"What do we do now?" she asked.
"Hide somewhere until that guy is finished."
"We can wait it out," said Norma thoughtfully. "Then if trouble comes
at the last moment, I can slide out of here like a startled rabbit and
draw the chase away from you."
"But I'm--"
"Stop being noble. You're not known to be here--you might get away
with it. Besides--"
The sound of an engine cut them off. From not too far away came the
rapid sing-song of triple voices, and, following the chant, the
irritated voice of Carolyn Niles: "Stop that, you imbeciles. Speak
Terran!"
"Why?" came the insolent reply.
"Because I don't want to get into the habit of speaking out of turn. I
did it once and you know what happened."
"I merely asked when we were taking off."
"As soon as we get aboard."
"Okay. Okay."
Farradyne nudged Norma with his elbow and whispered, "The cargo hold.
We're pincered!"
He led her to the cargo hold and helped her down the service ladder.
He followed, closing the door behind him; then, before he snapped out
the dim lights, he reached up and removed one of them, saying, "I don't
think we'll have an inspection, but if we do, one lamp missing will
make a shadow that might help."
Huddled down in the corner of wall and floor, they sat with their feet
pulled up beneath them, not daring to say a word. They waited in the
dark silence, listening, and occasionally tensing when someone clumped
past the wall outside or near the cargo hatch above their heads. There
were voices and calls and running feet from time to time, and then the
humming sound of the belt-conveyor.
The hatch above was opened wide but the lights were not snapped on.
From the end of the loose-cargo conveyor came tumbling a shower of love
lotus blossoms. They landed on the floor in a conical pile and kept on
coming until both Farradyne and Norma were sitting shoulder deep in the
flowers. The air filled with the thick, syrupy perfume. Farradyne felt
a dizziness from the heady odor and wondered with horrified interest
just what effect this completely unpredictable overdose of dope would
have on Norma.
The shower of hellflowers came on and on, and Farradyne was forced to
stand up because of their depth. Still they came, and he found himself
swimming in them; it reminded him of treading in a haymow. The rain of
blossoms ceased as the hold filled, and the lights went on briefly for
an inspection.
Farradyne was propped neck deep, his head barely below the ceiling, and
he felt quite safe from detection unless the inspectors put their heads
down into the hatch to peer around the edges of the cylindrical cargo
hold. He looked at Norma. She had scrabbled up a-top of the pile and
was lying on her back with her arms thrown up over her head. Her eyes
were closed, but as she drew in a deep breath, the lids went half-up
and she looked over at Farradyne and smiled.
The hatch slammed down, and she said, huskily, "Such nice friends you
have, Charles. This is--" Her voice trailed away.
* * * * *
Pressure came upsurging and Farradyne knew that the Lancaster was on
its way to space and perhaps back home. In the midst of the take-off
pressure she found his hand and drew it towards her, snuggled her face
against his palm. Her free hand came over and touched his cheek, then
ran back around his head. She pulled him forward until she could rest
her head against his shoulder.
She kissed his cheek, a brief invitation; then he could feel the soft
breath from her lips, parted an inch or so from his, waiting.
His voice was harsh, "Invite me to make love to you after we get this
affair settled and find you a cure."
Her lips cut off his voice, soft and warm and vibrant. Her fingers ran
through his hair and pressed his face to her. He struggled a bit; his
hands closed on either side of her waist but instead of moving away,
her body came forward against his.
Then, abruptly, the pressure of the drive went off and they floated
free.
Their weight upon the cushion of flowers was released and the
springiness of the hellblossoms thrust them up, hard, hurling them at
the ceiling.
Norma's hands were dragged free of his head and, in clutching at him
frantically, her fingernails raked his cheek slightly. The pressure
he held against her waist thrust her away as soon as she lost her
leverage. Her head hit the ceiling with a dull thunk. A sigh came from
her lips--the sigh of an unconscious person.
The hold was filled with love lotus, floating free and spread apart by
the tiny pressure of the ends of their leaves and petals; Farradyne
fought them away frantically but only succeeded in digging himself
deeper in the room.
Eventually he found the service ladder and clung to it, waving himself
a breathing-space by pushing the floating blossoms back.
Norma's inert hand touched him limply.
