"Adam!" Craig gasped. "It's us, Craig and Mary."
"Oh!" Craig heard Adam March breathe a sigh of relief. "It's a darned
good thing you spoke up. I almost let you have it."
"How--how did you get into the ship?"
"Through one of the discharge locks. I was coming along the passage
when I spotted you two coming. I didn't quite recognize you. What--what
was them danged things floating through the air behind you?"
Craig explained about the Sorodromes.
"I knew it was something like that, or worse, though I don't know what
the hell could be any worse! What are we going to do, Craig?"
"What _can_ we do?" Craig answered, desperation in his voice. "We've
got a military force here that is supposed to take care of creatures
like these--"
"Only, sometimes, it turns out that the ordinary citizens have got to
do the job the military was supposed to do, but didn't!" Bitterness
sounded in March's voice. "This is A deck, isn't it, the lowest deck in
the ship?"
"I suppose so. I don't know how many decks the _Andromeda_ has."
"Hmmm. And this storage room they've got us caught in is just inside
the main lock, isn't it. You come in through the main lock and go
straight down the passage and turn to the left and you're here. Isn't
that right?"
"I--I hardly noticed," Craig answered. He didn't add that he had too
many other things to think about to notice where they were being taken.
"That's right," Mary answered.
"If this is A deck--" the old man muttered. They heard him move away.
In the darkness he stumbled over a box and apologized to Mary for the
profanity. "Swear all you please, Adam," the girl said. "I'll swear
with you, if that will help. What are you trying to do?"
A light flared as the old man struck a match. He was down on his knees
against the far bulkhead. The match went out. Adam grunted. Metal
scraped in the darkness, thudded on the floor. A square opening was
revealed. Dim light came through it. Grunting with satisfaction, Adam
crawled through it. "Come on, you two," his voice came from the other
side.
They crawled through the opening and found themselves in what was
obviously one of the main holds. Adam March, the monkey wrench gripped
firmly in his hand, grinned at them.
"How did you know that opening was there?" Craig demanded.
"I kind of sensed it would be there."
"Sensed, hell! It strikes me that you know a devil of a lot about the
_Andromeda_. You knew how to get through a discharge port. You knew
where this opening was."
The old man blinked guileless eyes at him. "Do I? I'm just lucky, I
guess. We've got to figure out what we're going to do next."
"We'll get out of the ship and go straight to General Stanton," Mary
said.
"And what will we do when we get to the general?" Craig asked. "Tell
him about Filo and the Sorodromes? We'll get our heads examined by the
station doctors. By the time they have finished with us, the ship will
be gone. If anything is to be done, it has to be done right now."
"Why not let the ship go?" Mary argued. "All they've got is Nuoy and we
can sure stand to part with him."
"And have the Sorodromes come back at us, later, with all his power on
their side? Think again, Mary."
"But surely the general--"
"I'm afraid Craig's about right, Mary," old Adam interposed. "The
general is not a bad guy and he's not thick-headed, but he would need
some kind of evidence, something in the way of proof, before he would
believe any story we told him."
"The evidence is in an alcove just inside the main lock. I can point it
out to him."
"Yes, but who's going to pry Filo out of there?" Craig answered. "I've
got a hunch that Filo is not exactly helpless. If we break in on him,
all hell may break loose."
* * * * *
The door of the hold opened. A voice ordered, "Dump those boxes in
here, men."
They moved as if they had one mind, taking refuge behind the remnants
of stores that were still in the hold. Directed by a member of the
crew, a file of men entered, dumped their loads and trotted out.
"Grab a box," Craig whispered. "We'll walk out of here. If anybody
questions us, we're stowing cargo."
Each carrying a box, no one challenged them.
"I want to go to the main control room," Adam whispered. "I've got an
idea."
"Do you know the way?"
"Sure. Follow the ramps up." The old man moved with a sure stride
toward an inclined runway. They followed. Again Craig was struck with
the realization that Adam was very familiar with the ship. He led them
upward as if he knew exactly where he was going.
The crew moved along the corridors, preparing the ship for flight. They
seemed unperturbed by this sudden order to return to deep space. They
paid no attention to the three Pluto Station people who were carrying
boxes up the ramps.
No Sorodromes were in sight.
"They're all in their hidey-holes," Adam March muttered.
As they reached the landing on C deck, Captain Martin was coming out of
the quarters directly across from them. "I'm sure everything will be
all right," Captain Martin said to someone inside the quarters.
"It had better be," Nuoy's voice came from inside.
Martin came directly toward them. Craig had the impression that Adam
tried to turn his face toward the wall. Captain Martin glanced at the
old man. A startled expression flitted across his features. His mouth
opened, he started to speak. Then he seemed to change his mind very
quickly. He went past them as if he had never seen them.
As if a ghost were after him, Adam went up the last inclined ramp to D
deck.
