Logan replied laconically, "Nope. I was on my way back from a gas
cloud--I think--when the radar got a blip."
In the background, they could hear Allison saying, "There's a real
target out there where Logan went. Haven't you got an infrawave
response out there somewhere--" The mike clicked off. Allison probably
had remembered that he had his thumb on the "Talk" button and removed
it.
* * * * *
Captain Warren said to Wilson, "That's a hell of a fine space detector,
isn't it?"
Wilson nodded absently, picked up his own handset and called, "Logan
from Wilson. How close are you now?"
"Thousand yards, Commodore. And no doubt about it. Lifeship Number One."
"You stay on, Logan, and give us a rundown."
"Yes, sir. Not much to tell, you know. But I'm closing in."
The scout craft pilot went on and on, mostly filling in with
inconsequential details of how he was closing in, jockeying to parallel
the lifeship's course and speed, and finally making a space approach.
At last he said, "They're on radio, Commodore Wilson. I'll relay as
I get it. Too bad these crates aren't fixed to patch-cord the short
range radio to the infrawave. I--" Pilot Logan went on to rattle off
the names of the men aboard the lifeship, stopping once to reconfirm a
pronunciation.
"Where's the pilot, and the other two? Miss Hemingway and Mr. Andrews?"
"They must be in Lifeship Three," said Logan. "That's a guess.
Er--Commodore Wilson, I'm within a couple of hundred yards of them now
and they're waving out through the astrodome at me. I'm about to toss
out a light bomb. Or has anybody got a radar fix on me?"
"Better toss out the light bomb. Also radiate radio on the finding
frequency. Hatch!"
"Hatch here."
"Hatch, send out a cruiser class thataway and pick 'em up."
Hatch laughed in a brittle tone. "It's been on its way for six minutes,
Commodore. Half of our job is done!"
Wilson said, "Good!" and closed his mike. Half of the job was done, but
it was, as far as Ted Wilson was concerned, the lesser half. He wanted
the lifeship that sheltered Alice Hemingway.
Three hundred ships combing the spaceways with magnetic detectors and
radar and eyesight. One ship combing God-knows-what with a half-cooked
infrawave gizmo in which nobody had any confidence. One-half of the job
done on what was as much a fluke of luck as good management.
And out there in the awful dark Alice was trapped in a space can with
a happy-go-lucky hulk of a pilot who lacked the drive and ambition to
buck for his own command, no matter how deeply mortgaged, and a small,
wiry ruler of industry who bought what he could not command, and knew
no more about spacing than Aunt Agatha's pet Siamese tomcat.
Wilson laughed bitterly. A-spacing she had wanted. Now she had it.
Pictures went through Wilson's mind. A picture of Charles Andrews
comforting Alice by the force of his personal drive, confident that
money could buy anything, including rescue from space. Andrews calming
her fears and--it must be chill in the lifeship by now--bringing her
the animal comfort of warmth, and offering to take care of her. His
wispy arms about her, his bony hands caressing her as he held her head
on his shoulder, his--
This picture was replaced by the vision of big indolent collar-ad Pilot
Jock Norton. He would be taking over because he alone in that lifeship
knew what spacing was all about. Mentally, Wilson could see Andrews a
little hysterical because the financier was out of his element, and
Norton taking over completely. Maybe Andrews had succumbed to some
nervous affliction because of the strain.
Norton would be calming Alice's fears and confidently predicting
rescue, and proposing that they combine the interrelated factors of
the conservation of heat and the passage of time by indulging in
exploratory dalliance. Wilson could even envision Alice, not entirely
convinced that they would ever be rescued, agreeing because she would
be unwilling to die without having reached the pinnacle of emotion.
That picture was even more distasteful, but it was replaced by another
in which Charles Andrews was making the gesture. Where Norton had youth
and masculine appeal, Andrews had the suave manner and the smooth
experience of his years. Some fast talk and a few vague promises, to
say nothing of some well-calculated suggestions, and Alice would--
* * * * *
Wilson tried to shut that notion out of his mind, but it went on and on
and on.
And on.
Only one thing made this series of pictures bearable at all. Thank God
Alice was aboard that lifeship with two men instead of one. Especially
two men who could not help but find one another deficient in something
or other.
Then the third or fourth vision came. Norton and Andrews might
possibly, due to their precarious position, settle their differences in
basic nature and come to an agreement.
They might be taking turns!
Ted Wilson gritted his teeth and tried to get deeply interested in the
search grid.
It was nine days old....
Alice looked up with a startled expression as Jock Norton came through
the ladder hatch into the central cabin of the lifeship.
"But isn't--ah--aren't you--" She let her voice trail away because she
didn't quite know how to finish.
He laughed. "I put enough reserve in the tank to take care of the
elderly Napoleon. Look, Alice, I want to talk to you without his guff
on the side."
"About what?" she asked. "Or shouldn't I ask?" The recent shower and
tubbing of her underclothing had given the girl a feeling of confidence.
"About me. You. You and I. Us, you know."
"What can I say?"