Dane stretched the little carrier's resources to the limit, pushing it
as far out from Mars as he could coax it.
Then, at last, when the craft was well established in a satellite
orbit, between Phobos and Deimos and beyond all peril from the mother
planet's gravitational pull, he cut the power, turned to the emergency
distress-call communicator unit, and switched it on.
He knew Nelva's eyes were on him, even before he swung round to face
her once again. It pleased him, how baffled she looked. But her lips
stayed set in a thin, straight line--a memento of some of the things
he'd said after the take-off--so he knew she wouldn't speak till he
did.
"All right," he grinned, "what do you give me for our chances now, my
dear Miss Mars Record Center Supervisor Guthrie?"
The line of her mouth drew even tighter. So, after a moment, he let
drive with another needle: "Or maybe, as an expert on problems and
solutions, you don't want to give a dangerous Kalquoi agent like me the
benefit of your professional opinion?"
That did it. Dane could see the girl's knuckles whiten. Her eyes
flashed, more ice-blue now than grey.
"You're a fool, Clark Dane!" she burst out furiously. "Once that
signal's picked up, Security's sure to have patrol ships here within an
hour!"
"Maybe." Dane permitted himself the luxury of grim humor.
"No maybe! You know it's true!"
"Or, maybe not," Dane went on, with no heed to Nelva's interruption.
"It might even be Security won't pay the first bit of attention to it."
He shot a sidelong glance at the girl. "Would you like to ask me why?"
A moment of obvious, barely-repressed fury. Then: "Why?"
"Because not even a Kalquoi agent would be fool enough to try to get
clear of Mars in a four-place carrier." Dane leaned back; stretched.
"No; Security's not going to be looking up here for us. Not when
they've got all those landing-platforms down below to cover."
It did him good to see the way Nelva's jaw slackened.
"Of course," he observed wryly, "that opens up another question, too,
doesn't it?"
"Another question--?"
"Yes, you know: the question about how you and I are going to get to
Callisto."
The last of the anger-lines vanished from Nelva's lovely face. Her lips
parted, breathless with interest. "Tell me, Clark! Have you really
devised a way to do it?"
"I think so." Dane paused, letting the moment's tension build up. And
then: "Only of course that's no sign I'll tell you about it and give
you a chance to sour it."
As knife-twisting, it came off very satisfactorily. Nelva's face went
white as if he'd slapped it. Her eyes turned blank, hurt-emptied.
Inside, Dane cringed a little. Of a sudden he felt cheap, ashamed he'd
resorted to such pettiness even in anger. Miserably, he turned to the
viewer and rotated its field, searching the void about him.
But before he could so much as complete the circuit, the proximity
magnetron's gong tolled brassily. Whipping round the viewer's field
in the indicated direction, Dane discovered the cylindrical bulk of a
cargo ship wheeling towards the carrier. While he watched, the pickup
bay's gate slid back. Receiver racks swung out and clamped onto the
smaller craft, then retracted once more, lifting the carrier into the
yawning bay as the gate slid closed.
Dane ran his tongue along lips gone suddenly dry.
But now it was too late to turn back. Pushing up from his seat, he
stepped quickly across to Nelva.
Something in his gaze must have warned her. Eyes wide with panic, she
tried to jump up and scramble clear.
Timing his blow with cool deliberation, Dane drove a hard right to the
point of her jaw.
The girl's head snapped back. She crumpled with an unhinged limpness
that almost made Dane ill.
But com-box blared in the same instant: "Carrier! What's your trouble?
Can you open your hatches or shall we cut our way in?"
It broke Dane's spell. Snapping on the carrier's box, he bent close:
"I've got a girl aboard here. She's hurt pretty bad. You'd better
come prepared to take her off. As to the how and why of it all--well,
probably the best thing would be to have your captain come in first
and look it over."
"The captain--!" The spaceship's amplifier squawked protestingly.
"Listen, mister--"
"To hell with that! You listen!" Dane tried to match the harsh
belligerence of the performance Pfaff, the Security rep, had given
aboard the survey ship. "I've got the kind of trouble here it's going
to take top rank to handle, and I'm not going to waste time talking
about it, either. Just see that your captain's the first man to come
aboard this carrier. If he's not, I won't take responsibility for
anything that happens--and plenty will, believe me!"
* * * * *
Dane snapped off the carrier's com-box as he finished. Wryly, he
wondered what the spaceship's officers would conjure up as being the
situation aboard the carrier. Certainly he'd given them no grounds for
peace of mind!
