I was down those steel steps, breathing like a spouting whale, in a
minute flat, and jumping out across the concrete, coal-smeared yard
toward the moored launches. Quickly enough, I guess, but with nothing
at all to spare, because although I hadn't seen anyone there, there
was a guard.
He popped out of a doorway, blinking foolishly; and overhead the
guards at the conveyor belt were screaming at him. It took him a
second to figure out what was going on, and by that time I was in a
launch, cast off the rope, kicked it free, and fumbled for the
starting button.
It took me several seconds to realize that a rope was required, that
in fact there was no button; and by then I was floating yards away,
but the pudgy pop-eyed guard was also in a launch, and he didn't have
to fumble. He knew. He got his motor started a fraction of a second
before me, and there he was, coming at me, set to ram. Or so it
looked.
I wrenched at the wheel and brought the boat hard over; but he swerved
too, at the last moment, and brought up something that looked a little
like a spear and a little like a sickle and turned out to be a
boathook. I ducked, just in time. It sizzled over my head as he swung
and crashed against the windshield. Hunks of safety glass splashed out
over the forward deck, but better that than my head.
Boathooks, hey? I had a boathook too! If he didn't have another
weapon, I was perfectly willing to play; I'd been sitting and taking
it long enough and I was very much attracted by the idea of fighting
back. The guard recovered his balance, swore at me, fought the wheel
around and came back.
We both curved out toward the center of the East River in intersecting
arcs. We closed. He swung first. I ducked--
And from a crouch, while he was off balance, I caught him in the
shoulder with the hook.
He made a mighty splash.
I throttled down the motor long enough to see that he was still
conscious.
"_Touche_, buster," I said, and set course for the return trip down
around the foot of Manhattan, back toward the _Queen_.
* * * * *
It took a while, but that was all right; it gave everybody a nice long
time to get plastered. I sneaked aboard, carrying Arthur, and turned
him over to Vern. Then I rejoined the Major. He was making an
inspection tour of the ship--what he called an inspection, after his
fashion.