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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32657-h.zip b/32657-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..33a4e1f --- /dev/null +++ b/32657-h.zip diff --git a/32657-h/32657-h.htm b/32657-h/32657-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a6e2583 --- /dev/null +++ b/32657-h/32657-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1782 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Spillthrough, by Daniel F. Galouye. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Spillthrough, by Daniel F. Galouye + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Spillthrough + +Author: Daniel F. Galouye + +Release Date: June 2, 2010 [EBook #32657] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPILLTHROUGH *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h1>SPILLTHROUGH</h1> + +<h2>By Daniel F. Galouye</h2> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of +Science and Fantasy January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any +evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote">Ships switching from hyper to normal space had to do it in a +micro-second—if the crews were to live. But it would take Brad suicidal +minutes!</div> + + +<p>Like the sibilant, labored breathing of a dying monster, the tortured +ship wailed its death sobs as it floundered in deep hyperstellar space.</p> + +<p><i>Clank-sss, clank-sss</i>, went the battered safety valve of the pile +cooling system.</p> + +<p><i>BOOM ... boom ... BOOM ... boom.</i> A severed and dangling piston rod +crashed in monotonous rhythm against a deck beam as the rest of the +auxiliary compression unit strained to satisfy its function.</p> + +<p>An off-beat bass viol strum added its depressive note to the symphony of +destruction's aftermath—<i>throom-throom ... throom-throom</i>. It was the +persistent expansion of plate metal reacting to heat from a ruptured +tube jacket.</p> + +<p>Forward, in the control compartment of the cargo craft, the sounds were +muted. But the intervening bulkheads did not lessen their portent.</p> + +<p>Brad Conally ran a hand over the stubbles on his cheek and swayed +forward in the bucket-type seat, his head falling to rest against the +control column.</p> + +<p>Somewhere aft the ship groaned and metal scraped against metal with a +sickening rending sound.</p> + +<p>There was a lurch and Brad was jerked to one side, his head ramming +against the inclination control. The ventral jet came to life in +unexpected protest and fired once.</p> + +<p>His hand shot out instinctively to return the loose, displaced lever to +neutral. But the force of the single burst had already taken effect and +the lower part of his stomach tied itself in a knot.</p> + +<p>Centrifugal force reeled him to the fringe of consciousness. He +struggled to reach the dorsal-ventral firing lever, praying that the +linkage was not severed and the mechanism was still operative. His hand +found the lever and jerked. The dorsal jet came to life with a roar. He +jockeyed the control back and forth across neutral position. The two +jets fired alternately. The sickening, end-over-end gyration became +gentler.</p> + +<p>The ship steadied itself again into immobility. But a snap sounded from +back aft. It was followed by a grating noise that crescendoed and +culminated in a terrific crash. His ears popped. A <i>clang</i> reverberated, +evidence of an automatic airlock sealing off another punctured section +of the vessel.</p> + +<p>Shrugging fatigue from his body, he looked up at the panel. The +massometer showed a decrease of six tons. The explanation was simple, +Brad laughed dryly: A good one-quarter of his load of crated inter-calc +audio retention banks had rammed through the hull and floated into +space.</p> + +<p>He glanced at the scope. The twenty odd crates, some of them taking up +an orbital relationship with the vessel, were blips on the screen.</p> + +<p>Twisting the massometer section selector, he read off the figures. Hold +One showed full cargo of inter-calc equipment. Hold Two, with its thirty +bins of hematite, was intact. The third cargo compartment, containing +more crated inter-calc units, was the damaged one. The massometer +reading for that hold accounted for the missing weight.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"How're you doing, Brad?" the receiver rasped feebly. He recoiled at the +unexpected sound.</p> + +<p>"She's still in one piece, Jim," he shouted to compensate for the +strength the signal would lose in traveling the distance to the fleeing +lifecraft. "Have you cleared through your second hyperjump yet?"</p> + +<p>"Getting ready to go into the third. There won't be any more +communicating after that ... not with this short-range gear and your +faulty transmitter. Find out the trouble yet?"</p> + +<p>Brad ignored the question. "How long, Jim?" His voice was eager. "How +long before you get to port?"</p> + +<p>"Three jumps in one day. Seven more to go. That figures out to a little +over two more days. I'm making better time than we expected with this +peanut. Allow two more days for the slow tows to return.... Still think +it'll hold together?"</p> + +<p>Brad was silent.</p> + +<p>"Brad," Jim's voice went into low gear. "I've still got enough juice +to come back and pick you up. After all, one ship and one load of +cargo ... it's just not worth it."</p> + +<p>Brad listened to the ominous convulsions of the ship for a moment. "Your +orders are to continue to Vega IV. I'm sticking."</p> + +<p>"But, skipper! Dammit! There's always the chance of spilling through +into normal! That's a torturous way to go!"</p> + +<p>Brad's lips brushed roughly against the bulkhead mike. "If I fall +through it's just me, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>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...."</p> + +<p>Brad leaned against the bulkhead and shivered. 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 <i>was</i> it the cold that was causing +him to tremble?—If he entered normal space at less than minimum +breakthrough speed.... He didn't complete the distasteful mental +picture.</p> + +<p>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 +hyperspace 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.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you let it go, Brad?" the voice leaped through the grating +again.</p> + +<p>Brad started. He thought Jim had cut the communication.</p> + +<p>"You know the score. If we swing this we can get all of West Cluster +Supplies' work. We'll need an extra ship—several of them. But with the +contract we'll be able to borrow as much as we want."</p> + +<p>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-ship routine."</p> + +<p>Boom ... <i>Boom</i> ... BOOM. The loose rod pounded with suddenly increasing +fury.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Calling Space Ship Fleury. Repeat: Calling Space Ship Fleury.... Answer +please."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"This is the SS Fleury!" he shouted, stumbling forward eagerly and +gripping the gooseneck of the mike. "Come in!"</p> + +<p>"Fleury from SS Cluster Queen.... Answering your SOS."</p> + +<p>His hopes suddenly vanished. "Is that Altman? What are you doing on this +run?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah, Conally. This is Altman. Freeholding to Vega.... What's your +trouble? Anything serious?"</p> + +<p>Altman had come in to unload at Arcturus II Spaceport while the Fleury +was still docked, Brad recalled. The huge ship had been berthed next to +his.</p> + +<p>"Main drive jacket blown out in the engine compartment," Brad said +hoarsely. "It happened at the end of the eighth jump. We're about a +half-notch into hyper—just barely off the border."</p> + +<p>"That's tough." There was little consolation in the tone. "Got any +passengers?"</p> + +<p>"No. None this trip. I'm solo now. My engineer's gone off in the craft."</p> + +<p>"Can't you replace that jacket and limp through?"</p> + +<p>"Got a faulty gasket on the replacement. Can't be patched up."</p> + +<p>"You're in a helluva fix, Conally. Even a Lunar ferry pilot's got enough +sense to check his spare parts before blastoff."</p> + +<p>"I check mine after each landing. There isn't much that can happen to it +when the pile's cold.... Can you give me a tow, Altman?"</p> + +<p>"Can't do that, Conally. I'm not...."</p> + +<p>"If you'll just give me a boost then. To the crest of this hyperjump. +Then I won't have to worry about slipping through."</p> + +<p>"Like I started to tell you," Altman intoned insistently, "one of my +grapples is sheared."</p> + +<p>"You still have two more."</p> + +<p>"Uh-uh. This wise boy ain't gonna take a chance of a line snapping and +knocking a hunk outta my hull. Especially when you got cargo spilling +all over space."</p> + +<p>Brad clenched his fists. He spoke through his teeth. "Look, Altman. +Regulations say...."</p> + +<p>"... I gotta help you," the other cut him short. "I know that, pal. +That's why I happen to be stopping off at this not too enticing spot. +And I'm offering help.... Come aboard any time you want."</p> + +<p>"And hang up a free salvage sign on the Fleury?"</p> + +<p>Altman didn't answer.</p> + +<p>Twisting the gooseneck in his hand, Brad sucked in a deep breath and +blew it out in a rush. But he didn't say what had leaped into his mind. +Instead he glanced over at the panel's screen.</p> + +<p>Altman's ship showed up there—a large, greenish-yellow blip. There were +other small dots on the scope too. As he looked, the large blip coasted +over to one of the dots. The two became one mark on the screen.</p> + +<p>"You're picking up my cargo!" Brad shouted.</p> + +<p>"The stuff not in orbit around the Fleury ain't yours any longer, +Conally," Altman laughed. "You oughta bone up on your salvage laws."</p> + +<p>"You damned scavenger!"</p> + +<p>"Now, now, Brad," the other said smoothly. "What would you do if you +were in my position? Would you let top priority cargo slip through to +normal and get lost off the hyperlane? Or would you scoop it up and +bring it in for bonus price?"</p> + +<p>"You're not after a bonus," Brad roared into the mike. "You're after a +contract.... Altman, I'll pay two thousand for a ten-minute tow up-arc. +That'll almost wipe out my profit on this haul."</p> + +<p>"No sale."</p> + +<p>Brad gripped the mike with both hands. "So you're just going to sit +around and pick up cargo droppings!"