To Greg Hunter the siege of the orbit-ship had been a nerve-wracking
game of listening and waiting for something to happen.
In the darkness of the control cabin he stretched his fingers, cramped
from gripping the heavy Markheim stunner, and checked the corridor
outside again. There was no sound in the darkness there, no sign of
movement. Somewhere far below he heard metal banging on metal; minutes
before he thought he had heard the sharp ripping sound of a stunner
blast overhead, but he wasn't sure. Wherever the fighting was going on,
it was not here.
He shook his head as his uneasiness mounted. Why hadn't Johnny come
back? He'd gone off to try and disable the Ranger ship leaving Greg to
guard the control cabin. Why no sign of the marauders in the control
cabin corridor? This should have been the first place they would head
for, if they planned to take the ship, but there had been nothing but
silence and darkness. Johnny had been gone near 15 minutes already. Greg
became more uneasy.
He waited. Suddenly, bitterly, he realized the hopelessness of it. Even
if Johnny did manage to damage the Ranger ship, what difference would it
make? They had been fools to come out here, idiots to ignore Tawney's
warning, the three of them. Tawney had told them in so many words that
there would be trouble, and they had come out anyway, just begging for
it.
Well, now they had what they'd begged for. Greg slammed his fist into
his palm angrily. What had they expected? That the big company would
step humbly aside for them, with a fortune hanging in the balance? If
they had even begun to think it through before they started....
But they hadn't, and now it was too late. They were under attack; Johnny
was off on a fool's errand, gone too long for comfort, and Tom ... Greg
glanced at his watch. It had been ten minutes since Tom's call. What had
he meant by it? A plan, he said. A long chance.
He couldn't shake off the cold feeling in his chest when he thought
about Tom. What if something happened to him....
Greg remembered how he had grown to resent his brother. The time when
they were very young and Tom had been struck by the sickness, a native
Martian virus they called it. He remembered the endless nights of
attention given to Tom alone. From then on somehow they weren't friends
any more. But now all that seemed to disappear and Greg only wished that
Tom would appear down the corridor....
A sound startled him. He tensed, gripping the stunner, peering into the
darkness. Had he heard something? Or was it his own foot scraping on
the deck plate? He held his breath, listening, and the sound came
again, louder.
Someone was moving stealthily up the corridor.
Greg waited, covered by the edge of the hatchway. It might be Johnny
returning, or maybe even Tom ... but there was no sign of recognition.
Whoever it was was coming silently....
Then a beam of light flared from a headlamp, and he saw the blue crackle
of a stunner. He jerked back as the beam bounced off the metal walls.
Then he was firing point blank down the corridor, his stunner on a tight
beam, a deadly pencil of violent energy. He heard a muffled scream and a
bulk loomed up in front of him, crashed to the deck at his feet.
He fired again. Another crash, a shout, and then the sound of footsteps
retreating. He waited, his heart pounding, but there was nothing more.
The first attempt on the control cabin had failed.
* * * * *
Five minutes later the second attempt began. This time there was no
warning sound. A sudden, ear-splitting crash, a groan of tortured metal,
and the barricaded hatchway glowed dull red. Another crash followed. The
edge of the hatch split open, pouring acrid Murexide fumes into the
cabin. A third explosion breached the door six inches; Greg could see
headlamps in the corridor beyond.
He fired through the crack, pressing down the stud until the stunner
scorched his hand. Then he heard boots clanging up the other corridor.
He pressed back against the wall, waited until the sounds were near,
then threw open the hatch. For an instant he made a perfect target, but
the raiders did not fire. The stunner buzzed in his hand, and once again
the footfalls retreated.
They _were_ being careful!
Silence then, and blackness. Minutes passed ... five, ten.... Greg
checked the time again. It was over twenty minutes since Tom had talked
to him. What had happened? Whatever Tom had planned must have misfired,
or something would have happened by now. For a moment he considered
leaving his post and starting down the dark corridor to search ... but
where to search? There was nothing to do but wait and hope for a
miracle.
Then suddenly the lights blazed on in the control cabin and the corridor
outside. An attention signal buzzed in Greg's earphones. "All right,
Hunter, it's all over," a voice grated. "You've got five minutes to get
down to No. 3 lock. If you make us come get you, you'll get hurt."
"I'll chance it," Greg snapped back. "Come on up."
"We're through fooling," the voice said. "You'd better get down here.
And bring your brother with you."
"Sure," Greg said. "Start holding your breath."
The contact broke for a moment, then clicked on again. This time it was
another voice. "We've got Johnny Coombs down here," it said. "You want
him to stay alive, you start moving. Without your stunner."
Greg chewed his lip. They could be bluffing ... but they might not be.
"I want to see Johnny," he said.
On the control panel a viewscreen flickered to life. "Take a look,
then," the voice said in his earphones.
They had Johnny, all right. A burly guard was holding his good arm
behind his back. Greg could see the speaker wires jerked loose from his
helmet.
"It's up to you," the voice said. "You've got three minutes. If you're
not down here by then, this helmet comes off and your friend goes out
the lock. It's quick that way, but it's not very pleasant."
Johnny was shaking his head violently; the guard wrenched at his arm,
and the miner's face twisted in pain. "Two minutes," the voice said.
"Okay," Greg said. "I'm coming down."
"Drop the stunner right there."
He dropped the weapon onto the deck. Three steps out into the corridor,
and two guards were there to meet him, stunners raised. They marched him
up the ramp to the outer level corridor and around to No. 3 lock.
They were waiting there with Johnny. A moment later the guards herded
them through the lock and into the hold of the Ranger ship, stripped off
their suits, and searched them.
A big man with a heavy face and coarse black hair came into the cabin.
He looked at Johnny and Greg and grunted. "You must be Hunter," he said
to Greg. "Where's the other one?"
"What other one?" Greg said.
"Your brother. Where is he?"
"How would I know?" Greg said.
The man's face darkened. "You'd be smart to watch your tongue," he said.
"We know there were three of you, we want the other one."