"I could describe her," said Jordan. "But why, when a name will do at
least as well?"
"Nona!" said Docchi. He slumped in sudden relief against the wall.
"How did she get in the ship?"
"A good question," said Jordan. "Remind me to ask her that sometime
when she's able to answer. But since I don't know, I'll have to use my
imagination. My guess is that, after she jammed the lights and
scanners in the rocket dome, she walked to the ship and tapped the
passenger lock three times in the right places, or something just as
improbable. The lock opened for her whether it was supposed to or
not."
"As good a guess as any," agreed Docchi.
"We may as well make our assumptions complete. Once inside, she felt
tired. She found a comfortable cabin and fell asleep in it. She
remained asleep throughout our skirmish with the geepees."
"She deserves a rest," said Docchi.
"She does. But if she had waited a few minutes to take it, she'd have
saved you the trouble of crawling through the tubes."
"She did her part and more," Docchi argued. "We depend too much on
her. Next we'll expect her to escort us personally to the stars." He
straightened up. "Let's go. Anti is waiting for us."
The cargo hold was sizable. It had to be to contain the tank, battered
and twisted though it was. Equipment had been jarred from storage
racks and lay in tangled heaps on the floor.
"Anti!" called Docchi.
"Here."
"Are you hurt?"
"Never felt a thing," came the cheerful reply.
* * * * *
Jordan scaled the side of the tank. He reached the top and peered
over. "She seems all right," he called down. "Part of the acid's gone.
Otherwise no damage."
Damage enough, however. Acid was a matter of life for Anti. It had
been splashed from the tank and, where it had spilled, metal was
corroding rapidly. The wall against which the tank had crashed was
bent and partly eaten through. That was no reason for alarm; the
scavenging system of the ship would handle acid. The real question was
what to do for Anti.
"I've stewed in this soup for years," said Anti. "Get me out of here."
"How?"
"If you weren't as stupid as doctors pretend to be, you'd know how. No
gravity, of course. I've got muscles, more than you think. I can walk
as long as my bones don't break from the weight."
No gravity would be rough on Docchi; having no arms, he would be
virtually helpless. The prospect of floating free without being able
to grasp something was terrifying.
"As soon as we can manage it," he said, forcing down his fear. "First
we've got to drain and store the acid."
Jordan had anticipated that. He'd swung off the tank and was busy
expelling the water from an auxiliary compartment into space. As soon
as the compartment was empty, he led a hose from it to the tank.
The pumps sucked and the acid level fell slowly.
Docchi felt the ship lurch familiarly. "Hurry," he called out to
Jordan.
The gravital unit was acting up. Presumably it was getting ready to
cut out. If it did--well, a free-floating globe of acid would be as
destructive to the ship and those in it as a high velocity meteor
cluster.
Jordan jammed the lever as far as it would go and held it there. "All
out," said Jordan presently, and let the hose roll back into the wall.
Done in plenty of time. The gravital unit remained in operation for a
full minute.
As soon as she was weightless, Anti rose out of the tank.
In all the time Docchi had known her, he had seen no more than a face
framed in blue acid. Periodic surgery, where it was necessary, had
trimmed the flesh from her face. For the rest, she lived submerged in
a corrosive liquid that destroyed the wild tissue as fast as it grew.
Or nearly as fast.
Docchi averted his eyes.
"Well, junkman, look at a real monster," snapped Anti.
* * * * *
Humans were not meant to grow that large. But it was not obscene to
Docchi, merely unbelievable. Jupiter is not repulsive because it is
the bulging giant of planets; it is overwhelming, and so was Anti.
"How will you live out of the acid?" he stammered.
"How really unobservant some men are," said Anti loftily. "I
anticipated our little journey and prepared for it. If you look
closely, you will notice I have on a special surgery robe. It's the
only thing in the Solar System that will fit me. It's fabricated from
a spongelike substance and holds enough acid to last me about
thirty-six hours."
She grasped a rail and propelled herself toward the corridor. Normally
that was a spacious passageway. For her it was a close fit.