</p> + +<p>"The book says I gotta stick around until you come aboard, until you get +underway on hyperpower, or until there just ain't any more ship or +crew.... Might as well pick up cargo; there's nothing else to do."</p> + +<p>"And when I come aboard you'll want to unload the Fleury too, I take +it."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Half the spilled crates were in close orbit around the SS Fleury. The +tri-D scope showed that. Brad estimated distances of several of the +objects as he clamped the helmet to the neckring of his suit and +clattered to the pilot compartment airlock.</p> + +<p>In the lock he unsnapped the hand propulsor from its bulkhead niche and +clamped it to his wrist plate while the outer hatch swung open and the +lock's air exploded into a void encrusted with a crisscross of vivid, +vari-colored lines. The individual streaks, he estimated, averaged at +least ten degrees in length. That indicated he was a reasonable period +of time away from spillthrough into normal space where the lines would +compress into the myriad normal pinpoints that were stars, undistorted +by hyperspace perspective. When the streaks decreased to four or five +degrees, he reminded himself, that was the time to start worrying about +dropping out the bottom of the trough.</p> + +<p>He waited until one of the square, tumbling objects rolled by, obscuring +sections of the out-of-focus celestial sphere as it whirled in its +orbit. Timing it, he waited for the box to complete another revolution. +Just before it arrived the third time, he pushed off.</p> + +<p>As he closed in on the crate, he knew his timing had been correct. He +intercepted it directly above the hatch and clung clumsily to a hand +ring as its greater mass swept him along in an altered orbit. A quick +blast from his propulsor eliminated the rotation he had imparted to the +object and he reoriented himself with respect to the ship. Spotting the +ruptured sideplate where the cargo had burst through the hull, he +steered his catch toward the hole with short bursts of power.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<p>The bent plate made a natural ramp down which he slid the crate onto the +gravity-fluxed deck. Inside, he degravitated the chamber, floated the +box into position and double-lashed it to the deck.</p> + +<p>Pushing away from the ship again, he checked the length of the stellar +grid streaks. They were still approximately ten degrees long. It looked +hopeful. He might have time to collect all the orbiting cargo before he +got dangerously close to spillthrough. Then he'd see about pushing on +up-arc until the fuzzy streaks stretched to forty or fifty +degrees—perhaps even ninety, if he could allow himself the luxury of +wishful thinking. There he'd be at quartercrest and would have time to +rest before worrying about being drawn down the arc again toward normal +space.</p> + +<p>While he jockeyed the fourth crate into the hold, a huge shadow suddenly +blotched out part of the star lines off to the port side. It was the +Cluster Queen pursuing a crate not in orbit around the Fleury. Brad +shrugged; he'd be unable to pick up the ones that far out anyway.</p> + +<p>But his head jerked upright in the helmet suddenly. If Altman was after +a free box, he realized, the Cluster Queen <i>could not</i> appear in sharp +outline to an observer in the Fleury system! The Fleury, sliding down +the hyperspatial arc with its orbiting crates, would be moving slowly +toward normal space in response to the interdimensional pull exerted by +its warp flux rectifier, hidden inaccessibly in the bowels of the pile, +as it was on most outdated ships. But the free boxes, in another +time-space system with the Cluster Queen, would be stationary on the arc +and would appear increasingly fuzzy as the planal displacement between +the two systems became greater.</p> + +<p>The truth, Brad realized, was that the Cluster Queen was drawing closer +both spatially and on the descending node of the hyperspatial arc! +Altman was violating the law; he was going to take the cargo in orbit. +And he could well get away with it too, since it would be the word of +only one man aboard the Fleury against the word of the entire crew of +the Queen.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There were still six boxes in orbit. He pushed out again toward the +closest and saw he had not been wrong in his reasoning. The Queen's +outline was razor-edge sharp; it was close enough to stretch across +fifty-five degrees of the celestial sphere.</p> + +<p>He kept it in the corner of his vision as he hooked on to the crate and +started back to the ship. The Queen was reversing attitude slowly. When +he had first spotted it, it was approaching at an angle, nose forward. +But now it had gyroed broadside and was continuing to turn as it drifted +slowly toward Brad and the box.</p> + +<p>"Altman!" he cried into his all-wave helmet mike. "You're on collision +course!"</p> + +<p>Brad kicked away from the crate and streaked back toward the Fleury.</p> + +<p>There was a laugh in the receiver. "Did you hear something, Bronson?"</p> + +<p>"No, captain," another voice laughed. "For a moment I thought maybe I +picked up a small blip near that crate. But I don't guess Conally would +be stupid enough to suit up and try to hustle his own cargo."</p> + +<p>Brad activated his propulsor again and gained impetus in his dash for +the Fleury's hatch.</p> + +<p>"Still," Altman muttered, "it seems like I heard somebody say something +about a collision course."</p> + +<p>The Cluster Queen was no longer turning. It had stabilized, with its +tubes pointed in the general direction of the Fleury and her floating +crates.</p> + +<p>Perspiration formed on Brad's forehead as he glanced up and saw the +other ship steady itself, settling on a predetermined, split-hair +heading. Somebody, he realized grimly, was doing a good job of aiming +the vessel's stern.</p> + +<p>He got additional speed out of his propulsor, but the tubes swung slowly +as he covered more of the distance to his hatch. It seemed he couldn't +escape his position of looking up into the mouths of the jets.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, boss," the speaker near his ear sounded again. "Maybe he +<i>is</i> out there."</p> + +<p>"We better not take chances, then," Altman was not hiding the heavy +sarcasm in his words. "Blast away!"</p> + +<p>Brad kicked sideways, stiffened his arm and hit the wrist jet full +force. He shot to one side on a course parallel with the Fleury.</p> + +<p>A blinding gusher of raw energy exploded—a cone of blistering, +scintillating force that streaked through space between himself and the +disabled ship. The aiming was perfect. Had he not swerved off when he +did, had he stayed on his original course, he would have been in the +center of the lance of hell-power.</p> + +<p>As he drifted shakily into the hatch, the Queen wasn't even a dot +against the trellis of star traces. But, while he looked, a miniature +lance of flame burst in the general direction in which Altman's vessel +had gone—scores of miles away. He was maneuvering a standard turn to +approach again, Brad realized.</p> + +<p>If he repeated the performance against the hull of the Fleury, he would +shake things up considerably, but at least the alloys of the plates +could stand the heat—possibly the thrust too ... but not for long.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Invigorating effects of hot coffee flowed through Brad as he sat +strapped in the pilot's seat and allowed himself the luxury of a +cigarette.</p> + +<p>But his eyes were fastened on the screen. The Cluster Queen was drawing +up to the last orbiting crate. He watched the large blip and the dot +become one.</p> + +<p>Abruptly, there was motion in the direct-view port overhead. The Queen +and the crate drifted into view. He switched his gaze from the screen +and watched grapples clamp the crate like giant mandibles, drawing it +into the Queen.</p> + +<p>His chest and abdomen hurt and he wanted to get out of the seat and +stretch, move around, do something. But that might be disastrous. If +Altman was going to play any more tricks with his tubes, he would be +ready to do it now, after the last box had been retrieved. And Brad +realized it wouldn't be healthy being shaken around inside an +erratically spinning compartment.</p> + +<p>"That's the last one, Altman," he spoke dully into the mike.</p> + +<p>"Say!" The irony was still in the other's voice. "Were you out there +when we blasted to avoid collision?"</p> + +<p>Brad said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Sorry if we warmed your tail," Altman continued. "But you should'a +stayed inside. Our instruments show you're getting close to +spillthrough. Ain't you gonna do anything about it?"</p> + +<p>Brad snapped to alertness. Now he realized the origin of the pains in +his stomach and chest—the pin-prick sensations that seemed to be +spreading throughout his flesh. He glanced out the direct-view port. +Altman was right. The sky was no longer a grid of star streaks. The +lines had shrunken; their lengths now stretched scarcely over three or +four degrees. The scope showed the Queen was still there spatially, but +the fuzziness of her outline indicated she was well out of danger—high +up on the ascending node of the arc.</p> + +<p>"What's on the program, Altman?" Brad asked bitterly. "Let me guess.... +I slip through the barrier. Passage at slow speed makes pretty much of a +pulpy mess out of my body. You pop the Queen through in a +milli-second.... You got a nice story to tell: You arrived as I was +slipping through. You couldn't do anything to stop me. You plunged +through after me. With a dead skipper aboard, the ship and cargo were +free to the first one who came along. You took the cargo, it being high +priority stuff. You left the ship, it being outdated, battered, useless +and drifting in normal interstellar where it would never be found. You +took what was left of the skipper, it being good evidence to +substantiate your tale."</p> + +<p>"Now Brad, boy!" Altman stretched the words out in mock reprimand. "You +know <i>I</i> wouldn't do a thing like <i>that</i>. You know the West Cluster +contract doesn't mean <i>that</i> much to <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Apparently Altman wasn't going to interrupt +it. Brad looked back at the scope. The Queen had withdrawn spatially and +hyperspatially.