"The time for clamming up is over, you stupid braggard," Kramer said. He
raised his fist and drove a hard punch into my chest. I guess it was his
shot that kept me conscious. I couldn't breathe for a while, until
Kramer gave me a few whiffs of oxygen. I wondered if he was fool enough
to think I might give up my ship.
After a while my head cleared a little. I tried to say something. I got
out a couple of croaks, and then found my voice.
"Kramer," I said.
He leaned over me. "I'm listening," he said.
"Take me to the lift. Leave me there alone. That's your only chance." It
seemed to me like a long speech, but nothing happened. Kramer went away,
came back. He showed me a large scalpel from his medical kit. "I'm going
to start operating on your face. I'll make you into a museum freak.
Maybe if you start talking soon enough I'll change my mind."
I could see the watch on his wrist. My mind worked very slowly. I had
trouble getting any air into my lungs. We would intercept in one hour
and ten minutes.
It seemed simple to me. I had to get back to the Bridge before we hit. I
tried again. "We only have an hour," I said.
Kramer lost control. He jabbed the knife at my face, screeching through
gritted teeth. I jerked my head aside far enough that the scalpel grated
along my cheekbone instead of slashing my mouth. I hardly felt it.
"We're not dying because you were a fool," Kramer yelled. "I've taken
over; I've relieved you as unfit for command. Now open up this ship or
I'll slice you to ribbons." He held the scalpel under my nose in a fist
trembling with fury. The chrome plated blade had a thin film of pink on
it.
I got my voice going again. "I'm going to destroy the Mancji ship," I
said. "Take me to the lift and leave me there." I tried to add a few
words, but had to stop and work on breathing again for a while. Kramer
disappeared.
I realized I was not fully in command of my senses. I was clamped in a
padded claw. I wanted to roll over. I tried hard, and made it. I could
hear Kramer talking, others answering, but it seemed too great an effort
to listen to the words.
I was lying on my face now, head almost against the wall. There was a
black line in front of me, a door. My head cleared a bit. It must have
been Kramer's shot working on me. I turned my head and saw Kramer
standing now with half a dozen others, all talking at once. Apparently
Kramer's display of uncontrolled temper had the others worried. They
wanted me alive. Kramer didn't like anyone criticizing him. The argument
was pretty violent. There was scuffling--and shouts.
I saw that I lay about twenty feet from the lift; too far. The door
before me, if I remembered the ship's layout, was a utility room, small
and containing nothing but a waste disposal hopper. But it did have a
bolt on the inside, like every other room on the ship.
I didn't stop to think about it; I started trying to get up. If I'd
thought I would have known that at the first move from me all seven of
them would land on me at once. I concentrated on getting my hands under
me, to push up. I heard a shout, and turning my head, saw Kramer
swinging at someone. I went on with my project.
Hands under my chest, I raised myself a little, and got a knee up. I
felt broken rib ends grating, but felt no pain, just the padded claw.
Then I was weaving on all fours. I looked up, spotted the latch on the
door, and put everything I had into lunging at it. My finger hit it, the
door swung in, and I fell on my face; but I was half in. Another lunge
and I was past the door, kicking it shut as I lay on the floor, reaching
for the lock control. Just as I flipped it with an extended finger,
someone hit the door from outside, a second too late.
It was dark, and I lay on my back on the floor, and felt strange
short-circuited stabs of what would have been agonizing pain running
through my chest and arm. I had a few minutes to rest now, before they
blasted the door open.
I hated to lose like this, not because we were beaten, but because we
were giving up. My poor world, no longer fair and green, had found the
strength to send us out as her last hope. But somewhere out here in the
loneliness and distance we had lost our courage. Success was at our
fingertips, if we could have found it; instead, in panic and madness, we
were destroying ourselves.
* * * * *
My mind wandered; I imagined myself on the Bridge, half-believed I was
there. I was resting on the OD bunk, and Clay was standing beside me. A
long time seemed to pass.... Then I remembered I was on the floor,
bleeding internally, in a tiny room that would soon lose its door. But
there was someone standing beside me.
I didn't feel too disappointed at being beaten; I hadn't hoped for much
more than a breather, anyway. I wondered why this fellow had abandoned
his action station to hide there. The door was still shut. He must have
been there all along, but I hadn't seen him when I came in. He stood
over me, wearing greasy overalls, and grinned down at me. He raised his
hand. I was getting pretty indifferent to blows; I couldn't feel them.
The hand went up, the man straightened and held a fairly snappy salute.
"Sir," he said. "Space'n first class Thomas."
I didn't feel like laughing or cheering or anything else; I just took it
as it came.