Satellites, one glowing and the other swinging in an eccentric orbit,
followed after her.
* * * * *
Nona was standing before the instrument panel when they came back.
There was an impressive array of dials, lights and levers in front of
her, but she wasn't interested in these. A single small dial, separate
from the rest, held her complete attention. She seemed disturbed by
what she saw or didn't see. Disturbed or excited, it was difficult to
say which.
Anti stopped. "Look at her. If I didn't know she's a freak like the
rest of us, the only one, in fact, who was born that way, it would be
easy to hate her--she's so disgustingly normal."
Normal? True and yet not true. Surgical techniques that could take a
body apart and put it back together again with a skill once reserved
for the repair of machines had made beauty commonplace. No more
sagging muscles, wrinkles; even the aged were attractive and
youthful-seeming until the day they died. No more ill-formed limbs,
misshapen bodies. Everyone was handsome or beautiful. No exceptions.
None to speak of, at least.
The accidentals didn't belong, of course. In another day most of them
would have been candidates for a waxworks or the formaldehyde of a
specimen bottle.
Nona fitted neither category; she wasn't a repair job. Looking at her
closely--and why not?--she was an original work as far from the normal
in one direction as Anti, for example, was in the other.
"Why is she staring at the little dial?" asked Anti as the others
slipped past her and came into the compartment. "Is there something
wrong with it?" She shrugged. "I would be interested in the big dials.
The ones with colored lights."
"That's Nona." Docchi smiled. "I'm sure she's never been in the
control room of a rocket before, and yet she went straight to the most
curious thing in it. She's looking at the gravital indicator. Directly
behind it is the gravital unit."
"How do you know? Does it say so?"
"It doesn't. You have to be trained to recognize it, or else be Nona."
Anti dismissed that intellectual feat. "What are you waiting for? You
know she can't hear us. Go stand in front of her."
"How do I get there?" Docchi had risen a few inches from the floor,
now that Jordan had released him from his grip.
"A good engineer would have enough sense to put on magneslippers. Nona
did." Anti grasped his jacket. How she was able to move was uncertain.
The tissues that surrounded the woman were too vast to permit the
perception of individual motions. Nevertheless, she proceeded to the
center of the compartment, and with her came Docchi.
Nona turned before they reached her.
"My poor boy," sighed Anti. "You do a very bad job of concealing your
emotions, if that's what you're trying to do. Anyway, stop glowing
like a rainbow and say something."
"Hello," said Docchi.
Nona smiled at him, though it was Anti that she came to.
"No, not too close, child. Don't touch the surgery robe unless you
want your pretty face to peel off like a plastiwrapper."
Nona stopped; she said nothing.
Anti shook her head hopelessly. "I wish you would learn to read lips
or at least recognize written words. It's so difficult to communicate
with you."
"She knows facial expressions and actions, I think," said Docchi.
"She's good at emotions. Words are a foreign concept to her."
"What other concepts does anyone think with?" asked Anti dubiously.
"Maybe mathematical relationships," answered Docchi. "Though she
doesn't. They've tested her for that." He frowned. "I don't know what
concepts she does think with. I wish I did."
"Save some of that worry and apply it to our present situation," said
Anti. "The object of your concern doesn't seem to be interested in
it."
That was true. Nona had wandered back and was staring at the gravital
indicator again. What she saw to hold her attention was a puzzle.
In some ways she seemed irresponsible and childlike. That was an
elusive thought, though: whose child? Not really, of course. Her
parents were obscure technicians and mechanics, descendants of a long
line of mechanics and technicians. The question he had asked himself
was this: where and how does she belong? He couldn't answer.
With an effort Docchi came back to reality. "We appealed to the
Medicouncil," he said. "We asked for a ship to go to the nearest star.
It would have to be a rocket, naturally. Even allowing for a better
design than any we now have, the journey would take a long time, forty
or fifty years going and the same length of time back. That's entirely
too long for a normal, but it wouldn't matter to a biocompensator."