</p> + +<p>The pains in his body rose sharply and he grimaced, biting down on his +lips. A knife slipped into his abdomen, twisted and shot up through his +chest and into his head. Then an incendiary bomb went off somewhere in +his stomach.</p> + +<p>He reached for the control of the good main hyperjet. Then, as his face +contorted with near agony, he punched down on it.</p> + +<p>The pain left swiftly. The ship rattled and clanked and ground +hatefully, its new cacophony of protest drowning out the old +<i>clank-sss</i>, <i>boom</i> and <i>throom-throom</i>. The small blurs in the sky +elongated—five degrees, ten, twelve, twenty, twenty-five, forty.... The +Cluster Queen's outline on the scope became sharp and then faded into +fuzziness once more as the Fleury passed it hyperspatially along the +ascending node of the arc.</p> + +<p>He pressed the normal drive jet lever and it spluttered weakly, creating +not even enough discordant sounds in the wracked ship to drown out the +<i>boom, throom, clank-sss</i> symphony. The dot on the scope representing +the Queen faded into insignificance. With a sweep of his hand, he killed +power in the automatic distress transmitter.</p> + +<p>Now it would take the Queen a little while to get a bearing on him along +four co-ordinates. It would be a reprieve of several' hours—even the +Fleet ships couldn't do it in less time than that without a signal to +home in on.</p> + +<p>He had no idea what the skipper of the Queen would do next. But at the +moment he wasn't interested. The sharp pains were gone. But they had +been replaced by an uncontrollable, reactive nausea. He unclamped his +safety harness and stumbled to the jettison bin, holding a hand over his +mouth. He made it just in time.</p> + +<p>Then he dropped onto the bunk, exhausted.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The reprieve gained by his elusive tactics must have been a long one. +When Brad awoke he felt fresher than he had at any time since the engine +compartment eruption. He had no way of knowing how long he had slept; +the secondary bus bar off which the ship's clocks operated had gone up +in the initial blast when a section of the plate from the ruptured tube +jacket had smashed through the junction box.</p> + +<p>Evenly spaced <i>swooshing</i> sounds were emitting from the speaker. That, +he realized, was what had awakened him. Someone was blowing into a mike +to see if it was alive.</p> + +<p>"SS Fleury, SS Fleury, SS Fleury," the sounds were suddenly exchanged +for words—Altman's.</p> + +<p>Brad swung his legs out of the bunk and stood swaying, rubbing a hand +over his chafed, bearded face.</p> + +<p>The elongated blip was back on the radar screen—clear, close.</p> + +<p>"Answer, Conally," the receiver barked.</p> + +<p>Brad strode to the panel and looked out the direct-view port He had +slept longer than he had at first suspected. The stellar trellis had +shortened considerably. They were back in the neighborhood of fifteen +degrees.</p> + +<p>"Distress Regulation Four-Oh-Eight-Two," the speaker droned, "says that +if a disabled ship don't answer by radio or visually within fifteen +minutes after being called steadily, standby craft is to board it and +may take immediate possession."</p> + +<p>"What do you want, Altman?" Brad said resignedly into the mike.</p> + +<p>Altman hissed irritably. "Conally, there's no sense in playing +hide-'n-seek with the little power you've got left. Get off that damned +piece of junk and come aboard."</p> + +<p>"Go to hell."</p> + +<p>"Listen! I'm tired of wasting time! If you don't...."</p> + +<p>"I'll sign a release and shoot it over to you. That's all you need to +clear you of rescue and standby responsibility. I'll keep my distress +signal off until you get out of range."</p> + +<p>"Uh-uh. It ain't as simple as that. I want your cargo. And I'm going to +get it. Now let's be sensible. You know you don't have a chance."</p> + +<p>"Maybe I've learned a few tricks."</p> + +<p>The other snarled impatiently. "Okay, bright boy. I've had enough of +this horseplay. I'm gonna let you see just the way things are.... Notice +anything odd? Any peculiar noises aboard the Fleury?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Brad cocked his head toward the stern. The complaining clanks and +groans and off-beat thumpings maintained their steady rhythm. There were +some new noises.</p> + +<p>"I been listening to it get louder for the past three hours," Altman +hinted.</p> + +<p>Then Brad's ears picked it up—an erratic, excited +<i>clackety-clack-clackety-clack</i>. He gasped.</p> + +<p>Altman laughed. "That counter's setting up quite a sing-song, ain't it? +I sorta think that pile might go <i>boom</i> in a few hours. But I'm hoping I +can get your cargo aboard before then. You can come too if you want."</p> + +<p>Brad swung swiftly and lurched for the passageway aft.</p> + +<p>"Wish I was there to help you with the cad rod insertions," the laughing +voice raced after him.</p> + +<p>The dial on the forward side of the shielded bulkhead read +Oh-Oh-point-Oh-Two-Four. He applied the figure to the adjacent graph and +learned he could remain in the engine compartment for one minute and +fourteen seconds, with a safety factor of ten per cent. In that period +of time, he rationalized, he ought to be able to insert a sufficient +number of cadmium control rods to bring the pile under control.</p> + +<p>The counter clicked gratingly overhead as he undogged the hatch, swung +it open and lunged into the steam-tormented acrid compartment.</p> + +<p>He broke open the first locker and jerked the remaining three cad rods +from their racks. Coughing and waving smoke from in front of his face, +he swung open the door of the first reserve compartment.</p> + +<p>It was empty!</p> + +<p>The second reserve compartment was empty too, as were the two emergency +compartments. Only three cadmium rods when he needed at least three +dozen!</p> + +<p>In a rapid dash around the pile block, he inserted the rods at spaced +intervals in their slots. At least they would mean a few hours' grace. +As he slid the last rod in he cursed himself and swore that if he ever +commanded another ship he would not leave it unmanned at the +dock—specifically if there was somebody like Altman berthed anywhere at +the same spaceport.</p> + +<p>The ruptured hypertube jacket, he wondered suddenly, not losing his +count of seconds. It seemed unlikely now that it had let go as a result +of defective material. He stepped to the flange that connected it with +the stern bulkhead.</p> + +<p>The tube, inactivated immediately after the blowout, was cold. He looked +where his suspicions directed.... The aperture control valve had been +readjusted! It had been displaced a full fifteen degrees on the topside +of optimum power! A cunning setting—one that would trap and concentrate +enough residual di-ions at normal power output to cut loose somewhere +between the fifth and tenth jump.</p> + +<p>He thought, too, of his transmitter that hadn't been powerful enough to +reach farther than a couple of jumps since he had left spaceport. When, +he asked himself, had Altman's radioman worked on it?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>After he slammed the hatch and dogged it, he leaned against the thick +metal for a long while. The <i>clack-clack</i> overhead was somewhat +pacified. But it wouldn't remain that way long. He quelled the fear +sensations that were racing through him and tried to think.</p> + +<p>How long? How long had it been since Jim left? He was three jumps away a +few hours ago—or was it longer than that?—and he still had seven to go +or was it six? Had it been just a few hours ago, or was it days? He had +slept some—twice, he believed—since then. But for how long? And if the +tow ships did make it back in time, would they have spare rods?</p> + +<p>He gave it up as a hopeless speculation and started back up the +passageway, shoulders drooping.</p> + +<p><i>Karoom!</i></p> + +<p>The new sound reverberated through the agonized vessel and the bulkheads +of the passageway shuddered in fanatic sympathy with it.</p> + +<p>The deck shifted crazily beneath his feet and a port beam—the bulkhead +and the rest of the ship following it—swung over to crash into his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>A stabbing pain shot up his arm as he slid down the tilting wall and +landed in the right angle between the deck and the bulkhead.</p> + +<p>Massaging the torn ligament in his arm, he sat up and swayed dizzily in +resonance with the pendulum-like motion of the vessel. Then he struggled +to his feet and stood upright—one foot planted at an angle against the +deck and the other against the port bulkhead. Overhead was the +corresponding juncture made by the ceiling plate and the starboard +bulkhead.</p> + +<p>Nausea welled as he tried to adjust to the new, perverted up and down +references. He didn't have to wonder what had happened. The starboard +gray coil that ran under the overheated converter, he knew, had finally +shorted out. The port coil was still operating normally. He considered +turning it off, but conceded it was better to struggle around in an +apparently listing ship than to be wracked by the nausea of +weightlessness.</p> + +<p>Straddling the deck and port bulkhead, he waddled back to the hatchway, +threw a leg over its edge and lifted himself into the control +compartment, sliding down the floor to the port side. He worked his way +to the control seat, readjusted its tilt and crawled in it.</p> + +<p>Then he tore a strip out of his jacket and wrapped it around his +shoulder as tightly as he could. The pressure eased the pain in his +aching muscle.</p> + +<p>The air gauge showed an almost normal Two-Nine-point-Three-Two pounds, +sufficient oxygen content, and a satisfactory circulatory rate. He +eagerly fished a cigarette from his jacket. He had earned it, he assured +himself.</p> + +<p>While he smoked he counted on the screen the amount of cargo that had +spilled out when the loose crates had lurched with the vessel. Almost as +fast as he counted it, the Cluster Queen swooped down on it and scooped +it into her hatch.</p> + +<p>Numbed, he found he could no longer react to the total disregard of his +rights with any degree of excited resentment. He closed his eyes +indifferently. Shuddering, he squeezed the cylinder of tobacco between +his fingers without being aware of the action. The glowing end bent back +and burned his knuckle.