“Dick, sweetheart, if this is goodbye …”
He interrupted her with a kiss.
“It isn’t goodbye yet, Dottie mine. This is merely a trial effort, to see what we will have to do to get away. Next time will be the time to worry.”
“I’m not worried, reall … but in cas … you se … … w …”
The gray eyes softened and misted over as he pressed his cheek to hers.
“I understand, sweetheart,” he whispered. “This is not goodbye, but if we don’t pull through we’ll go together, and that is what we both want.”
As Crane and DuQuesne finished their tasks, Seaton fitted his sweetheart’s helmet, placed her tenderly upon the seat, buckled the heavy restraining straps about her slender body, and donned his own helmet. He took his place at the main instrument board, DuQuesne stationing himself at the other.
“What did you read on it, Blackie?” asked Seaton.
“Two degrees, one minute, twelve seconds diameter,” replied DuQuesne. “Altogether too close for comfort. How shall we apply the power? One of us must stay awake, or we’ll go on as long as the bars last.”
“You put on one notch, then I’ll put on one. We can feel the bus jump with each notch. We’ll keep it up until one of us is so far gone that he can’t raise the bar—the one that raises last will have to let the ship run for thirty minutes or an hour, then cut down his power. Then the other fellow will revive and cut his off, for an observation. How’s that?”
“All right.”
They took their places, and Seaton felt the vessel slow down in its horrible fall as DuQuesne threw his lever into the first notch. He responded instantly by advancing his own, and notch after notch the power applied to the ship by the now doubled motor was rapidly increased. The passengers felt their suits envelope them and began to labor for breath. Seaton slowly turned the mixing valve, a little with each advance of his lever, until pure oxygen flowed through the pipes. The power levers had moved scarcely half of their range, yet minutes now intervened between each advance instead of seconds, as at the start.
As each of the two men was determined that he would make the last advance, the duel continued longer than either would have thought possible. Seaton made what he thought his final effort and waited—only to feel, after a few minutes, the upward surge telling him that DuQuesne was still able to move his lever. His brain reeled. His arm seemed paralyzed by its own enormous weight, and felt as though it, the rolling table upon which it rested, and the supporting framework were so immovably welded together that it was impossible to move it even the quarter-inch necessary to operate the ratchet-lever. He could not move his body, which was oppressed by a sickening weight. His utmost efforts to breathe forced only a little of the life-giving oxygen into his lungs, which smarted painfully at the touch of the undiluted gas, and he felt that he could not long retain consciousness under such conditions. Nevertheless, he summoned all his strength and advanced the lever one more notch. He stared at the clock-face above his head, knowing that if DuQuesne could advance his lever again he would lose consciousness and be beaten. Minute after minute went by, however, and the acceleration of the ship remained constant. Seaton, knowing that he was in sole control of the power-plant, fought to retain possession of his faculties, while the hands of the clock told off the interminable minutes.
After an eternity of time an hour had passed, and Seaton attempted to cut down his power, only to find with horror that the long strain had so weakened him that he could not reverse the ratchet. He was still able, however, to give the lever the backward jerk which disconnected the wires completely—and the safety straps creaked with the sudden stress as, half the power instantly shut off, the suddenly released springs tried to hurl five bodies against the ceiling. After a few minutes DuQuesne revived and slowly cut off his power. To the dismay of both men they were again falling!
DuQuesne hurried to the lower window to make the observation, remarking:
“You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.”
“Only because you’re so badly bunged up. One more notch would’ve got my goat,” replied Seaton frankly as he made his way to Dorothy’s side. He noticed as he reached her, that Crane had removed his helmet and was approaching the other girl. By the time DuQuesne had finished the observation, the other passengers had completely recovered, apparently none the worse for their experience.
“Did we gain anything?” asked Seaton eagerly.
“I make it two, four, thirteen. We’ve lost about two minutes of arc. How much power did we have on?”
“A little over half—thirty-two points out of sixty possible.”
“We were still falling pretty fast. We’ll have to put on everything we’ve got. Since neither of us can put it on we’ll have to rig up an automatic feed. It’ll take time, but it’s the only way.”
“The automatic control is already there,” put in Crane, forestalling Seaton’s explanation. “The only question is whether we will live through it—and that is not really a question, since certain death is the only alternative. We must do it.”
“We sure must,” answered Seaton soberly.
Dorothy gravely nodded assent.
“What do you fellows think of a little plus pressure on the oxygen?” asked Seaton. “I think it would help a lot.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” said DuQuesne, and Crane added:
“Four or five inches of water will be about