"Why a rocket?" interrupted Jordan. "Why not some form of gravity
drive?"
"An attractive idea," admitted Docchi. "Theoretically, there's no
limit to gravity drive except light speed, and even that's not
certain. If it would work, the time element could be cut to a
fraction. But the last twenty years have proved that gravity drives
won't work at all outside the Solar System. They function very poorly
even when the ship is as far out as Jupiter's orbit."
"I thought the gravity drive on a ship was nearly the same as the
gravital unit on the asteroid," said Jordan. "Why won't they
function?"
"I don't know why," answered Docchi impatiently. "If I did, I wouldn't
be marooned on Handicap Haven. Arms or no arms, biocompensator or not,
I'd be the most important scientist on Earth."
"With a multitude of pretty women competing for your affections,"
added Anti.
"I think he'd settle for one. A certain one," suggested Jordan.
"Poor, unimaginative boy," said Anti. "In my youth...."
"We've heard about your youth," said Jordan.
"Youth and love are long since past, for both of you. Talk about them
privately if you want, but not now." Docchi glowered at them.
"Anyway," he resumed, "gravity drive is out. One time they had hopes
for it, but no longer. It should be able to drive this ship. Actually,
its sole function is to provide an artificial gravity _inside_ the
ship, for passenger comfort. So rocket ship it is. That's what we
asked for. The Medicouncil refused. Therefore we're going to appeal to
a higher authority."
"Fine," said Anti. "How?"
"We've discussed it," answered Docchi. "Ultimately the Medicouncil is
responsible to the Solar Government. And in turn--"
"All right, I'm in favor of it," said Anti. "I just wanted to know."
"Mars is closer," continued Docchi. "But Earth is the seat of
government. As soon as we get there...." He stopped suddenly and
listened.
Anti listened with him and waited until she could stand it no longer.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "I don't hear anything."
Jordan leaned forward in his seat and looked at the instrument panel.
"That's the trouble, Anti. You're not supposed to hear anything. But
you should be able to _feel_ the vibration from the rocket exhaust, as
long as it's on."
"I don't feel anything, either."
"Yeah," said Jordan. He looked at Docchi. "There's plenty of fuel."
* * * * *
Momentum of the ship didn't cease when the rockets stopped, of course.
They were still moving, but not very fast and not in the direction
they wanted to go. Gingerly Docchi tried out the magneslippers; he
was clumsy, but no longer helpless in the gravityless ship. He stared
futilely at the instruments as if he could wring more secrets than the
panel had electronic access to.
"It's mechanical trouble of some sort," he said uneasily. "There's one
way of finding out."
Before he could move, Anti was in the corridor that led away from the
control compartment.
"Stay here, Anti," he said. "I'll see what's wrong."
She reached nearly from the floor to the ceiling. She missed by scant
inches the sides of the passageway. Locomotion was easy enough for
her; turning around wasn't. Anti didn't turn.
"Look, honey," her voice floated back. "You brought me along for the
ride. That's fine, but I'm not satisfied with it. I want to earn my
fare. You stay and run the ship because you know how and I don't. I'll
find out what's wrong."
"But you won't know what to do, Anti." There was no answer. "All
right," he said in defeat. "Both of us ought to go. Jordan, you stay
at the controls."
Anti led the way because Docchi couldn't get around her. Determinedly
he shuffled along. There was a trick to magneslippers that he had
nearly forgotten. Slowly it was coming back to him--shuffle instead of
striding.
It was a dingy, poorly lighted passageway in an older ship. Handicap
Haven definitely didn't rate the best equipment that was produced. On
one side was the hull of the ship; on the other, a few small cabins.
None were occupied. Anti stopped. The passageway ended in a cross
corridor that led to the other side of the ship.
"We'd better check the stern rocket tubes," he said, still unable to
see around her. "Open it up and we'll take a look."
"I can't," said Anti. "There are handles, but the thing won't open.
There's a red light, too. Does that mean anything?"
His heart sank. "It does. Don't try to open it. With your strength,
you might be unlucky enough to do it."
