He _was_ impaled. It was horrible. Looking down Lawton could see his twisted body dangling on a crimson-stippled thornlike growth forty feet in height.

Slashaway was standing at his elbow in that Waterloo moment, his rough-hewn features twitching. "I can't stand it, sir. It's driving me squirrelly."

"I know, Slashaway. There's something worse than marijuana weed down there."

Slashaway swallowed hard. "That poor guy down there did the wise thing."

Lawton husked: "Stamp on that idea, Slashaway--kill it. We're stronger than he was. There isn't an ounce of weakness in us. We've got what it takes."

"A guy can stand just so much."

"Bosh. There's no limit to what a man can stand."

From the visiplate behind them came an urgent voice: "Radio room tuning in, sir."

Lawton swung about. On the flickering screen the foggy outlines of a face appeared and coalesced into sharpness.

The Perseus radio operator was breathless with excitement. "Our reception is improving, sir. European short waves are coming in strong.

The static is terrific, but we're getting every station on the continent, and most of the American stations."

Lawton's eyes narrowed to exultant slits. He spat on the deck, a slow tremor shaking him.

"Slashaway, did you hear that? _We've done it._ We've won against h.e.l.l and high water."

"We done what, sir?"

"The bubble, you ape--it must be wearing thin. h.e.l.l's bells, do you have to stand there gaping like a moronic ninepin? I tell you, we've got it licked."

"I can't stand it, sir. I'm going nuts."

"No you're not. You're slugging the thing inside you that wants to quit.

Slashaway, I'm going to give the crew a first-cla.s.s pep talk. There'll be no stampeding while I'm in command here."

He turned to the radio operator. "Tune in the control room. Tell the captain I want every member of the crew lined up on this screen immediately."

The face in the visiplate paled. "I can't do that, sir. Ship's regulations--"

Lawton transfixed the operator with an irate stare. "The captain told you to report directly to me, didn't he?"

"Yes sir, but--"

"If you don't want to be cashiered, _snap into it_."

"Yes--yessir."

The captain's startled face preceded the duty-muster visiview by a full minute, seeming to project outward from the screen. The veins on his neck were thick blue cords.

"Dave," he croaked. "Are you out of your mind? What good will talking do _now_?"

"Are the men lined up?" Lawton rapped, impatiently.

Forrester nodded. "They're all in the engine room, Dave."

"Good. Block them in."

The captain's face receded, and a scene of tragic horror filled the opalescent visiplate. The men were not standing at attention at all.

They were slumping against the Perseus' central charging plant in att.i.tudes of abject despair.

Madness burned in the eyes of three or four of them. Others had torn open their shirts, and raked their flesh with their nails. Petty officer Caldwell was standing as straight as a totem pole, clenching and unclenching his hands. The second a.s.sistant engineer was sticking out his tongue. His face was deadpan, which made what was obviously a terror reflex look like an idiot's grimace.

Lawton moistened his lips. "Men, listen to me. There is some sort of plant outside that is giving off deliriant fumes. A few of us seem to be immune to it.

"I'm not immune, but I'm fighting it, and all of you boys can fight it too. I want you to fight it to the top of your courage. You can fight _anything_ when you know that just around the corner is freedom from a beastliness that deserves to be licked--even if it's only a plant.

"Men, we're blasting our way free. The bubble's wearing thin. Any minute now the plants beneath us may fall with a soggy plop into the Atlantic Ocean.

"I want every man jack aboard this ship to stand at his post and obey orders. Right this minute you look like something the cat dragged in.

But most men who cover themselves with glory start off looking even worse than you do."

He smiled wryly.

"I guess that's all. I've never had to make a speech in my life, and I'd hate like h.e.l.l to start now."

It was petty officer Caldwell who started the chant. He started it, and the men took it up until it was coming from all of them in a full-throated roar.

I'm a tough, true-hearted skyman, Careless and all that, d'ye see?

Never at fate a railer, What is time or tide to me?

All must die when fate shall will it, I can never die but once, I'm a tough, true-hearted skyman; He who fears death is a dunce.

Lawton squared his shoulders. With a crew like that nothing could stop him! Ah, his energies were surging high. The deliriant weed held no terrors for him now. They were stout-hearted lads and he'd go to h.e.l.l with them cheerfully, if need be.

It wasn't easy to wait. The next half hour was filled with a steadily mounting tension as Lawton moved like a young tornado about the ship, issuing orders and seeing that each man was at his post.

"Steady, Jimmy. The way to fight a deliriant is to keep your mind on a set task. Keep sweating, lad."

"Harry, that winch needs tightening. We can't afford to miss a trick."

"Yeah, it will come suddenly. We've got to get the rotaries started the instant the bottom drops out."

He was with the captain and Slashaway in the control room when it came.

There was a sudden, grinding jolt, and the captain's desk started moving toward the quartz port, carrying Lawton with it.

"Holy Jiminy cricket," exclaimed Slashaway.

The deck tilted sharply; then righted itself. A sudden gush of clear, cold air came through the ventilation valves as the triple rotaries started up with a roar.