</p> + +<p>Tossing the cigarette away, he realized suddenly his fight was futile. +He couldn't possibly hold out until Jim returned, or in the hope that +some other vessel would happen along. The pile, his arm, spillthrough, +the Fleury threatening to break in two ... he enumerated all the +factors.</p> + +<p>If he went aboard the Cluster Queen now, Altman would at least give him +passage to port. Any charges Brad would make would never hold up without +substantiation. And Altman would see that he brought nothing with him +that could back up the accusations. It would be just as easy for the +crew of the Queen to prove that Brad Conally had conceived the whole +weird account of assault and piracy as a means of winning back the cargo +he was faced with losing.</p> + +<p>He knew, however, that no matter what happened, he could kiss the Fleury +goodbye. Altman would never allow it to reach port. There might be +evidence aboard—perhaps evidence as simple as finger prints—to prove +that Altman or one of his crew had tampered with the machinery.</p> + +<p>Brad reached out to extend the gooseneck of the mike toward him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>But the stellar grid showing through the direct-view port was blotted +out suddenly. He jerked his gaze to the scope. The Queen was +overhead—almost within grappling distance!</p> + +<p>He started to shout out, but at the same time brilliant hell exploded +outside.</p> + +<p>The Cluster Queen's jetwash raked across the upper bow of the Fleury, +throwing its nose down and its tail up and over in a hateful, wrenching +spin.</p> + +<p>The spin continued, losing none of its neck-snapping vehemence, as the +Queen burst off into space. The harness cut across Brad's aching arm and +set up a new, rending torture. But his good arm shot out and found the +forward belly jet lever.</p> + +<p>With what mushily reacted like the last erg of energy in the normal +drive converter tanks, the jet responded feebly. He nursed the power +carefully, determined not to waste juice through overcorrection. Finally +the Fleury steadied and resumed immobility of attitude.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Conally," Altman apologized with exaggerated concern. "But her +majesty's acting up frisky-like. Can't seem to do much with her.... +Maybe if you came aboard we might find some way to quiet her down. How +about it?"</p> + +<p>Brad bit his lips and tightened his good fist until fingernails knifed +into the palm. "No, damn you!" he shouted with all the volume his lungs +could muster.</p> + +<p>He summoned all the spacewise epithets any stevedore or crewman had ever +used, added a few he imagined no one had thought of before, and held +them in abeyance until Altman would answer.</p> + +<p>But no sound came out of the speaker.</p> + +<p>The reason was apparent on the scope. A half dozen of the massive crates +had crashed through the hull—this time out of hold number One, the +massometer showed—and the Cluster Queen was on her way to take them +aboard.</p> + +<p>But he was more concerned with another complication. The red power +utilization indicator of the good hypertube was in motion, swinging back +to zero on its dial. He saw the flicker of the needle in the corner of +his vision.</p> + +<p>He checked the suspicion against the blips on the scope and obtained +verification ... the outlines of the Queen and the crates were fuzzy, +despite the fact they were still nearby spatially. The fuzziness could +only result from the Fleury's being removed hyperspatially from that +vicinity.</p> + +<p>He had accidentally touched the hyperjet lever while applying normal +power to correct the three-dimensional spin. Which way had he moved it? +Had he gone further into hyperspace? Or had he fallen further down the +descending node toward spillthrough?</p> + +<p>Studying sensations in his body for an indication of abnormal pain, he +stared abruptly out the view port. The twisting pain was there—inside +his chest. The star lines were short.</p> + +<p>He swore and scowled at his luck.</p> + +<p>Then, as the pain intensified, he grasped the lever of the hyperjet +again and thrust it forward. The tube sputtered feebly, came on full +force for a second, sputtered again and was silent.</p> + +<p>He jerked the lever back and forth on the forward side of neutral and +rammed it desperately all the way forward. The tube coughed, grabbed +once more for a moment, and sputtered out. He goosed it four more times, +but only got two boosts as a result. Then he twisted it past the stop to +the first emergency position. It wheezed, fired for two seconds and +died.</p> + +<p>Sweat forming in beads on his face, he ignored the pain in his shoulder +and reached to the control column with his injured arm. He swung back +the second safety stop bar out of the way and rammed the lever all the +way forward.</p> + +<p>The tube fired for another second, but that was all. He had used the +last erg.</p> + +<p>But how much time had he bought with his final means of retreat from the +spillthrough trough? He checked the celestial crisscrosses.... Not +much....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Altman? he wondered suddenly. Where was the Cluster Queen? It wasn't +showing up on the scope any longer. Neither were the crates. Had he +retrieved them and shoved off? Brad jiggled the scope's brilliance +control, wondering whether it was faulty and was simply not registering +the Queen.</p> + +<p>An abrupt <i>thud</i>, coincident with a sharp jar throughout the ship and a +sudden shifting of the pseudogravitational field almost to normal, +brought him upright in his seat. He realized immediately what was +happening.</p> + +<p>He hadn't been able to pick up the Queen on the scope because it was too +close to register as a blip separate from the central luminescence on +the screen which was representative of the Fleury itself. Altman had +maneuvered alongside, aligned the hatch flanges of the two ships and +activated his magnetic grapples. The nearness of his grav coils had +restored some of the Fleury's internal stability. He was preparing to +board the Fleury. He would be aboard within ten minutes.... It took that +long to make minute adjustments in order to insure perfect +superimposition of the flange surfaces.</p> + +<p>Brad smiled grimly and unsnapped his harness with nervous fingers. If he +could get into his suit in time, it would be simple to open a hatch aft +and let the air spill from the Fleury. Then when Altman undogged the +inner hatch of the Fleury's air lock, it would be sucked open violently +and pull the skipper of the Cluster Queen into a vacuum. It would make a +mess out of the air lock and the control compartment—but that would be +advantageous. It would be evidence to prove at least that Altman had +taken the initiative in boarding the Fleury without first dispatching +his intention of doing so to the nearest port, as required by the law.</p> + +<p>Brad planned that if he then found the Queen's locks dogged, he would +temporarily close the Fleury's inner lock and fill the between-ships +passage with normal pressure air so he would be able to open the Queen's +hatches against the thirty-pound pressure in the other ship. After +opening her hatches, he would leap back to the Fleury's inner hatch, +release the single doglatch and let the vacuum suck all the air from the +other ship too. He would immediately report the defensive action to Vega +IV, borrow emergency cad rods from the Queen, prevent an internal pile +blast aboard the Fleury and withdraw the crippled ship, together with +its engine compartment evidence, to the node of the arc to await the +arrival of investigators.</p> + +<p>He clamped the helmet on his neck ring with a minute to spare as he +reassured himself it was a perfect plan and had a reasonable chance to +success. It was one too that required no physical exertion. He couldn't +go through any rough stuff with his sprained arm.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Stiffening, he watched the first of the six doglatches on the hatch +swing to the unlocked position. He moved over against the starboard +bulkhead, well away from the hatch. He would have to get out of the suit +again, and it would be a messy job if he were standing close to Altman +when the vacuum went to work on him.</p> + +<p>The final doglatch unsnapped. The hatch crashed open and he imagined he +could almost hear the swoosh of escaping air.</p> + +<p>Instead he heard a mocking voice over his audio.</p> + +<p>"You were right, captain," the voice laughed.</p> + +<p>"Who'd think Conally would try a trick like that?" Altman taunted, +extending a spacesuit clad leg across the hatch ledge.</p> + +<p>"You would and did.... He'll probably be right behind the hatch to the +left there, boss."</p> + +<p>Brad sprang forward.</p> + +<p>But Altman turned suddenly in his direction and pointed a gun at Brad's +stomach. It checked the attack. Brad backed away hopelessly.</p> + +<p>"Okay," Altman jerked his head in the confines of the helmet, "go to +work."</p> + +<p>The crewman from the Queen stepped into the control cabin and walked +toward the passageway aft while Altman held the gun on Brad.</p> + +<p>"Think you can do it quick enough?" Altman asked the crewman. +"Radiation, you know."</p> + +<p>The crewman thrust the wide-mouthed gun above his shoulder where Altman +could see it. "It'll just take one shot with this."</p> + +<p>He disappeared down the passageway.</p> + +<p>"Hell, captain," the voice sounded a minute later. "It's dead. He musta +used up all his reserve juice in that last surge upward."</p> + +<p>"Okay," Altman smiled—a weird, distorted smile as seen through the +thick, rounded helmet. "Come on back." He looked at Brad. "So you can't +pull away from the trough any longer? That's tough."</p> + +<p>Brad wanted to say, Okay, Altman, I'll go aboard the Queen with you. But +he didn't. He realized the plea would have been futile anyway as he +watched the crewman rejoin Altman and heard the latter say: "Just think, +Conally, you could have come aboard. I would have let you a while back. +But you've made this thing too tough and gave my boys the chance to +convince me we might have slipped up somewhere and you might be able to +prove your side of the story."</p> + +<p>The pair retreated to the air lock. Brad stood motionless, staring, not +breathing.</p> + +<p>"The pile'll hold," the crewman announced, "for another four hours, just +about."