Part 12 (1/2)

A red light went on. The man caught Doc and held him against the outer seal. The red light blinked. Four seconds ... three ... two....

There was a sudden heavy thudding sound, and the _Iroquois_ seemed to jerk sideways slightly. The s.p.a.ceman's face swung around in surprise.

The red light blinked and stayed on. Zero!

The outer seal snapped open and the s.p.a.ceman heaved. Air exploded outwards, and Doc went with it. He was alone in s.p.a.ce, gliding away from the s.h.i.+p, with oxygen hissing softly through the valve and ticking away his life.

XI

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Feldman fought for control of himself, forced himself to think, to hold onto his sanity. It was sheer stupidity, since nothing could have been more merciful than to lose this reality. But the will to be himself was stronger than logic. And bit by bit, he forced the fear and horror away from him until he could examine his situation.

He was spinning slowly, so that stars ahead of him seemed to crawl across his view. The s.h.i.+p was retreating from him already hundreds of yards away. Mars was a shrunken pill far away.

Then something blinked to one side. He turned his head to stare.

A little s.h.i.+p was less than three hundred yards away. He recognized it as a life raft. Now his spin brought him around to face it, and he saw it was parallelling his course. The ejection of the life raft must have caused the thump he'd heard before he was cast adrift.

It meant someone was trying to save him. It meant _life_!

He flailed his arms and beat his legs together, senselessly trying to force himself closer, while trying to guess who could have taken the chance. No one he could think of could have booked pa.s.sage on the _Iroquois_. There wasn't that much free money in the villages.

Something flashed a hot blue, and the little s.h.i.+p leaped forward.

Whoever was handling it knew nothing about piloting. It picked up too much speed at too great an angle.

Again blue spurts came, but this time matters were even worse. Then there was a long wait before a third try was made. He estimated the course. It would miss him by a good hundred feet, but it was probably the best the amateur pilot could do. The s.h.i.+p drifted closer, but to one side. It would soon pa.s.s him completely.

A s.p.a.cesuited figure suddenly appeared in the tiny airlock, holding a coil of rope. The rope shot out, well thrown. But it was too short. It would pa.s.s within ten feet--and might as well have been ten miles for all the good it would do him.

Every film he had seen on s.p.a.ce seemed to form a mad jumble in his mind, but he seized on the first idea he could remember. He inhaled deeply and yanked the oxygen tank free. An automatic seal on the suit cut off the connection. He aimed the hissing bottle, fumbling for the manual valve.

It almost worked. It kicked him toward the rope slightly, but most of the energy was wasted in setting him into a wilder spin. He blinked, trying to spot the rope. It was within five feet now.

Again he waited, until he seemed to be in position. This time he threw the bottle away from it. It added spin to his vertical axis, but the rope came into view within arm's reach.

He grasped it, just as his lungs seemed about to burst. He couldn't hold on long enough to tie the rope....

His lungs gave up suddenly, collapsing and then sucking in greedily.

Clean air rushed in, letting his head clear. He'd forgotten that the inflated suit held enough oxygen for several minutes.

His body struck the edge of the airlock and a hand jerked him inside.

The outer seal was slammed shut and locked, and there was a hiss of air entering.

He threw back his helmet just as Chris Ryan jerked hers off.

Her voice shook almost hysterically. ”Thank G.o.d. Dan, I almost gave up!”

”I liked the air out there better,” he told her bitterly. ”If you'll open the lock again, I'll leave. Or am I supposed to believe this is rescue and that you came along just to save me?”