The main control room was before them. They entered it, found it empty.
Above them, through the tough plastic of the observation dome, they
could see the girders of the hangar. All around them were the controls
by which the ship was directed in flight. In the middle of the room,
with all controls in easy reach, was a single huge chair. It was the
control center of the ship. Off in small rooms around the control room
were plotting centers where the position of the ship in space was
mapped. In one small room was a large three-dimensional globe of the
heavens.
The crew had not yet arrived in the control room.
Adam dropped his box, went quickly around the control, stopped in front
of the big chair, touched it, touched the controls with gentle fingers.
He seemed almost entranced by what he was seeing here.
"This is the heart of the whole ship," he mused. "Everything is
controlled from here. Power generation, power routing and supply, the
auxiliary drives, the main drives, the steering drives--"
"Are you interested in the control room?" a voice spoke behind them.
Adam spun, his hand grabbing for the wrench in his pocket. Captain
Martin stood just inside the doorway. There was a smile on his face but
his eyes were fathomless.
"Uh, dang it, where did you come from?"
"I'll be glad to show it to you," the captain continued. "Of course, we
don't have much time at the moment. Are you going to take the long hop
with us?" Polite interest sounded in the voice but under the interest
Craig sensed a seething emotional state.
"Why, uh, hadn't thought about it. Yes, we'll take the long hop if we
get the chance," Adam answered. He looked like a man in a fog groping
desperately for some familiar landmark.
Smiling, Captain Martin moved to him. "This is the control chair, sir.
The operator of the ship sits here. Information is relayed to him--"
Swiftly he explained the use of all of the controls. Then his voice
dropped to a whisper. "You haven't a chance to lick the Sorodromes.
I've tried for years, all of us have tried, and we have failed! Forget
it!" His voice rose again to normal tones. Politely he continued his
explanations of the operation of the controls. "I'll have plenty of
time to explain everything to you on the long hop," he ended.
"But--lad--" the old man's voice was a pleading whisper.
"You'll just get yourself killed," Captain Martin whispered. "Believe
me. I know what I am talking about."
"Well--uh--" Adam March seemed to choke up. "What chance have we got on
the long hop?" he whispered.
"Probably none," Captain Martin answered.
Adam's face worked. It twisted into a grimace as some inward torture
passed through him. "Well ... well, could...." His face lit up as if
the inner turmoil had suddenly been resolved by some deep insight.
"Could I stay here while the ship is taking off? Could I, Captain? I've
always dreamed of being on the bridge of one of the deep-space ships
like the _Andromeda_ while she went free.... It'll be all right, won't
it, Captain?" A pleading note crept into the voice. "I won't be in the
way at all."
Martin frowned, then shrugged. "Well, all right. You understand that
the crew will be busy with their duties?"
"Of course, Captain. I won't be in the way at all. You go on and take
care of your duties. Have you got clearance papers from the general
yet? Then you had better get them. Craig, you and Mary keep on lugging
freight."
"Clearance papers?" Martin said, exasperation in his voice. "It's been
so long since I've taken off from a Solar System port that--"
"The captain of the clearing ship has to apply in person for clearance
papers," Adam said. "I mention it, because you might have forgot.
That's the regulation."
"Damn!" Captain Martin said. "Well, if I must, I must."
* * * * *
Mary Kirkham and Craig Randall, the latter tremendously puzzled, were
already leaving the control room. "I don't understand it," Craig was
thinking, over and over again. "He knows too much--and seems to know
too little--there's a play going on here that is over my head--" He
shook his head, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
"What are we supposed to do, just go get more boxes?" Mary questioned.
"I don't know. Play along and wait for your cue. Something is going to
happen."
"But I don't want to make the big hop. I don't want to go--" Her voice
went into silence as Captain Martin fell into step beside them. The
Captain's face was utterly blank. He walked like a man in a deep daze,
like a zombie, like a man in a trance. Once his eyes flicked toward the
wall. Following the direction in which the captain had glanced, Craig
caught the vague outline of a door covering an alcove. Craig shuddered.
Now he understood one reason why Captain Martin might be walking like a
man in a trance. But were there other reasons?
It was obvious that the Sorodromes had almost perfect control over the
captain and the crew.
They moved down the ramps. Members of the crew met them, saluted,
continued with their duties. Men from the station were carrying
supplies into the huge ship. They approached the main lock.
Craig Randall felt his flesh crawl as he saw the section of the wall
that hid Filo of the Sorodromes. What if Filo was watching them? Craig
kept his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. He was walking like a man
in a trance himself, and he knew it. He held his breath, waiting for
the challenge of the voice from the air. It did not come. They passed
the hidden alcove; they passed through the lock; they were on the ramp
outside. Craig's suddenly furious breathing shook his lean frame to the
bones.
The bustle of the hangar was around them.
"Where will I get clearance?" Captain Martin muttered.