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" Altman exclaimed. "This junk'll slip through within an hour. +That'll give us another three hours, at least, to get this stiff aboard +the Queen and transfer cargo before she blows. Then we can mop up on +whatever crates we've...."</p> + +<p>But the air lock closed and the rest of his words were cut off.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>If he could only get cleaned up before it came. If he could only enjoy +the luxury of a bath, a shave, clean clothes. Brad laughed at the last +item, wondering how clothes could be expected to remain clean if they +were on someone making the spillthrough transition at coasting speed.</p> + +<p>The Fleury lurched as the Queen cut loose and blasted away. Brad had +watched the pressure gauge climb back to normal and was removing his +helmet at the time. The ship's one-sided gravity field caught hold +unexpectedly and he toppled to the deck rolling to the port bulkhead. +His hurt shoulder rammed into metal and new pain knifed into existence +as the heavy helmet clattered down and crashed against his head. The +blow almost stunned him. But it left him with enough awareness to wish +it <i>had</i> knocked him insensible—permanently insensible.</p> + +<p>The scope showed more cargo had spilled out in the last lurch. The Queen +started over toward the crates, but coasted past, turned and came back +to take post spatially alongside the disabled craft. Already the other +ship's outline was beginning to blur as the Fleury slipped away from her +hyperspatially—down the arc.</p> + +<p>Brad straddle-stepped on the deck and bulkhead to the control column and +broke out his pack of cigarettes. Suddenly his feet left the deck. The +port gray coil had gone out, he realized grimly, the current having +dropped below the minimum requirements. For a moment he became concerned +over weightlessness. Then he cut in the heel magna-grips of his suit and +clanged onto the floor. At least, he wasn't confronted with a +topsy-turvy ship any longer. He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and +half-centered his attention on the scope. Two more crates had left the +Fleury's holds. With the grav fields out on the ship, they did not take +up orbit. They just floated away, at an almost imperceptible speed. But +the Queen was still apparently not interested in picking them up. There +would be plenty of time to do that; right now she must stick close to +the Fleury spatially, Brad realized, so her instruments would indicate +the moment the spillthrough to normal space occurred, so her crew could +get to work.</p> + +<p>As though hypnotized in inconsequential thought, he watched the crates +slowly draw away. Almost incredibly expensive cargo. Cargo that Altman +would surely not allow to go unrecovered. Even as booty, the crated +equipment would bring every bit of what it was worth. But Altman would +see that they were delivered—every one of them. A contract with West +Cluster meant a good deal more than the face value of the one shipment +of inter-calc banks.</p> + +<p>Brad started and his face became alive with expression as a sudden +realization drove home. It was followed almost immediately by a second +jarring consideration. He tossed away the half-consumed cigarette.</p> + +<p>It wasn't more than fifteen minutes later when he stood before the mike +again.</p> + +<p>"Altman," he called out.</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"Altman," he shouted louder.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead and answer him, captain. Let's see what he has to say."</p> + +<p>"You can't come aboard, Conally," Altman said finally.</p> + +<p>"If you don't let me come aboard I'll slip through and be killed."</p> + +<p>"Ain't that touching!"</p> + +<p>"You mean you won't pick me up?"</p> + +<p>"We'll pick you up all right—we wanna take what's left of you back to +show how you died."</p> + +<p>"It's like that then? You're going to kill me to get the cargo?"</p> + +<p>"You're learning fast."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to hook on to the Fleury and drag her in to port?"</p> + +<p>"Are you nuts? The inspectors could easily find out that we worked her +over before you left port.... What's the matter—got a sentimental +attachment for that old crate?"</p> + +<p>"Look, Altman...."</p> + +<p>"Go to hell, Conally."</p> + +<p>The background hum died out of the Fleury's receiver abruptly. Brad +called twice. But there was no answer.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The SS Fleury was vibrant with the final pounding of its weakening vital +parts.</p> + +<p><i>Clank-sss, clank-sss</i>, the coolant's safety valve hissed. +<i>Boom ... boom</i>, the jangling piston rod pounded. The expanding metal +plate added its <i>throom-throom</i> note.</p> + +<p>The counter in the passageway <i>clackety-clacked</i> louder.</p> + +<p>Their lines snapped by persistent tremors and lurches, more crates +danced in the holds. Some of them eventually found their way to the +gaping holes in the hull and, receiving a final, brief kick from jagged +metal, floated lightly out into space.</p> + +<p>In the scope of the Cluster Queen, the Fleury's outline became fuzzier.</p> + +<p>With mounting groans, the tortured vessel wrenched violently as she +slipped down the descending arc.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly she was through—in normal space where stars shown with +pinpoint brilliancy and where the celestial sphere was no longer a lazy, +crazy crisscross of blurred lines.</p> + +<p>The Cluster Queen started a wide hyperspatial turn, remaining spatially +alongside the Fleury. She gathered speed as she swung around and +straightened out and, with hyperjets blasting full force, plunged +through the barrier in somewhat less time than a milli-second.</p> + +<p>Ahead, the Fleury was picked up immediately on the scope. Like a hawk, +the Queen closed the distance to the other trembling, silent ship.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Vega IV's spaceport was bathed in brilliant, blue-cast light from the +magnificent sun.</p> + +<p>The Cluster Queen was docked. A tractor kept itself busy rolling up the +ramp into the ship and out again with huge crates that were apparently +in somewhat poorer condition than when they left Arcturus II. An +occasional splintered board jutted outward, held to its box only by +loose nails.</p> + +<p>Three men were next to the hold's hatch. They stood grouped about an +elongated form that lay on the concrete apron, covered with a white +square of linen. A spacesuit clad arm jutted out under one side of the +covered square.</p> + +<p>"We'll take you over to the office," Inspector Graham was saying. +"You'll have to make out an affidavit, you know. We'll need a couple of +your crewmen to verify it."</p> + +<p>"Be glad to," Altman answered. "Any time you're ready."</p> + +<p>"As soon as they pick up—Conally," the inspector looked down at the +form.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand it," Jim muttered, rubbing a thumb and forefinger +over closed eyelids.</p> + +<p>"<i>Maybe I've got a version that's easier to understand, Jim</i>," the voice +sounded forcefully from the direction of the hatch.</p> + +<p>Inspector Graham and Altman spun around.</p> + +<p>Jim didn't have to. He was facing the hatch.</p> + +<p>Altman blanched; backed away; stopped, and held his ground.</p> + +<p>"Brad!" Jim shouted unbelievingly and rushed forward to grasp his arms +as the Fleury's skipper leaped off the side of the ramp. He was haggard +but smiling.</p> + +<p>"Who's this?" the inspector asked.</p> + +<p>"This is Conally, the skipper of the Fleury," Jim explained jubilantly.</p> + +<p>The inspector started, looked at the form on the apron, back at Brad, +then at Altman.</p> + +<p>"A trick!" Altman cried hoarsely. "I see it all, inspector. It's a +damned trick! I've been roped in!"</p> + +<p>He was putting on a rather good act, Brad thought. But he went along +with his story anyway. As Brad unfolded the incidents of sabotage, +threat, assault, refusal to assist, pirating cargo, plotting murder and +disregard of Space Code Regulations, he watched Altman gain more control +over himself.</p> + +<p>"I realized about an hour before spillthrough," Brad was approaching the +end of his account, "that the Fleury was no longer holding the spilled +cargo in an orbit because its grav system wasn't working. Whatever +crates broke free from the holds also broke free from the ship's system +and were no longer being dragged down the descending node toward +spillthrough. They were remaining stationary on the arc—where Altman +was sure to pick them up.</p> + +<p>"Your spacesuit, Jim, came in handy. Without it, nothing could have been +done. I just filled it up with anything I could find—extra clothing, +insulation from the ruptured tube, a few utensils. It didn't make any +difference. The crew members who would handle the "body" would believe +it felt as torn apart as any other space suited body that experienced +spillthrough at a snail's pace.</p> + +<p>"To add weight, I broke open a bin of hematite and poured about a +hundred pounds or so of the stuff into the suit. I stirred it gently; +got more hematite—red ocher, you know—and half-filled the helmet. We +had enough control column oil left to wet it down rather thoroughly. The +new mixture had a rich, dark-red color, just like I thought it would. I +sloshed the goo around in the helmet so all the inner surface was coated +with the mixture and with small bits of indistinguishable odds and ends; +then I clamped the dome onto the suit and harnessed it in the pilot's +seat.</p> + +<p>"I put on my own helmet again, went aft and crawled into a half-busted +crate. With the wrist propulsor, I jockeyed the thing out of the hold to +make damned sure it would break free of the Fleury's system and wouldn't +spill through with the ship. After I saw I was drifting off, I worked my +way well into the bracing between the crate and the inter-calc unit so I +couldn't be seen through the broken sections of the box.</p> + +<p>"Sure enough—about three hours later, along comes grabbenheimer," he +threw a thumb in Altman's direction, "with his grapples. I was able to +squeeze out of the suit an hour or so after that. But I've been cramped +up in that crate for two days, with only emergency rations."