Part 1 (2/2)
Brad listened to the ominous convulsions of the s.h.i.+p for a moment. ”Your orders are to continue to Vega IV. I'm sticking.”
”But, skipper! Dammit! There's always the chance of spilling through into normal! That's a torturous way to go!”
Brad's lips brushed roughly against the bulkhead mike. ”If I fall through it's just me, isn't it?”
Although the sound level was too low, he knew there was a sigh on the other end. ”Okay,” the speaker whispered. ”If I can't convince you....”
Brad leaned against the bulkhead and s.h.i.+vered. He'd have to see whether he couldn't get more output from the heat converter--if he could chance going past the leaking pile again. Or _was_ it the cold that was causing him to tremble?--If he entered normal s.p.a.ce at less than minimum breakthrough speed.... He didn't complete the distasteful mental picture.
He thought of his only functioning hyperdrive tube. Its gauge showed a power level that was only high enough to boost the craft back onto the hypers.p.a.ce level when it started to conform with the normal tendency to fall through. How many times the tube could be counted on to repeat the performance he couldn't guess. It might be painful if he should let the drop gain too much momentum before correcting--human beings were built to cross the barrier in nothing longer than a micro-second. But, he resolved, he would worry about that when the time came.
”Why don't you let it go, Brad?” the voice leaped through the grating again.
Brad started. He thought Jim had cut the communication.
”You know the score. If we swing this we can get all of West Cl.u.s.ter Supplies' work. We'll need an extra s.h.i.+p--several of them. But with the contract we'll be able to borrow as much as we want.”
Jim laughed. ”At least I'm glad there's a rational, mercenary motive. For a while I thought you were going through with that go-down-with-the-s.h.i.+p routine.”
Boom ... _Boom_ ... BOOM. The loose rod pounded with suddenly increasing fury.
He lunged through the hatch. At least the compression unit was forward of the faulty pile. And, while he did the job which automatic regulators had abandoned, he would not have to keep track of his time of exposure to hard radiation.
”Calling s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p Fleury. Repeat: Calling s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p Fleury.... Answer please.”
Brad jerked his head off the panel ledge. Hot coffee from a container that his limp hand half-gripped sloshed over the brim and spilled on the deck. He turned a haggard, puzzled face to the bulkhead speaker.
It had flooded the compartment with sound--live, vibrant sound. The signal had been loud and clear. Not weak. Not like the one from Jim's lifecraft two jumps away.
”This is the SS Fleury!” he shouted, stumbling forward eagerly and gripping the gooseneck of the mike. ”Come in!”
”Fleury from SS Cl.u.s.ter Queen.... Answering your SOS.”
His hopes suddenly vanished. ”Is that Altman? What are you doing on this run?”
”Yeah, Conally. This is Altman. Freeholding to Vega.... What's your trouble? Anything serious?”
Altman had come in to unload at Arcturus II s.p.a.ceport while the Fleury was still docked, Brad recalled. The huge s.h.i.+p had been berthed next to his.
”Main drive jacket blown out in the engine compartment,” Brad said hoa.r.s.ely. ”It happened at the end of the eighth jump. We're about a half-notch into hyper--just barely off the border.”
”That's tough.” There was little consolation in the tone. ”Got any pa.s.sengers?”
”No. None this trip. I'm solo now. My engineer's gone off in the craft.”
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