"That's a man for you," said Anti sharply. "First he wants me to open
it, and then he tells me not to."
"There's a vacuum in there. The combustion cap has been retracted.
That's the only thing that will actuate the warning signal. You'd die
in a few seconds if you somehow managed to open the lock to the rocket
compartment."
"What are we waiting for? Let's get busy and fix it."
"Sure, fix it. You see, Anti, that didn't happen by itself. Someone,
or something, was responsible."
"Who?"
"Did you see anyone when we were loading your tank in the ship?"
"Nothing. I heard Cameron shouting, a lot of noise. All I could see
was what was directly overhead. What does that have to do with it?"
"I think it has to do with a geepee. I thought they all dropped
outside. Maybe there was one that didn't."
"Why a geepee?" she asked blankly.
"In the first place, no man is strong enough to move the combustion
cap. But if he should somehow manage to exert super-human effort, as
soon as the cap cleared the tubes, rocket action would cease. The air
in the compartment would exhaust into space and anyone in there would
die."
"So we have a dead geepee in there."
"A geepee doesn't die. Not even become inactive; it doesn't need air."
Docchi tried to think the thing through. "Not only that, a geepee
might be able to escape from the compartment. The lock would close as
soon as the pressure dropped. But a geepee...."
Anti settled down grimly. "Then there's a geepee on the loose, intent
on sabotage?"
"I'm afraid so," he admitted worriedly.
"What are we standing here for? We'll go back to controls and pick up
the robot on radio. What it damaged, it can repair." She was partly
turned around now and saw Docchi's face. "Don't tell me," she said. "I
suppose I should have thought of it. The signal doesn't work inside
the ship."
Docchi nodded. "It doesn't. Robots are never used aboard, so the
control is set in the bow antenna and the ship, of course, is
insulated."
"Well," said Anti happily, "we've got a robot hunt ahead of us."
"We do. And our bare hands to hunt it with."
"Oh, come now! It's not as bad as all that. Look, the geepee was back
here when the rockets stopped. Could it get by the control compartment
without our seeing it?"
"It couldn't. There are two corridors leading through the compartment,
one on each side of the ship."
"That's what I thought. We came down one corridor and no geepee was in
it. It has to be in the other. If it goes into a cabin, a light will
shine on the outside. It can't really hide from us."
"Sure, we'll find out where it is. But what are we going to do with it
when we find it?"
"I was thinking," said Anti. "Can you get around me when I'm standing
like this?"
"I can't."
"Neither can a geepee. All I need is a toaster, or something that
looks like one, and I can drive the robot into the control compartment
for Jordan to pick off." Determinedly, she began to move toward the
opposite corridor. "Hurry back to Jordan and tell him what we're
doing. There ought to be another toaster on the ship. Probably there's
one somewhere in the control compartment. Bring it back to me."
Docchi bit his lip and stared at the back of the huge woman. "All
right," he answered. "But stay where you are. Don't try anything until
I get back."
Anti laughed. "I value my big, fat life," she said. There were other
things she valued, but she didn't mention them.
Docchi went as fast as the magneslippers would allow, which wasn't
very fast. The strategy was simple, but it didn't follow that it was
sound--a toaster for Jordan and one for Anti, if another could be
found.
Anti would block the corridor. A geepee might go through her, but it
could never squeeze past her. The robot would have to run for it. If
it came toward Anti, she might be able to burn it down. But she would
be firing directly into the control room. If she missed even
partially--
The instruments were delicate.
It wasn't better if Jordan got the chance to bring down the robot.
Anti would be in the line of fire. No, that wasn't good, either.
They'd have to think of something else.
"Jordan," called Docchi as he entered the control compartment. Jordan
wasn't there. Nona was, still gazing serenely at the gravity
indicator.
Lights were streaming from the corridor on the opposite side of the
compartment. Docchi hurried over. Jordan was just inside the entrance,
the toaster clutched grimly in his hand. He was hitching his truncated
body slowly toward the stern.