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Altman loosed a sarcastic laugh and turned to the inspector. "It's a +damned clever trick, inspector!" he shouted. "I been grappled in on the +scheme.... Like I said, I arrived when he was slipping through. I +couldn't do anything to stop it. Naturally I wasn't going to let the +cargo go to waste. Naturally I was going to bring back what I thought +was his body—regulations say I gotta do that.</p> + +<p>"But he knew for a couple of hours that I was coming in answer to his +SOS. I had gotten a fix on the point where he was slipping through and +he was certain I would follow the Fleury through to normal space, pick +up his body and the cargo that was aboard and go back into hyper to get +the rest of the cargo. He had time to make all those preparations. So he +dreams up the scheme of hiding in with the cargo that's free in hyper +and telling this story later. You see...."</p> + +<p>Brad laughed. "Your tongue's working a little too fast, Altman. When I +picked the crate I was going to ride in, I picked a very special one. +The tractor's bringing it out now." He pointed to the ramp. Part of the +space suit was visible through the splintered side of the box.</p> + +<p>"That crate," he continued, "will carry more weight as evidence than the +oaths of all your crewmen on a pile of Bibles stacked from here to +Arcturus."</p> + +<p>Altman frowned puzzledly.</p> + +<p>Jim and the inspector looked at each other.</p> + +<p>"Inside is one of West Cluster's integrator-calculator audio retention +banks," Brad explained. "It took only ten minutes to hook leads from the +bank input to the intercommunication jackbox in the hold and to switch +it in on the radio voice system. With that setup, everything said on the +voice radio afterward spilled over into the retention bank. The only +reason why I held that final conversation with you was to get you to +repeat what you had done and were planning."</p> + +<p>Brad turned to Graham. "How about it inspector? Do you think the courts +will see that we get compensation for the loss of the Fleury?"</p> + +<p>"The least you'll get," Graham said, "is the Cluster Queen."</p> + +<p>Brad looked up appraisingly at the massive vessel. "She ought to +do as security on a loan to cover the purchase of two or three other +spaceworthy freighters to go with her. Wouldn't you think so, +Jim?—That'd make a nice nucleus for a fleet!"</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Spillthrough, by Daniel F. 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Galouye + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Spillthrough + +Author: Daniel F. Galouye + +Release Date: June 2, 2010 [EBook #32657] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPILLTHROUGH *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SPILLTHROUGH + + By Daniel F. Galouye + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of +Science and Fantasy January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any +evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: Ships switching from hyper to normal space had to do it in a +micro-second--if the crews were to live. But it would take Brad suicidal +minutes!] + + +Like the sibilant, labored breathing of a dying monster, the tortured +ship wailed its death sobs as it floundered in deep hyperstellar space. + +_Clank-sss, clank-sss_, went the battered safety valve of the pile +cooling system. + +_BOOM ... boom ... BOOM ... boom._ A severed and dangling piston rod +crashed in monotonous rhythm against a deck beam as the rest of the +auxiliary compression unit strained to satisfy its function. + +An off-beat bass viol strum added its depressive note to the symphony of +destruction's aftermath--_throom-throom ... throom-throom_. It was the +persistent expansion of plate metal reacting to heat from a ruptured +tube jacket. + +Forward, in the control compartment of the cargo craft, the sounds were +muted. But the intervening bulkheads did not lessen their portent. + +Brad Conally ran a hand over the stubbles on his cheek and swayed +forward in the bucket-type seat, his head falling to rest against the +control column. + +Somewhere aft the ship groaned and metal scraped against metal with a +sickening rending sound. + +There was a lurch and Brad was jerked to one side, his head ramming +against the inclination control. The ventral jet came to life in +unexpected protest and fired once. + +His hand shot out instinctively to return the loose, displaced lever to +neutral. But the force of the single burst had already taken effect and +the lower part of his stomach tied itself in a knot. + +Centrifugal force reeled him to the fringe of consciousness. He +struggled to reach the dorsal-ventral firing lever, praying that the +linkage was not severed and the mechanism was still operative. His hand +found the lever and jerked. The dorsal jet came to life with a roar. He +jockeyed the control back and forth across neutral position. The two +jets fired alternately. The sickening, end-over-end gyration became +gentler. + +The ship steadied itself again into immobility. But a snap sounded from +back aft. It was followed by a grating noise that crescendoed and +culminated in a terrific crash. His ears popped. A _clang_ reverberated, +evidence of an automatic airlock sealing off another punctured section +of the vessel. + +Shrugging fatigue from his body, he looked up at the panel. The +massometer showed a decrease of six tons. The explanation was simple, +Brad laughed dryly: A good one-quarter of his load of crated inter-calc +audio retention banks had rammed through the hull and floated into +space. + +He glanced at the scope. The twenty odd crates, some of them taking up +an orbital relationship with the vessel, were blips on the screen. + +Twisting the massometer section selector, he read off the figures. Hold +One showed full cargo of inter-calc equipment. Hold Two, with its thirty +bins of hematite, was intact. The third cargo compartment, containing +more crated inter-calc units, was the damaged one. The massometer +reading for that hold accounted for the missing weight. + + * * * * * + +"How're you doing, Brad?" the receiver rasped feebly. He recoiled at the +unexpected sound. + +"She's still in one piece, Jim," he shouted to compensate for the +strength the signal would lose in traveling the distance to the fleeing +lifecraft. "Have you cleared through your second hyperjump yet?" + +"Getting ready to go into the third. There won't be any more +communicating after that ... not with this short-range gear and your +faulty transmitter. Find out the trouble yet?" + +Brad ignored the question. "How long, Jim?" His voice was eager. "How +long before you get to port?" + +"Three jumps in one day. Seven more to go. That figures out to a little +over two more days. I'm making better time than we expected with this +peanut. Allow two more days for the slow tows to return.... Still think +it'll hold together?" + +Brad was silent. + +"Brad," Jim's voice went into low gear. "I've still got enough juice +to come back and pick you up. After all, one ship and one load of +cargo ... it's just not worth it." + +Brad listened to the ominous convulsions of the ship 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 shivered. 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 space 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 +hyperspace 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 Cluster +Supplies' work. We'll need an extra ship--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-ship 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 Space Ship Fleury. Repeat: Calling Space Ship 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 Cluster 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 Spaceport while the Fleury +was still docked, Brad recalled. The huge ship had been berthed next to +his. + +"Main drive jacket blown out in the engine compartment," Brad said +hoarsely. "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 +passengers?" + +"No. None this trip. I'm solo now. My engineer's gone off in the craft." + +"Can't you replace that jacket and limp through?" + +"Got a faulty gasket on the replacement. Can't be patched up." + +"You're in a helluva fix, Conally. Even a Lunar ferry pilot's got enough +sense to check his spare parts before blastoff." + +"I check mine after each landing. There isn't much that can happen to it +when the pile's cold.... Can you give me a tow, Altman?" + +"Can't do that, Conally. I'm not...." + +"If you'll just give me a boost then. To the crest of this hyperjump. +Then I won't have to worry about slipping through." + +"Like I started to tell you," Altman intoned insistently, "one of my +grapples is sheared." + +"You still have two more." + +"Uh-uh. This wise boy ain't gonna take a chance of a line snapping and +knocking a hunk outta my hull. Especially when you got cargo spilling +all over space." + +Brad clenched his fists. He spoke through his teeth. "Look, Altman. +Regulations say...." + +"... I gotta help you," the other cut him short. "I know that, pal. +That's why I happen to be stopping off at this not too enticing spot. +And I'm offering help.... Come aboard any time you want." + +"And hang up a free salvage sign on the Fleury?" + +Altman didn't answer. + +Twisting the gooseneck in his hand, Brad sucked in a deep breath and +blew it out in a rush. But he didn't say what had leaped into his mind. +Instead he glanced over at the panel's screen. + +Altman's ship showed up there--a large, greenish-yellow blip. There were +other small dots on the scope too. As he looked, the large blip coasted +over to one of the dots. The two became one mark on the screen. + +"You're picking up my cargo!" Brad shouted. + +"The stuff not in orbit around the Fleury ain't yours any longer, +Conally," Altman laughed. "You oughta bone up on your salvage laws." + +"You damned scavenger!" + +"Now, now, Brad," the other said smoothly. "What would you do if you +were in my position? Would you let top priority cargo slip through to +normal and get lost off the hyperlane? Or would you scoop it up and +bring it in for bonus price?" + +"You're not after a bonus," Brad roared into the mike. "You're after a +contract.... Altman, I'll pay two thousand for a ten-minute tow up-arc. +That'll almost wipe out my profit on this haul." + +"No sale." + +Brad gripped the mike with both hands. "So you're just going to sit +around and pick up cargo droppings!" + +"The book says I gotta stick around until you come aboard, until you get +underway on hyperpower, or