"Over there," Craig said, pointing.
They moved down the ramp. Craig stopped breathing again as a voice from
the ship's intercom system shouted from the lock behind them.
"ATTENTION, ALL HANDS."
The voice was an excellent imitation of Captain Martin. It spoke with
crisp authority and with sureness. It was a commanding voice. It caught
the attention of its hearers.
Captain Martin seemed to freeze on the ramp. Suddenly sensing what was
about to happen, Craig Randall also froze. The voice came again.
"Attention, all hands! Attention, all Pluto Station men on board the
_Andromeda_! A dangerous situation has been discovered in the drive
room of the ship. You are hereby directed to clear the _Andromeda_
instantly. A delay of a few seconds may mean the difference between
life and death."
The voice gained in volume, became more commanding.
"ALL HANDS CLEAR THE SHIP INSTANTLY!"
* * * * *
In the seconds that elapsed while the voice was rolling from the ship's
communication system, Craig grasped what was going to happen next, and
what he was going to have to do about it.
Captain Martin spun back toward the open lock.
With all his strength, Craig slugged the captain on the side of the
jaw. The blow knocked Martin sideways and down to the ramp.
But it did not knock him out. Snarling, he came to his feet. Craig he
ignored, the man who had slugged him was not important to him at this
moment. Cursing, he started toward the open lock. Craig tackled him
around the legs. The captain fell heavily. Craig rolled with him to the
edge of the ramp, forced him over it. Both fell to the hard floor of
the vast hangar.
In obedience to the voice that had come over the intercom system, and
which had sounded very much like the voice of Captain Martin, men were
already pouring from the lock.
Beside the ramp, Craig and Captain Martin fought viciously.
In the captain's cabin, Nuoy heard the voice. He snapped open the
communication line between this cabin and the control room.
"What nonsense is this?" he shouted into the mike. "There is no way a
dangerous condition can develop in the drive of these ships!" He was
speaking the truth. Deep-space ships, all space ships, were hazard
proof so far as the drive was concerned. He expected an evasive denial.
"Of course no dangerous condition can develop," the voice from the
control room answered.
"Then what do you mean by making so stupid an announcement as this?
What are you trying to do, delay my departure? I'll have you stripped
of your rank for this piece of nonsense!"
Wrath was in his voice. Before this wrath captains, generals, even the
president of Earth Government, trembled.
The voice coming from the control room did not tremble. "Aw, go buy a
muzzle for your ugly face," it said, crisply. "Who in the hell do you
think you're giving orders to, Dog-face?"
Nuoy was utterly speechless. White with fury, he headed for the control
room. He'd teach Captain Martin proper respect for his betters.
Charging through the door of the control room, he found there a
doddering old man whom he vaguely recognized as having seen around
Pluto Station. The old man was sitting in the control chair, a monkey
wrench in his hand.
"Who the devil was that who was just speaking to me?" Nuoy demanded.
"Why, I don't know, Mr. Nuoy. No one was speaking from here."
Nuoy glared at him. His suspicions were aroused. "I believe you are
lying to me. I believe you were the one who was talking to me like
that. I'll have you know--" Nuoy advanced. While he explained what he
was going to do, he thrust his head down until it was within a foot of
the old man's face.
Adam March slugged him with the monkey wrench. Nuoy went down without
a sound. "That's why we call 'em monkey wrenches," March said,
satisfaction in his voice. "They're made especially for use on monkeys
like you!" Laying the wrench back on the arm of the chair, he ran his
fingers over the complex system of controls in front of him.
"Clear the ship, all hands!" his voice went out over the ship. Flipping
over to listening, he caught the sound of fleeing footsteps. He smiled
to himself. His orders were being obeyed.
"Are all hands clear?" he shouted. "Anyone who is still in the ship,
answer at once."
There was no answer. No running footsteps sounded. The ship was clear.
As if his neck had suddenly developed a will of its own, he felt it
turn on his shoulders as something entered the control room.
Coming through the open door was a glowing, vibrating, angry ball of
flowing crystal light.
Adam did what he had planned to do--what had to be done.
Beside the ramp, Craig knew he was losing the battle with Captain
Martin. The captain was tough, hard, strong. He fought like a wild
man. Using knees and elbows, he fought as if he was taking orders from
someone else and his life was of no consequence.
Kicking Craig in the head, he scrambled to his feet.
The last of the crew were rushing from the ship.
"Yes, Filo," Captain Martin was screaming. "Yes, yes, I know. A
horrible mistake has been made. I will correct it."
"See that you correct it immediately!" Filo's angry voice whispered in
the air.
Captain Martin leaped up the runway. "Back into the ship!" he shouted
at the crew. He ran up the ramp toward the open lock.
Ponderously, the lock swung shut in front of him.
He stopped, dazedly stared at it. The lock could be opened or closed
from the control room. He suspected he knew what had happened.