The guard rose from the heap of dishes and bottles, and Conroy ran
toward him. They locked, and Conroy knocked him back again. The guard
didn't dare fire in these close quarters.
Instead he grabbed a champagne bottle from a nearby table and hurled it
at Conroy. Dave ducked; the bottle sped over his head and crashed into
the mirror back of the bar.
Conroy saw several more guards entering the lounge, and ducked back
behind another table.
They came toward him. Patrons of the lounge huddled back out of the
way. As the three guards approached, Conroy upended the table, tossing
to the floor a shower of half-filled plates, and hurled it at them.
It knocked them back. Nimbly he sprinted past them, only to meet four
more entering the lounge.
By now almost everyone in the lounge was up and swinging; Dave had no
idea where Janet was, but he hoped she was gone.
His fist struck a gray uniform just as a hand clubbed down numbingly
on his shoulder. He shook the blow off, pile-drove his way through the
confused, milling pack of people, and headed for the exit.
Once again he was in the corridor. An alarm now wailed through the
Wheel; Conroy, half out of breath, dashed pantingly along the metal
floor, hearing the dull chonking sound of his feet as he ran.
_Run. Run._ That was the only thought in his mind. They were hunting
him, wanted to stick him back in the jet section to rot into a mindless
hulk of neutron-blasted protoplasm, and he was running away.
The endless wheel of the Space-Station opened out before him. He knew
he would have to turn off somewhere, else he would come full circle and
run smack into guards again.
He passed a washroom, toyed with the idea of entering it, then rejected
the stratagem. No sense blockading himself in there; they'd only starve
him out once they found out where he was. No. He needed some more
strategic hiding-place until this blew over.
The thought of what Janet had said drifted through his mind. A saboteur
aboard the Station--threatening to bomb Washington.
Just another wild rumor, probably, though it certainly needed checking.
But--
_The control center!_ he thought. _What if I hide there--and threaten
to destroy the station if they don't release me from serving in the
jetroom?_
They'd have to grant him safe-conduct; he'd broadcast his appeal over a
world-wide circuit to the planet below. It would cause a global scandal
once the world learned how recruits for the jetroom were found.
He racked his memory for location of the control center, finally found
the blueprint in his mind and searched it. Designs that he'd forgotten
along with the rest of his engineering career came back.
He doubled along his track, found a side-corridor, ran down it. The way
to the control center was along lateral spoke eleven, to the heart of
the Wheel.
The corridor was clear. He ran desperately.
* * * * *
It seemed like an endless corridor, but eventually he reached the
ultronic door that led to the control center. As he expected, a
poker-faced guard stood there.
"Sorry, no one's allowed in, sir. Commissioner Merrill is in there
and--"
Commissioner Merrill? Janet's dad? That complicated things. But he had
to get inside.
"Will you tell Commissioner Merrill it's urgent that I see him. It's
about his daughter. Some drunk in the Tourist Lounge tried to attack
her, and--"
"Of course, sir." The guard turned to press the relay that would open
the door, and Conroy clubbed down on the back of his neck with the side
of a fist.
The man shuddered under the blow, began to reach for his blaster, and
Conroy hit him again. He fell heavily.
Thoughtfully, Conroy extracted the blaster from the guard's holster,
then reached up and slid his hand over the wall, searching for the
ultronic relay that he himself had designed so long ago. The door
irised open.
Conroy stepped inside. No one was visible in the outer room; no sound
was heard except the continual chattering of the cybernetic governors
that operated the satellite. He let the door close and activated the
lock. No one would get in until he was ready to let them in, now; it
was a circuit known only to the builders of the station and the high
officers.
The first thing was to find Merrill, and anyone else who might be in
the control center. Conroy knew what he had to do: take charge of the
control center, broadcast his terms to the Space-Station and to Earth,
and wait for them to agree to release him. If they called his bluff--
He shivered. No, they'd never do that. If he threatened to destroy the
Station they'd grant him freedom without hesitation. In a situation
like that, you don't try to call a madman's bluff.
Conroy slid open the door that led to the inner room that was the nerve
center of the giant station. He looked in--and gasped.
Commandant Naylor and several other men in high-rank uniforms lay bound
in one corner of the cabin. And at the controls of the Station was
Commissioner Merrill.
He seemed to be chuckling to himself. Conroy paused by the door and
watched, horror-stricken.
Merrill had activated the long-dormant bombay units, and, according
to the pattern on the radar screen above his head, he had swung a
fusion-bomb onto the hoists.
The bombs were kept at the Station--in case. They were strictly
top-secret, stored on the satellite in the event that they would be
needed in a war. Conroy knew about them only because he had seen the
specifications for the satellite before it had been built; Merrill, as
Commissioner, would also know about them.
And Merrill was aiming the deadly bomb square at Washington!
* * * * *
Conroy lifted his blaster, but knew he could never fire on Janet's
father cold-bloodedly.