Coming to meet him was Anti--unarmed, enormously fat Anti. She wasn't
walking; somehow it seemed more like swimming, a bulbous, flabby sea
animal moving through the air. She waved her fins against the wall and
propelled herself forward.
"Melt him down!" she cried.
It was difficult to make out the vaguely human form of the geepee. The
powerful, shining body blended into the structure of the ship
itself--unintentional camouflage, though the robot wasn't aware of
that. It was crouched at the threshold of a cabin, hesitating between
the approaching dangers.
Jordan raised the weapon and as instantly lowered it. "Get out of the
way," he told Anti.
There was no place for her to go. She was too big to enter a cabin,
too massive to let the geepee squeeze by her even if she wanted it to.
"Never mind that. Get him," she answered.
A geepee was not a genius even by robot standards. It didn't need to
be. Heat is deadly; a human body is a fragile thing. This it knew. It
ran toward Anti. Unlike man, it didn't need magneslippers. It had
magnetic metal feet which could move fast, and did.
Docchi couldn't close his eyes, though he wanted to. He had to watch.
The geepee torpedoed into Anti. And it was the robot that was thrown
back. Relative mass favored the monstrous woman.
The electronic brain obeyed its original instructions, whatever those
were. It got to its feet and rushed toward Anti. Metal arms shot out
with dazzling speed and crashed against the flesh of the fat woman.
Docchi could hear the thud. No ordinary person could take that kind of
punishment and live.
Anti wasn't ordinary; she was strange, even for an accidental, living
far inside a deep armor of flesh. It was possible that she never felt
the crushing force of those blows. Amazingly, she grasped the robot
and drew it to her. And the geepee lost the advantage of leverage. The
bright arms didn't flash so fast nor with such lethal power.
"Gravity!" cried Anti. "All you've got!"
She leaned against the struggling machine.
Gravity. That was something he could do. Docchi turned, took two steps
before the surge of gravity hit him. It came in waves, the sequence of
which he was never able to disentangle. The first wave staggered him;
at the second his knees buckled and he sank to the floor. After that
his eardrums hurt. He thought he could feel the ship quiver. He knew
dazedly that an artificial gravity field of this magnitude was
impossible, but that knowledge didn't help him move.
It vanished as suddenly as it had come. Painfully his lungs expanded.
Each muscle ached. He rolled to his feet and lurched past Jordan.
He didn't find the mass of broken flesh he expected. Anti was already
standing.
"Oof!" she grunted and gazed with satisfaction at the twisted
grotesque shape at her feet. The electronic brain had been smashed,
the body flattened.
[Illustration]
"Are you hurt?" asked Docchi gently, awed.
She waggled the extremities of her body. "Nope, I can't feel anything
broken," she said solemnly. She moved back to get a better view of the
robot. "I'd call that throwing my weight around. At the right time, of
course. The secret's timing. And I must say you picked up your cue
with the gravity well." Her laughter rolled through the ship.
"It wasn't I," said Docchi.
"Jordan? No, he's just getting up. Then who?"
"Nona," said Docchi. "It had to be her. She saw what had to be done
and did it. But how she got that amount of gravity--"
"Ask her," said Anti with fond irony.
Docchi grimaced and limped back into the control room, followed by
Anti and Jordan. Nona was at the gravity panel, her face pleasant and
childlike.
"Gravity can be turned on or off," said Docchi puzzledly, searching
her face for some sign. "And regulated, within certain narrow limits.
But somehow you doubled or tripled the normal amount. How?"
Nona smiled questioningly.
"Gravity engineers would like to know that too," said Jordan.
"Everybody would like to know," Anti interrupted irritably. "Except
me. I'm too pragmatic, I suppose, but I want to know when we start the
rockets and be on our way."
"It isn't that easy," sighed Jordan. "A retracted combustion cap in
flight generally means at least one burned-out tube." He made his way
to the instrument panel and looked at it glumly. "Three."
"A factor." Docchi nodded. "But I was thinking about the robot."