"Probably," said Blades. "Fun, huh?"
"You can't do this."
"We can try."
"Do you know what you're talking about? Insurrection, that's what.
Quite likely piracy. Even if your scheme worked, you'd spend the next
ten years in Rehab--at least."
"Maybe, provided the matter ever came to trial. But it won't."
"That's what you think. You're asking me to compound the felony, and
misappropriate the property of my owners to boot." Janichevski shook
his head. "Sorry, Mike. I'm sorry as hell about this mess. But I won't
be party to making it worse."
"In other words," Blades replied, "you'd rather be party to sabotage.
I'm proposing an act of legitimate self-defense."
"_If_ there actually is a conspiracy to destroy the Station."
"Adam, you're a spaceman. You know how the Navy operates. Can you
swallow that story about a missile getting loose by accident?"
Janichevski bit his lip. The sounds from outside filled the captain's
cabin, voices, footfalls, whirr of machines and clash of doors, as the
_Pallas Castle_ readied for departure. Blades waited.
"You may be right," said Janichevski at length, wretchedly. "Though
why Hulse should jeopardize his career--"
"He's not. There's a scapegoat groomed back home, you can be sure.
Like some company that'll be debarred from military contracts for a
while ... and get nice fat orders in other fields. I've kicked around
the System enough to know how that works."
"If you're wrong, though ... if this is an honest blunder ... then you
risk committing treason."
"Yeah. I'll take the chance."
"Not I. No. I've got a family to support," Janichevski said.
Blades regarded him bleakly. "If the Essjays get away with this stunt,
what kind of life will your family be leading, ten years from now?
It's not simply that we'll be high-class peons in the Belt. But tied
hand and foot to a shortsighted government, how much progress will we
be able to make? Other countries have colonies out here too, remember,
and some of them are already giving their people a freer hand than
we've got. Do you want the Asians, or the Russians, or even the
Europeans, to take over the asteroids?"
"I can't make policy."
"In other words, mama knows best. Believe, obey, anything put out by
some bureaucrat who never set foot beyond Luna. Is that your idea of
citizenship?"
"You're putting a mighty fine gloss on bailing yourself out!"
Janichevski flared.
"Sure, I'm no idealist. But neither am I a slave," Blades hesitated.
"We've been friends too long, Adam, for me to try bribing you. But if
worst comes to worst, we'll cover for you ... somehow ... and if
contrariwise we win, then we'll soon be hiring captains for our own
ships and you'll get the best offer any spaceman ever got."
"No. Scram. I've work to do."
Blades braced himself. "I didn't want to say this. But I've already
informed a number of my men. They're as mad as I am. They're waiting
in the terminal. A monkey wrench or a laser torch makes a pretty fair
weapon. We can take over by force. That'll leave you legally in the
clear. But with so many witnesses around, you'll have to prefer
charges against us later on."
Janichevski began to sweat.
"We'll be sent up," said Blades. "But it will still have been worth
it."
"Is it really that important to you?"
"Yes. I admit I'm no crusader. But this is a matter of principle."
Janichevski stared at the big red-haired man for a long while.
Suddenly he stiffened. "O.K. On that account, and no other, I'll go
along with you."
Blades wobbled on his feet, near collapse with relief. "Good man!" he
croaked.
"But I will not have any of my officers or crew involved."
Blades rallied and answered briskly, "You needn't. Just issue orders
that my boys are to have access to the scoopships. They can install
the equipment, jockey the boats over to the full balloons, and even
couple them on."
Janichevski's fears had vanished once he made his decision, but now a
certain doubt registered. "That's a pretty skilled job."
"These are pretty skilled men. It isn't much of a maneuver, not like
making a Jovian sky dive."
"Well, O.K., I'll take your word for their ability. But suppose the
_Altair_ spots those boats moving around?"
"She's already several hundred kilometers off, and getting farther
away, running a search curve which I'm betting my liberty--and my
honor; I certainly don't want to hurt my own country's Navy--I'm
betting that search curve is guaranteed not to find the missile in
time. They'll spot the _Pallas_ as you depart--oh, yes, our people
will be aboard as per orders--but no finer detail will show in so
casual an observation."
"Again, I'll take your word. What else can I do to help?"
"Nothing you weren't doing before. Leave the piratics to us. I'd
better get back." Blades extended his hand. "I haven't got the words
to thank you, Adam."
Janichevski accepted the shake. "No reason for thanks. You dragooned
me." A grin crossed his face. "I must confess though, I'm not sorry
you did."
* * * * *
Blades left. He found his gang in the terminal, two dozen engineers
and rockjacks clumped tautly together.
"What's the word?" Carlos Odonaju shouted.
"Clear track," Blades said. "Go right aboard."
"Good. Fine. I always wanted to do something vicious and destructive,"
Odonaju laughed.
"The idea is to prevent destruction," Blades reminded him, and
proceeded toward the office.
Avis met him in Corridor Four. Her freckled countenance was distorted
by a scowl. "Hey, Mike, wait a minute," she said, low and hurriedly.
"Have you seen La Ziska?"
"The leftenant? Why, no. I left her with you, remember, hoping you
could calm her down."
"Uh-huh. She was incandescent mad. Called us a pack of bandits
and--But then she started crying. Seemed to break down completely. I
took her to your cabin and went back to help Jimmy. Only, when I
checked there a minute ago, she was gone."