But now it was time for him to prepare to receive the captain. Taking
the yat-stick from beneath his tunic, he wrapped it hastily in loose
plastic strips torn from the carrier's sleeper sheaths till it made a
bundle about the same size and shape as his own head.
Then a knocking at the hatch told him his visitor had arrived.
Gripping the bundle containing the yat-stick firmly beneath his arm,
Dane levered open the hatch-cover and looked out gravely at the little
knot of men who stood waiting on the spaceship's transfer platform.
"Which one of you's the captain?"
A tall, thin, horse-faced officer with coarse grey hair, protruding
eyes and an uncertain manner gestured diffidently. "Well, I am. Einar
Helstrom. Captain Helstrom, that is...."
"Good." Dane tried to look even more solemn than before. "Captain, this
is the kind of emergency that's for your eyes alone. I wouldn't want to
expose anyone else to it till you've passed judgment."
He stepped aside as he spoke. After a moment's uncertainty and nervous
shifting from foot to foot, Captain Helstrom in his turn swung aboard
and uneasily stepped down into the carrier's passenger compartment.
As he did so, Nelva Guthrie moaned.
The captain tripped over his own feet getting to one side. Eyes seeming
to protrude even more than usual, he peered down at the prostrate girl,
then turned to Dane. "What--what is it? What's the matter?"
Dane shrugged. "A little fainting spell. She'll be all right in a
few minutes. But this"--a brief pause while he held out the package
containing the yat-stick ... "is something else again."
Captain Helstrom eyed the package fearfully. "What's in it?"
Dane returned the bundle to its place tight-clamped beneath his arm
before answering. Then, quite deliberately and with an almost academic
manner, he asked, "Captain, do you know what a proton grenade is?"
"A proton grenade--!" The captain's jaw dropped, lengthening his face
so that he looked more like a horse than ever. "Not those things they
tried out against the Kalquoi once, you don't mean? Not the ones that
could tear a whole ship apart from just a little hand-bomb?"
He backed away with little teetering steps as he spoke, halting only
when he bumped against the wall of the carrier's cabin.
"That's right," Dane nodded. "Have you ever seen one?" And then,
shoving forward the yat-stick package and stripping away the outer
layer of plastic till the T's crossbar was revealed: "See, here's the
trigger-release mechanism--"
"Please, mister!" Helstrom croaked, bony hands spread as
he tried to push Dane back. "Please, I don't want to see nothing.
Nothing!"
"Well, if you don't want to...." Scowling irritably, as if
disappointed, Dane wadded the plastic back over the end of the
yat-stick. "You know who I am, captain?"
"N-no."
"Clark Dane, that's what they call me. Security's after me."
The captain's eyes bugged even further, and his Adam's apple moved up
and down. He didn't speak.
Dane went on: "They thought they had me, down on Mars. I got away,
though. Dug this"--he patted his bundle grimly--"out of a Security
arsenal to bring with me."
The horse-face worked. The coarse grey hair appeared close to standing
on end.
Dane scowled more ferociously than ever--as much to keep from laughing
himself as to impress the captain. There was something so intrinsically
absurd about the whole situation that he knew that one misstep would
carry him over into gails of wild, hysterical mirth.
"Captain," he clipped tightly, "how'd you like to have me blow up this
ship?"
Whatever it was the captain answered, Dane couldn't understand it. He
pressed on: "There's just one way to save yourself, captain. That's
to take me where I want to go. Because even if you hit me from
behind--stun me, kill me--this grenade will still go off. The trigger's
already free. This wrapping's the only thing that's holding it."
The captain gulped--a hollow, dyseptic sound. "Wh-where do you want to
go?" he asked finally.
Dane grinned. "Callisto."
"Callisto!" The grey hair was certainly sticking straight out now.
"Mister, why don't you talk about Alpha Centauri or the Coalsack?
They'd be every bit as easy!"
"Oh?"
"Security's got the Belt guarded like a vault. They'd brain-drain us
before we were half-way through."
"You could set the guides for Callisto before we hit the Belt, couldn't
you?"
"A computer-guide ramping on a satellite clear on the other side of
the Asteroid Belt, with Jupiter's gravity pull to figure for?" Captain
Helstrom shuddered. "Mister, you don't know what you're asking me for.
Better to blow up your bomb now and be done with it!"
"Fair enough, if that's the way you feel about it," Dane agreed. He
started to unwrap the yat-stick.
As if on springs, Helstrom sprang at him. "No, no, mister! I didn't
mean it! We'll go; we'll go!"
Bleakly, Dane nodded. "I thought you might see it that way. So let's
get started. And just for safety's sake, to make sure you don't change
your mind--I'll stay right in your astrogation chamber with you!"