Farradyne toyed with the idea of reviving her but gave it up instantly;
let her sleep it off. He gave the hand a push and she floated from him
in the dark.
The exertion had called upon his reserves and he drank in lungfuls of
air that was sticky and cloying. It made him dizzy again. He scrabbled
up the ladder and found the hatch, and opened it cautiously. It was as
dark outside as it was inside. Farradyne pushed the hatch up more and
put his face in the clean air and took a deep breath. Then, because
he felt better, he climbed out of the hold and floated free in the air
above the hatch. He grabbed a handrail and closed the hatch carefully
with a breathed, "You like 'em, Baby, you breathe 'em until I get back!"
* * * * *
He sat in midair with one hand hooked around the rail and tried to
think of what to do next.
After a while he prowled the cargo-hold level, floating along the
circular corridor, knowing that it was not the safest thing to do, but
preferring almost anything to a return to the hold.
An hour passed, and Farradyne was growing bolder by the moment. He had
covered the entire lower level of his Lancaster and had stopped above
his former hiding place, speculating.
He decided, and went floating upward through the ship until he came
to the stateroom level. He floated around the corridor, noticing that
the little flags that indicated that the door was locked from the
inside were all down except one. One of his 'guests' did not trust
his fellow-travellers. He wondered how many rooms, and which ones,
contained the rest of the enemy gang.
He floated on upstairs to the salon and almost ruined his silent flight
by trying to put on the brakes. On the divan lay a man, restrained by
the hold-down safety-strap, sound asleep.
Farradyne floated over, and taking hold of the strap to keep himself
from flying free with the motion, he deepened the man's slumber with a
vicious chop of his hand.
He floated into the control room, where the silent and distant stars
watched. Some of them were moving down, while the rest stood as
immobile as he had always known them. He would have liked to stay and
watch the effects of traveling faster than light, for the sky directly
above was very strange in color and in constellation, but he had a job
to finish.
He took a roll of two inch adhesive tape from the medical supplies and
taped the unconscious man's wrists and ankles, and slapped on a length
that covered the mouth. Then he went down to his own quarters and
opened the door slowly.
A second man slept there; Farradyne slugged him and applied tape
effectively and quickly.
That made two.
* * * * *
He considered the situation carefully. So long as his batting average
stayed at one thousand percent he was in fine shape. The ship ran
itself; there was nothing to watch; and so the crew did what all
spacemen do: sleep. If he could catch them one by one--
He opened Stateroom One. It was empty.
That put a different light on things. Maybe this was not a fully-loaded
transport. Maybe it was just like the average cargo-haul with only a
couple of passengers.
He opened Stateroom Two and found it empty.
That sort of proved it. He opened Stateroom Three and found a man
asleep in the bunk. He was stirring as Farradyne scanned the room,
and he moved just as Farradyne launched himself across the cabin.
Haste ruined his aim and his down-slashing hand clipped the enemy on
the skull instead of hitting him alongside the ear. The man grunted
and swung out blindly, hitting Farradyne and moving him up and away.
Farradyne caught the upright of the bunk and stayed his free flight,
levered himself around and swung again.
The enemy parried the blow and then let out a triple-tone roar.
Farradyne pulled himself down and around, then kicked out with both
feet, catching the enemy in the face and chest. The force drove the
enemy deep into the mattress, from which he rebounded to fold up over
the hold-down strap and flop up and down, limp, an inert mass caught
between two springs. The same force drove Farradyne toward the open
door.
His aim was still bad; his outsweeping hand caught the leading edge of
the door and he and it swung on the hinges until he came flat against
the wall behind the door. Then he fought his body around and came out
of the stateroom feet first.
He caught at the handrail and stabilized his flight, then took notice
of his surroundings.
A door down the hall opened and a man came sailing out. He caught
sight of Farradyne and launched himself down the hall at the spaceman.
Farradyne met him with a slash, which was parried by a block of the
man's forearm against Farradyne's wrist. It stopped the enemy's
flight, and tore Farradyne's hold loose.
Farradyne let the enemy peer down the barrel of his gun. "Hold it," he
snapped.
The enemy, about to kick himself forward, took a firm hold on the
handrail behind him and retracted his feet from against the wall.
"You can't get away with it, Farradyne."
Farradyne smiled grimly. "I can try, Brenner. So happy to meet you
again."