He rummaged around in the medical kit and brought out a hypo. He jabbed
Heintz and eased him back into his harness. The fat man's breath became
more relaxed and even. Then a question occurred to Pell.
"By the way, why didn't you let me know over the inter-com that Heintz
was in this shape?" he asked her.
"You would have cut acceleration and we would have lost time--maybe
even have been blasted. If the same thing had happened to me, Heintz
would have acted as I did." Her soft, tanned features were hard and
single-minded determination blazed from her eyes.
"Pell," she continued, "if I don't come through this, you must deliver
the U-235 one way or another."
Pell considered that "one way or another". It sounded ominous and he
wondered what it meant. He asked her.
She answered bluntly. "DIC has a swarm of blockaders covering the
planet. Nothing can get in or out, except with the greatest risk."
"Have you got any ideas?" he asked.
"No. We are depending on you for that. But there is one way that can't
fail. We can drop into hyper-space, evade them, and drop out over the
planet. The U-235 is indestructible. They'll find it in the wreckage."
She said it so simply that Pell shuddered in spite of himself. It was
nothing more than a proposal of suicide. To drop from hyper-space in
the neighborhood of any mass would set up a space-strain that would
crush their ship like an egg.
He looked at her thoughtfully. Even in her rough plasto cover-all she
was strikingly beautiful. But blue eyes that should have been soft and
deep were hard and icy with determination. Her delicate red lips were
crushed in a straight brutal line and a beautifully molded chin was
out-thrust stubbornly.
Pell chuckled, then said, "You don't seem to remember that you are
dealing with a drunken bum whom you picked out of a gutter, Gret. But
even though I don't claim to have any ideals and principles, I am a
space pilot, not a kamikaze. If there is no better way than that, we
won't do it."
She stared at him with disgust in her eyes. "I thought you were a man,
not a coward!"
The words stung Pell. Savagely he gripped her arm and snarled, face
close to her, "I don't give two cents for your paltry revolution and I
certainly don't intend to die in it. Furthermore, I don't particularly
give a damn for you and your refrigerated ways. But then I suppose all
of you colonial peasant women are of the same mold." He sneered.
_Whack._
His face stung and his eyes smarted from the strength of her slap. Her
eyes blazed at him furiously.
"Faradson is depending on this Uranium. It will get to him regardless
of the means." She produced the ancient automatic pistol. "If there is
no other way, I shall force you to do my bidding with this!"
Pell looked at her contemptuously, turned, and groped back to the
control room. When he shrugged into his shock suit, she entered
similarly clad. She still held the weapon and her eyes were icy. Her
mouth twitched out of control. She seated herself in the shock chair
beside him, saying nothing.
Pell switched his gaze from the dials before him to her face. With a
leisurely motion he reached out, took her pistol, and thrust it into
his pocket.
"I'm getting tired of that thing, baby," he said.
He turned his attention back to the maze of instruments spread before
him on the control board and spoke to the girl again without looking up.
"You want speed? Well, baby, you'll get it, regardless of our fat
friend back there!"
He jerked his thumb back at the waist. The craft leaped forward,
slamming him back into the shock chair. The indicators trembled in
their pads and the acceleration needle registered 23 G's.
* * * * *
Pell's head throbbed in rhythm to the shriek of the overworked
converter. He goaded his tired eyes to pierce the pain haze that filmed
them. The acceleration was more than 600 miles per second. His bones
had lead for marrow; each of his joints was a separate discord in a
cacophony of pains that tortured him. Bending his will with a great
effort, he cut the converter to one G.
Instantly the body-smashing weight lifted from him. For several moments
he did not try to move. His heart raced madly as the pressure was
removed from it. Pell breathed deeply and looked at the girl. She was
slumped forward in the shock chair but even as he looked at her, she
began to stir. In spite of himself, Pell felt a twinge of respect for
her.
He busied himself with the Thelmard Distorter Field. This would enable
the craft to drop into extra-dimensional space, so to speak, by
wrapping or folding space about itself. Working rapidly, Pell shot an
orbit in the celestial globe, computed it, and jotted some figures down
on a pad.
He looked over his shoulder at the girl. "We'll have to fall free for a
moment to go into hyper-space, so brace yourself."
He cut the converter entirely and his stomach reacted like that of
a diver with the bends. It almost literally tied itself in knots.
The girl moaned in pain and grasped the sides of the shock chair.
Pell's jaw hardened as he wound up the Thelmard Generator to build up
the field about the ship. The familiar stars danced and flickered;
then disappeared. He sighed and stepped up the converter to one G
acceleration.
He arose from his chair wearily and shrugged from his heavy suit.
Addressing the girl behind him, he said, "We won't be needing these
things for awhile. You had better go back to the waist and look at
Heintz."
Pell turned and looked at her. She was watching him curiously. Her face
was strained and lines were etched deeply about her mouth. Her eyes
were no longer cold; they were very tired.
"You're a strange man, Pell," she said at length. "I am sorry about ...
about that business of awhile ago."