The die was cast, and the yoke fitted, ever so snugly but firmly,
across mankind's back, while he cheered the fitting.
Captain Nails Andersen sat stunned at his console.
The communications officer sat back, paying little attention to the
board before him, a light smirk on his face.
But the smirk dropped from his face suddenly. Rising over the
background chatter of the radio announcements from U.N. Headquarters,
came loudly over the ship general intercom the voice of Major Steve
Elbertson, counting down through the list of Security personnel.
He, too, sat stunned until, as the voice ended "This is war," he came
to, stood up needle gun in hand, pointed at the captain.
"I don't know how your slipstick boys cracked our code and picked that
message up," he said, "and I don't really care. As you heard, the
major has ordered me to take command of the bridge. I hereby do so."
Coming through the bulkhead were two more Security men, each with a
needle gun. His gun unwaveringly pointed at the captain, Com Officer
Clark reached down and flipped the red switch that turned off the
power to all of the ship intercoms.
* * * * *
On board Hot Rod, the Security crew was working against an accelerated
time-schedule now. The aiming controls of Hot Rod's big mirror were
infinitely precise--and correspondingly slow. As soon as the storage
power supply had been wired into the big weapon--a precise operation,
requiring both skill and time--the factors had been keyed in that
would bring the mirror in an arc, turning it to bear precisely on that
area of space through which the passenger spokes of the wheel turned;
but the motion of the mirror was infinitesimally slow.
As the crew of Hot Rod strove to get it into position to fire; and the
computer on the wheel strove to precess the wheel to a position where
firing would be fatal to the firer, it became a race between giant
snails.
But already the rim of the big wheel had inched slightly ahead in the
race; and the main part of the hub was disappearing behind it. In
spite of Elbertson's orders, the big wheel continued to turn its rim
directly towards the giant balloon with its bulbous nose.
It was a curious sensation, seeing the big wheel from this angle.
Much the same sensation as that of an ant, staring at the oncoming
wheel of a huge truck.
* * * * *
In the machine shop, Mike was rummaging around in one of the tool
lockers. "Any sort of a small telescope," he muttered, almost to
himself. Then "Paul, is there a theodolite or anything like that left
lying around in here?"
"Yes," said Paul, moving off to a cabinet in another part of the room.
"We needed them when we were putting the wheel together."
"O.K." Mike turned back to the laser milling machine. "Now can we take
the focusing lens off of this, and rig something to give me a focus at
about 4.5 miles? Or would it need focusing at all? Shooting at that
distance?"
"Depends on what you shoot, Mike. The unfocused beam can make a black
surface very hot very quick. But from a mirror surface, it would just
bounce, unless it's carefully focused."
"It ought to take care of the plastic at least, then."
"Go right through it. You gonna laser Hot Rod?"
"No. Just the anchor tubes that hold the mirror; and maybe a slash
through the nitrogen tank at the back. Here, make me a bracket to fit
these two things together, so I can see what I'm aiming at." He handed
the theodolite telescope and the laser milling-head to Paul.
"How much of the machine do I have to take to power that
milling-head?" he asked Tombu.
"Oh, most of it's just control circuits. This box on the back is the
power supply. Plugs right in to ship's power."
"Hey!" Mike called over to Paul now busy constructing a bracket. "Make
that bracket to hold this power supply, too. Oh, and round me up about
sixty feet of extension cord, Tombu."
"But, Mike, how are you going to get out there?" Millie's voice was
concerned. "They've probably got men all over the place out here on
the rim. If you try to go through the corridor towards an emergency
lock, they'll have you sure with their needle guns. You heard
Elbertson delegate three men to kill you!"
"I expect I can find a place where they aren't." And picking up the
Security radio from the intercom bench, he turned it on and spoke into
it.
"Elbertson, this is Mike Blackhawk. You now have twenty minutes to
surrender," and he cut off.
Mike turned to Tombu. "Get me some plastic wrapping material.
Preferably a plastic bag. I've got to make this stuff waterproof."
When the power supply, telescope, milling head and extension cord were
rigged and carefully wrapped in plastic to make a waterproof package,
he attached them with a shoulder rope.