"What? Where?"
"How should I know? But that she-devil's capable of anything to wreck
our chances."
"You're not being fair to her. She's got an oath to keep."
"All right," said Avis sweetly. "Far be it from me to prevent her
fulfilling her obligations. Afterward she may even write you an
occasional letter. I'm sure that'll brighten your Rehab cell no end."
"What can she do?" Blades argued, with an uneasy sense of whistling in
the dark. "She can't get off the asteroid without a scooter, and I've
already got Sam's gang working on all the scooters."
"Is there no other possibility? The radio shack?"
"With a man on duty there. That's out." Blades patted the girl's arm.
"O.K., I'll get back to work. But ... I'll be so glad when this is
over, Mike!"
Looking into the desperate brown eyes, Blades felt a sudden impulse to
kiss their owner. But no, there was too much else to do. Later,
perhaps. He cocked a thumb upward. "Carry on."
_Too bad about Ellen_, he thought as he continued toward his office.
_What an awful waste, to make a permanent enemy of someone with her
kind of looks. And personality--Come off that stick, you clabberhead!
She's probably the marryin' type anyway._
_In her shoes, though, what would I do? Not much; they'd pinch my
feet. But--damnation, Avis is right. She's not safe to have running
around loose. The radio shack? Sparks is not one of the few who've
been told the whole story and co-opted into the plan. She could_--
Blades cursed, whirled, and ran.
His way was clear. Most of the men were still in their dorms,
preparing to leave. He traveled in huge low-gravity leaps.
The radio shack rose out of the surface near the verandah. Blades
tried the door. It didn't budge. A chill went through him. He backed
across the corridor and charged. The door was only plastiboard--
He hit with a thud and a grunt, and rebounded with a numbed shoulder.
But it looked so easy for the cops on 3V!
No time to figure out the delicate art of forcible entry. He hurled
himself against the panel, again and again, heedless of the pain that
struck in flesh and bone. When the door finally, splinteringly gave
way, he stumbled clear across the room beyond, fetched up against an
instrument console, recovered his balance, and gaped.
The operator lay on the floor, swearing in a steady monotone. He had
been efficiently bound with his own blouse and trousers, which
revealed his predilection for maroon shorts with zebra stripes. There
was a lump on the back of his head, and a hammer lay close by. Ellen
must have stolen the tool and come in here with the thing behind her
back. The operator would have had no reason to suspect her.
She had not left the sender's chair, not even while the door was under
attack. Only a carrier beam connected the Sword with the _Altair_. She
continued doggedly to fumble with dials and switches, trying to
modulate it and raise the ship.
"Praises be ... you haven't had advanced training ... in radio,"
Blades choked. "That's ... a long-range set ... pretty special
system--" He weaved toward her. "Come along, now."
She spat an unladylike refusal.
Theoretically, Blades should have enjoyed the tussle that followed.
But he was in poor shape at the outset. And he was a good deal worse
off by the time he got her pinioned.
"O.K.," he wheezed. "Will you come quietly?"
She didn't deign to answer, unless you counted her butting him in the
nose. He had to yell for help to frog-march her aboard ship.
* * * * *
"_Pallas Castle_ calling NASS _Altair_. Come in, _Altair_."
The great ovoid swung clear in space, among a million cold stars. The
asteroid had dwindled out of sight. A radio beam flickered across
emptiness. Within the hull, the crew and a hundred refugees sat jammed
together. The air was thick with their breath and sweat and waiting.
Blades and Chung, seated by the transmitter, felt another kind of
thickness, the pull of the internal field. Earth-normal weight dragged
down every movement; the enclosed cabin began to feel suffocatingly
small. _We'd get used to it again pretty quickly,_ Blades thought.
_Our bodies would, that is. But our own selves, tied down to Earth
forever--no._
The vision screen jumped to life. "NASS _Altair_ acknowledging _Pallas
Castle_," said the uniformed figure within.
"O.K., Charlie, go outside and don't let anybody else enter," Chung
told his own operator.
The spaceman gave him a quizzical glance, but obeyed. "I wish to
report that evacuation of the Sword is now complete," Chung said
formally.
"Very good, sir," the Navy face replied. "I'll inform my superiors."
"Wait, don't break off yet. We have to talk with your captain."
"Sir? I'll switch you over to--"
"None of your damned chains of command," Blades interrupted. "Get me
Rear Admiral Hulse direct, toot sweet, or I'll eat out whatever
fraction of you he leaves unchewed. This is an emergency. I've got to
warn him of an immediate danger only he can deal with."
The other stared, first at Chung's obvious exhaustion, then at the
black eye and assorted bruises, scratches, and bites that adorned
Blades' visage. "I'll put the message through Channel Red at once,
sir." The screen blanked.
"Well, here we go," Chung said. "I wonder how the food in Rehab is
these days."
"Want me to do the talking?" Blades asked. Chung wasn't built for
times as hectic as the last few hours, and was worn to a nubbin. He
himself felt immensely keyed up. He'd always liked a good fight.
"Sure." Chung pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pocket and began to
fill the cabin with smoke. "You have a larger stock of rudeness than
I."
[Illustration]
Presently the screen showed Hulse, rigid at his post on the bridge.
"Good day, gentlemen," he said. "What's the trouble?"
"Plenty," Blades answered. "Clear everybody else out of there; let
your ship orbit free a while. And seal your circuit."