until there just ain't any more ship or +crew.... Might as well pick up cargo; there's nothing else to do." + +"And when I come aboard you'll want to unload the Fleury too, I take +it." + +"Wouldn't you?" + + * * * * * + +Half the spilled crates were in close orbit around the SS Fleury. The +tri-D scope showed that. Brad estimated distances of several of the +objects as he clamped the helmet to the neckring of his suit and +clattered to the pilot compartment airlock. + +In the lock he unsnapped the hand propulsor from its bulkhead niche and +clamped it to his wrist plate while the outer hatch swung open and the +lock's air exploded into a void encrusted with a crisscross of vivid, +vari-colored lines. The individual streaks, he estimated, averaged at +least ten degrees in length. That indicated he was a reasonable period +of time away from spillthrough into normal space where the lines would +compress into the myriad normal pinpoints that were stars, undistorted +by hyperspace perspective. When the streaks decreased to four or five +degrees, he reminded himself, that was the time to start worrying about +dropping out the bottom of the trough. + +He waited until one of the square, tumbling objects rolled by, obscuring +sections of the out-of-focus celestial sphere as it whirled in its +orbit. Timing it, he waited for the box to complete another revolution. +Just before it arrived the third time, he pushed off. + +As he closed in on the crate, he knew his timing had been correct. He +intercepted it directly above the hatch and clung clumsily to a hand +ring as its greater mass swept him along in an altered orbit. A quick +blast from his propulsor eliminated the rotation he had imparted to the +object and he reoriented himself with respect to the ship. Spotting the +ruptured sideplate where the cargo had burst through the hull, he +steered his catch toward the hole with short bursts of power. + +[Illustration] + +The bent plate made a natural ramp down which he slid the crate onto the +gravity-fluxed deck. Inside, he degravitated the chamber, floated the +box into position and double-lashed it to the deck. + +Pushing away from the ship again, he checked the length of the stellar +grid streaks. They were still approximately ten degrees long. It looked +hopeful. He might have time to collect all the orbiting cargo before he +got dangerously close to spillthrough. Then he'd see about pushing on +up-arc until the fuzzy streaks stretched to forty or fifty +degrees--perhaps even ninety, if he could allow himself the luxury of +wishful thinking. There he'd be at quartercrest and would have time to +rest before worrying about being drawn down the arc again toward normal +space. + +While he jockeyed the fourth crate into the hold, a huge shadow suddenly +blotched out part of the star lines off to the port side. It was the +Cluster Queen pursuing a crate not in orbit around the Fleury. Brad +shrugged; he'd be unable to pick up the ones that far out anyway. + +But his head jerked upright in the helmet suddenly. If Altman was after +a free box, he realized, the Cluster Queen _could not_ appear in sharp +outline to an observer in the Fleury system! The Fleury, sliding down +the hyperspatial arc with its orbiting crates, would be moving slowly +toward normal space in response to the interdimensional pull exerted by +its warp flux rectifier, hidden inaccessibly in the bowels of the pile, +as it was on most outdated ships. But the free boxes, in another +time-space system with the Cluster Queen, would be stationary on the arc +and would appear increasingly fuzzy as the planal displacement between +the two systems became greater. + +The truth, Brad realized, was that the Cluster Queen was drawing closer +both spatially and on the descending node of the hyperspatial arc! +Altman was violating the law; he was going to take the cargo in orbit. +And he could well get away with it too, since it would be the word of +only one man aboard the Fleury against the word of the entire crew of +the Queen. + + * * * * * + +There were still six boxes in orbit. He pushed out again toward the +closest and saw he had not been wrong in his reasoning. The Queen's +outline was razor-edge sharp; it was close enough to stretch across +fifty-five degrees of the celestial sphere. + +He kept it in the corner of his vision as he hooked on to the crate and +started back to the ship. The Queen was reversing attitude slowly. When +he had first spotted it, it was approaching at an angle, nose forward. +But now it had gyroed broadside and was continuing to turn as it drifted +slowly toward Brad and the box. + +"Altman!" he cried into his all-wave helmet mike. "You're on collision +course!" + +Brad kicked away from the crate and streaked back toward the Fleury. + +There was a laugh in the receiver. "Did you hear something, Bronson?" + +"No, captain," another voice laughed. "For a moment I thought maybe I +picked up a small blip near that crate. But I don't guess Conally would +be stupid enough to suit up and try to hustle his own cargo." + +Brad activated his propulsor again and gained impetus in his dash for +the Fleury's hatch. + +"Still," Altman muttered, "it seems like I heard somebody say something +about a collision course." + +The Cluster Queen was no longer turning. It had stabilized, with its +tubes pointed in the general direction of the Fleury and her floating +crates. + +Perspiration formed on Brad's forehead as he glanced up and saw the +other ship steady itself, settling on a predetermined, split-hair +heading. Somebody, he realized grimly, was doing a good job of aiming +the vessel's stern. + +He got additional speed out of his propulsor, but the tubes swung slowly +as he covered more of the distance to his hatch. It seemed he couldn't +escape his position of looking up into the mouths of the jets. + +"I don't know, boss," the speaker near his ear sounded again. "Maybe he +_is_ out there." + +"We better not take chances, then," Altman was not hiding the heavy +sarcasm in his words. "Blast away!" + +Brad kicked sideways, stiffened his arm and hit the wrist jet full +force. He shot to one side on a course parallel with the Fleury. + +A blinding gusher of raw energy exploded--a cone of blistering, +scintillating force that streaked through space between himself and the +disabled ship. The aiming was perfect. Had he not swerved off when he +did, had he stayed on his original course, he would have been in the +center of the lance of hell-power. + +As he drifted shakily into the hatch, the Queen wasn't even a dot +against the trellis of star traces. But, while he looked, a miniature +lance of flame burst in the general direction in which Altman's vessel +had gone--scores of miles away. He was maneuvering a standard turn to +approach again, Brad realized. + +If he repeated the performance against the hull of the Fleury, he would +shake things up considerably, but at least the alloys of the plates +could stand the heat--possibly the thrust too ... but not for long. + + * * * * * + +Invigorating effects of hot coffee flowed through Brad as he sat +strapped in the pilot's seat and allowed himself the luxury of a +cigarette. + +But his eyes were fastened on the screen. The Cluster Queen was drawing +up to the last orbiting crate. He watched the large blip and the dot +become one. + +Abruptly, there was motion in the direct-view port overhead. The Queen +and the crate drifted into view. He switched his gaze from the screen +and watched grapples clamp the crate like giant mandibles, drawing it +into the Queen. + +His chest and abdomen hurt and he wanted to get out of the seat and +stretch, move around, do something. But that might be disastrous. If +Altman was going to play any more tricks with his tubes, he would be +ready to do it now, after the last box had been retrieved. And Brad +realized it wouldn't be healthy being shaken around inside an +erratically spinning compartment. + +"That's the last one, Altman," he spoke dully into the mike. + +"Say!" The irony was still in the other's voice. "Were you out there +when we blasted to avoid collision?" + +Brad said nothing. + +"Sorry if we warmed your tail," Altman continued. "But you should'a +stayed inside. Our instruments show you're getting close to +spillthrough. Ain't you gonna do anything about it?" + +Brad snapped to alertness. Now he realized the origin of the pains in +his stomach and chest--the pin-prick sensations that seemed to be +spreading throughout his flesh. He glanced out the direct-view port. +Altman was right. The sky was no longer a grid of star streaks. The +lines had shrunken; their lengths now stretched scarcely over three or +four degrees. The scope showed the Queen was still there spatially, but +the fuzziness of her outline indicated she was well out of danger--high +up on the ascending node of the arc. + +"What's on the program, Altman?" Brad asked bitterly. "Let me guess.... +I slip through the barrier. Passage at slow speed makes pretty much of a +pulpy mess out of my body. You pop the Queen through in a +milli-second.... You got a nice story to tell: You arrived as I was +slipping through. You couldn't do anything to stop me. You plunged +through after me. With a dead skipper aboard, the ship and cargo were +free to the first one who came along. You took the cargo, it being high +priority stuff. You left the ship, it being outdated, battered, useless +and drifting in normal interstellar where it would never be found. You +took what was left of the skipper, it being good evidence to +substantiate your tale." + +"Now Brad, boy!" Altman stretched the words out in mock reprimand. "You +know _I_ wouldn't do a thing like _that_. You know the West Cluster +contract doesn't mean _that_ much to _me_!" + +There was a long silence. Apparently Altman wasn't going to interrupt +it. Brad looked back at the scope. The Queen had withdrawn spatially and +hyperspatially. + +The pains in his body rose sharply and he grimaced, biting down on his +lips. A knife slipped into his abdomen, twisted and shot up through his +chest and into his head. Then an incendiary bomb went off somewhere in +his stomach. + +He reached for the control of the good main hyperjet. Then, as his face +contorted with near agony, he punched down on it. + +The pain left swiftly. The ship rattled and clanked and ground +hatefully, its new cacophony of protest drowning out the old +_clank-sss_, _boom_ and _throom-throom_. The small blurs in the sky +elongated--five