"Too bad we didn't make a lock in the wall right here," he muttered.
"But I don't suppose the Security guards will be guarding those empty
labs over in the R-12 sector. Guess I'm going for a swim now." And
with that, Mike reached down and carefully removed the inspection
plate from one of the floor tanks, and lowered himself over the edge
into the racing waters.
Hanging there with one hand, he carefully pulled his plastic bag into
position beside and slightly behind his body, and let go. Instantly he
was sucked away into the subdued blue fluorescent-lighted glow of the
waters of the rim.
"Glad they figured these planktons need light," he thought to himself.
"I'd have a time finding where I'm going in the dark."
Forty-five seconds later, he reached up and snatched at a passing
hand-hold, next to a plate marked with the numbers of the lab he
sought.
Wrenching the handle of the inspection plate and pushing it free, he
climbed out into the deserted lab; made his way out into the corridor,
his unwieldy package hanging to his shoulder and runlets of water
making a trail behind him--and stepped into the nearby emergency lock.
In the lock he quickly donned one of the emergency spacesuits that
hung there, gathered up his bundle again, and stepped out on the
catwalk of the inner part of the rim, under the brilliant night sky at
the moment, but turning towards its "sunrise." He opened his plastic
package.
"Major Elbertson," he said, turning on the Security radio, "you now
have five minutes to surrender."
Attaching his suit to the guideline nearby, part of the rim's
"hairnet," he crept out over the inside edge of the rim. From this
position he had a full view of the glowing bubble that was Hot Rod for
the few seconds until the movement of the rim took him past the
"sunrise" point and turned him sunwards.
Last time Mike had been out on the rim, the wheel had not been
turning. There'd been no reference of up and down, other than the rim
itself as an oddly curved floor. Now he felt disoriented. The wheel
was spinning, the hub, therefore, seemed "up." And from the edge of
the rim where he clung to its hairnet, all directions were down.
* * * * *
The stars seemed to sweep beneath his feet and over his head; and
though it was a slow pattern, only twice as fast as the crawl of a
second hand around the face of a clock, it was, nevertheless,
disorienting.
Bracing himself carefully into the net, with his back wedged firmly
against the rim, he adjusted his bizarre "gun" to rest on his knees so
that he could sight in the direction that was, to his body's senses,
straight down.
Not at all, he thought, like trying to shoot fish in a barrel. More
like being the fish and trying to shoot the people outside the barrel.
Back in the shadow again. Not really shadow where he sat, but the rim
around him, below him, and curving away from him, had disappeared in
its brief nightside, and there came Hot Rod again. Carefully he
tracked it; then putting his eye to the scope he focused briefly on
one of the high-pressure supporting tubes that formed the rigid
structure from which the aiming mirror was held in place.
And fired.
The tube burst, noiselessly but quite spectacularly. And the mirror
itself shuddered shook, as the tube's gases escaped.
Now he was in bright sunlight again, quickly closing his eyes as the
sun itself looked full into his vision, and slowly passed to be
following by Earth, to be followed by a blank stretch of starry space,
and here again was Hot Rod.
Carefully he tracked another of the supporting tubes.
And fired.
And again a spectacular, writhing collapse--and this time, the mirror
fell free, supported by only two tubes, and permanently out of focus,
incapable of aiming the monster beam.
This time, Hot Rod was definitely secure from the misapplication of
Security.
"Three minutes," he spoke into the radio. "Your weapon is dead. My
next shot will be through the nitrogen tank at your air-lock. I
wouldn't advise you to be there."
The wheel turned once more, as the radio came alive from the other
end.
"Mr. Blackhawk, do you realize that what you are doing constitutes
mutiny in space and will be dealt with accordingly on Earth? I have
officially taken control of Hot Rod at the command of my superiors in
the new U.N. Security Control Command."
Mike didn't bother to answer. As the wheel turned him towards Hot Rod
again, he said into the radio, "Two minutes."
Elbertson's voice came again. "With this new weapon we control Earth.
Don't you realize that you can't stand up against the new people's
government of Earth?"