"At ease, Thomas," I managed to say. "Why aren't you at your duty
station?" I went spinning off somewhere after that oration.
Thomas was squatting beside me now. "Cap'n, you're hurt, ain't you? I
was wonderin' why you was down here layin down in my 'Sposal station."
"A scratch," I said. I thought about it for a while. Thomas was doing
something about my chest. This was Thomas' disposal station. Thomas
owned it. I wondered if a fellow could make a living with such a small
place way out here, with just an occasional tourist coming by. I
wondered why I didn't send one of them for help; I needed help for some
reason....
"Cap'n, I been overhaulin' my converter units, I jist come in. How long
you been in here, Cap'n?" Thomas was worried about something.
I tried hard to think. I hadn't been here very long; just a few minutes.
I had come here to rest.... Then suddenly I was thinking clearly again.
* * * * *
Whatever Thomas was, he was apparently on my side, or at least neutral.
He didn't seem to be aware of the mutiny. I realized that he had bound
my chest tightly with strips of shirt; it felt better.
"What are you doing in here, Thomas?" I asked. "Don't you know we're in
action against a hostile ship?"
Thomas looked surprised. "This here's my action station, Cap'n," he
said. "I'm a Waste Recovery Technician, First Class, I keep the recovery
system operatin'."
"You just stay in here?" I asked.
"No, sir," Thomas said. "I check through the whole system. We got three
main disposal points and lots a little ones, an' I have to keep
everything operatin'. Otherwise this ship would be in a bad way, Cap'n."
"How did you get in here?" I asked. I looked around the small room.
There was only one door, and the gray bulk of the converter unit which
broke down wastes into their component elements for re-use nearly filled
the tiny space.
"I come in through the duct, Cap'n," Thomas said. "I check the ducts
every day. You know, Cap'n," he said shaking his head, "they's some bad
laid-out ductin' in this here system. If I didn't keep after it, you'd
be gettin' clogged ducts all the time. So I jist go through the system
and keep her clear."
From somewhere, hope began again. "Where do these ducts lead?" I asked.
I wondered how the man could ignore the mutiny going on around him.
"Well, sir, one leads to the mess; that's the big one. One leads to the
wardroom, and the other one leads up to the Bridge."
My God, I thought, the Bridge.
"How big are they?" I asked. "Could I get through them?"
"Oh, sure, Cap'n," Thomas said. "You can get through 'em easy. But are
you sure you feel like inspectin' with them busted ribs?"
I was beginning to realize that Thomas was not precisely a genius. "I
can make it," I said.
"Cap'n," Thomas said diffidently, "it ain't none a my business, but
don't you think maybe I better get the doctor for ya?"
"Thomas," I said, "maybe you don't know; there's a mutiny under way
aboard this ship. The doctor is leading it. I want to get to the Bridge
in the worst way. Let's get started."
Thomas looked very shocked. "Cap'n, you mean you was hurt by somebody? I
mean you didn't have a fall or nothin', you was beat up?" He stared at
me with an expression of incredulous horror.
"That's about the size of it," I said. I managed to sit up. Thomas
jumped forward and helped me to my feet. Then I saw that he was crying.
"You can count on me, Cap'n," he said. "Jist lemme know who done it, an'
I'll feed 'em into my converter."
I stood leaning against the wall, waiting for my head to stop spinning.
Breathing was difficult, but if I kept it shallow, I could manage.
Thomas was opening a panel on the side of the converter unit.
"It's O.K. to go in Cap'n," he said. "She ain't operatin'."
The pull of the two and a half gees seemed to bother him very little. I
could barely stand under it, holding on. Thomas saw my wavering step and
jumped to help me. He boosted me into the chamber of the converter and
pointed out an opening near the top, about twelve by twenty-four inches.
"That there one is to the Bridge, Cap'n," he said. "If you'll start in
there, sir, I'll follow up."
* * * * *
I thrust head and shoulders into the opening. Inside it was smooth
metal, with no handholds. I clawed at it trying to get farther in. The
pain stabbed at my chest.
"Cap'n, they're workin' on the door," Thomas said. "They already been at
it for a little while. We better get goin'."
"You'd better give me a push, Thomas," I said. My voice echoed hollowly
down the duct.
Thomas crowded into the chamber behind me then, lifting my legs and
pushing. I eased into the duct. The pain was not so bad now.
"Cap'n, you gotta use a special kinda crawl to get through these here
ducts," Thomas said. "You grip your hands together out in front of ya,
and then bend your elbows. When your elbows jam against the side of the
duct, you pull forward."