the right button, contacted the engine room. Chief Engineer Garrity's grizzled face appeared in the plate. "Yes, sorr?" "Chief, turn off them there reverse engines right away," said Hank hesitantly. "An' disconnect them anti--er--anti-grav doogummies." Garrity's jaw fell open. He said, "I--I beg your pardon, sorr!" and looked around the room for verification of the orders. Cap Hanson, too, had heard the command, and was turning a violent mauve. But Lancelot Biggs nodded. "Do as Mr. Cleaver says, Chief." "--an' when you git done doin' them things," Hank persisted gravely, "I want you should git up steam. An' push for'rd as hard an' as fast as you can. With--" He swallowed hard. "With the auxil'ry use o' that new speed gadget Lootenant Biggs invented." Garrity almost strangled, but he got the words out. "Yes ... sorr!" Then he faded from the plate. Biggs stared at Hank. "You--you're sure you know what you're doing, Cleaver?" "I think I do," said Horse-sense Hank. "It's the only thing makes sense. I figgered an' figgered, and it looks to me like there's only one logical way to act. We'll know in a minute if I'm right." He dug his toe into the carpet, sort of grunted, coughed, glanced at Biggs. "Got a mite excited about me not bein' married, son. I been thinkin' that over. You mean to say--" Biggs, looking confused, said, "But you see, Hank--" "Yeah. Reckon I do. An' you--an' you--" "Yes, sir," said Lancelot Biggs. I stared at Donovan. I said, "What makes with the brain trust? Double talk?" He said, "Don't ask me, Buster. I just work here. Or used to. It's even money whether I continue working or learn to play a harp. What with that screwy command your friend Hank gave--" Then he, and I and everyone in the room stopped speaking. For again there had come, remotely, a different tone-value from the engine room. Hank's orders were being obeyed! And all eyes centered painfully on the visiplate in which, almost blotting the entire frame now, was mirrored the on-rushing planet.... * * * * * Can I explain my feelings to you? I doubt it. All I can think of is to say that I felt like a very tiny fly on a wall, watching helplessly, wingless, unable to escape, as a gigantic flyswatter smashed down at frightful speed upon me. The _Saturn_ was a huge craft, yes, but it was a speck of dry dust compared to the colossal sphere toward which it plunged. At this velocity there could be but one result to a collision. Death, swift, crushing, horrible, for all of us. A moment, I thought, of incredible pain. A torrent of madness beating at the eardrums, the fires of hell flaming before the eyes--then oblivion.