degrees, ten, twelve, twenty, twenty-five, forty.... The +Cluster Queen's outline on the scope became sharp and then faded into +fuzziness once more as the Fleury passed it hyperspatially along the +ascending node of the arc. + +He pressed the normal drive jet lever and it spluttered weakly, creating +not even enough discordant sounds in the wracked ship to drown out the +_boom, throom, clank-sss_ symphony. The dot on the scope representing +the Queen faded into insignificance. With a sweep of his hand, he killed +power in the automatic distress transmitter. + +Now it would take the Queen a little while to get a bearing on him along +four co-ordinates. It would be a reprieve of several' hours--even the +Fleet ships couldn't do it in less time than that without a signal to +home in on. + +He had no idea what the skipper of the Queen would do next. But at the +moment he wasn't interested. The sharp pains were gone. But they had +been replaced by an uncontrollable, reactive nausea. He unclamped his +safety harness and stumbled to the jettison bin, holding a hand over his +mouth. He made it just in time. + +Then he dropped onto the bunk, exhausted. + + * * * * * + +The reprieve gained by his elusive tactics must have been a long one. +When Brad awoke he felt fresher than he had at any time since the engine +compartment eruption. He had no way of knowing how long he had slept; +the secondary bus bar off which the ship's clocks operated had gone up +in the initial blast when a section of the plate from the ruptured tube +jacket had smashed through the junction box. + +Evenly spaced _swooshing_ sounds were emitting from the speaker. That, +he realized, was what had awakened him. Someone was blowing into a mike +to see if it was alive. + +"SS Fleury, SS Fleury, SS Fleury," the sounds were suddenly exchanged +for words--Altman's. + +Brad swung his legs out of the bunk and stood swaying, rubbing a hand +over his chafed, bearded face. + +The elongated blip was back on the radar screen--clear, close. + +"Answer, Conally," the receiver barked. + +Brad strode to the panel and looked out the direct-view port He had +slept longer than he had at first suspected. The stellar trellis had +shortened considerably. They were back in the neighborhood of fifteen +degrees. + +"Distress Regulation Four-Oh-Eight-Two," the speaker droned, "says that +if a disabled ship don't answer by radio or visually within fifteen +minutes after being called steadily, standby craft is to board it and +may take immediate possession." + +"What do you want, Altman?" Brad said resignedly into the mike. + +Altman hissed irritably. "Conally, there's no sense in playing +hide-'n-seek with the little power you've got left. Get off that damned +piece of junk and come aboard." + +"Go to hell." + +"Listen! I'm tired of wasting time! If you don't...." + +"I'll sign a release and shoot it over to you. That's all you need to +clear you of rescue and standby responsibility. I'll keep my distress +signal off until you get out of range." + +"Uh-uh. It ain't as simple as that. I want your cargo. And I'm going to +get it. Now let's be sensible. You know you don't have a chance." + +"Maybe I've learned a few tricks." + +The other snarled impatiently. "Okay, bright boy. I've had enough of +this horseplay. I'm gonna let you see just the way things are.... Notice +anything odd? Any peculiar noises aboard the Fleury?" + + * * * * * + +Brad cocked his head toward the stern. The complaining clanks and +groans and off-beat thumpings maintained their steady rhythm. There were +some new noises. + +"I been listening to it get louder for the past three hours," Altman +hinted. + +Then Brad's ears picked it up--an erratic, excited +_clackety-clack-clackety-clack_. He gasped. + +Altman laughed. "That counter's setting up quite a sing-song, ain't it? +I sorta think that pile might go _boom_ in a few hours. But I'm hoping I +can get your cargo aboard before then. You can come too if you want." + +Brad swung swiftly and lurched for the passageway aft. + +"Wish I was there to help you with the cad rod insertions," the laughing +voice raced after him. + +The dial on the forward side of the shielded bulkhead read +Oh-Oh-point-Oh-Two-Four. He applied the figure to the adjacent graph and +learned he could remain in the engine compartment for one minute and +fourteen seconds, with a safety factor of ten per cent. In that period +of time, he rationalized, he ought to be able to insert a sufficient +number of cadmium control rods to bring the pile under control. + +The counter clicked gratingly overhead as he undogged the hatch, swung +it open and lunged into the steam-tormented acrid compartment. + +He broke open the first locker and jerked the remaining three cad rods +from their racks. Coughing and waving smoke from in front of his face, +he swung open the door of the first reserve compartment. + +It was empty! + +The second reserve compartment was empty too, as were the two emergency +compartments. Only three cadmium rods when he needed at least three +dozen! + +In a rapid dash around the pile block, he inserted the rods at spaced +intervals in their slots. At least they would mean a few hours' grace. +As he slid the last rod in he cursed himself and swore that if he ever +commanded another ship he would not leave it unmanned at the +dock--specifically if there was somebody like Altman berthed anywhere at +the same spaceport. + +The ruptured hypertube jacket, he wondered suddenly, not losing his +count of seconds. It seemed unlikely now that it had let go as a result +of defective material. He stepped to the flange that connected it with +the stern bulkhead. + +The tube, inactivated immediately after the blowout, was cold. He looked +where his suspicions directed.... The aperture control valve had been +readjusted! It had been displaced a full fifteen degrees on the topside +of optimum power! A cunning setting--one that would trap and concentrate +enough residual di-ions at normal power output to cut loose somewhere +between the fifth and tenth jump. + +He thought, too, of his transmitter that hadn't been powerful enough to +reach farther than a couple of jumps since he had left spaceport. When, +he asked himself, had Altman's radioman worked on it? + + * * * * * + +After he slammed the hatch and dogged it, he leaned against the thick +metal for a long while. The _clack-clack_ overhead was somewhat +pacified. But it wouldn't remain that way long. He quelled the fear +sensations that were racing through him and tried to think. + +How long? How long had it been since Jim left? He was three jumps away a +few hours ago--or was it longer than that?--and he still had seven to go +or was it six? Had it been just a few hours ago, or was it days? He had +slept some--twice, he believed--since then. But for how long? And if the +tow ships did make it back in time, would they have spare rods? + +He gave it up as a hopeless speculation and started back up the +passageway, shoulders drooping. + +_Karoom!_ + +The new sound reverberated through the agonized vessel and the bulkheads +of the passageway shuddered in fanatic sympathy with it. + +The deck shifted crazily beneath his feet and a port beam--the bulkhead +and the rest of the ship following it--swung over to crash into his +shoulder. + +A stabbing pain shot up his arm as he slid down the tilting wall and +landed in the right angle between the deck and the bulkhead. + +Massaging the torn ligament in his arm, he sat up and swayed dizzily in +resonance with the pendulum-like motion of the vessel. Then he struggled +to his feet and stood upright--one foot planted at an angle against the +deck and the other against the port bulkhead. Overhead was the +corresponding juncture made by the ceiling plate and the starboard +bulkhead. + +Nausea welled as he tried to adjust to the new, perverted up and down +references. He didn't have to wonder what had happened. The starboard +gray coil that ran under the overheated converter, he knew, had finally +shorted out. The port coil was still operating normally. He considered +turning it off, but conceded it was better to struggle around in an +apparently listing ship than to be wracked by the nausea of +weightlessness. + +Straddling the deck and port bulkhead, he waddled back to the hatchway, +threw a leg over its edge and lifted himself into the control +compartment, sliding down the floor to the port side. He worked his way +to the control seat, readjusted its tilt and crawled in it. + +Then he tore a strip out of his jacket and wrapped it around his +shoulder as tightly as he could. The pressure eased the pain in his +aching muscle. + +The air gauge showed an almost normal Two-Nine-point-Three-Two pounds, +sufficient oxygen content, and a satisfactory circulatory rate. He +eagerly fished a cigarette from his jacket. He had earned it, he assured +himself. + +While he smoked he counted on the screen the amount of cargo that had +spilled out when the loose crates had lurched with the vessel. Almost as +fast as he counted it, the Cluster Queen swooped down on it and scooped +it into her hatch. + +Numbed, he found he could no longer react to the total disregard of his +rights with any degree of excited resentment. He closed his eyes +indifferently. Shuddering, he squeezed the cylinder of tobacco between +his fingers without being aware of the action. The glowing end bent back +and burned his knuckle. + +Tossing the cigarette away, he realized suddenly his fight was futile. +He couldn't possibly hold out until Jim returned, or in the hope that +some other vessel would happen along. The pile, his arm, spillthrough, +the Fleury threatening to break in two ... he enumerated all the +factors. + +If he went aboard the Cluster Queen now, Altman would at least give him +passage to port. Any charges Brad would make would never hold up without +substantiation. And Altman would see that he brought nothing with him +that could back up the accusations. It would be just as easy for the +crew of the Queen to prove that Brad Conally had conceived the whole +weird account of assault and piracy as a means of winning back the cargo +he was faced with losing. + +He knew, however, that no matter what happened, he could kiss the Fleury +goodbye. Altman would never allow it to reach port. There might be +evidence aboard--perhaps evidence as simple as finger prints--to prove +that Altman or one of his crew had tampered with the machinery. + +Brad reached out to extend the gooseneck of the mike toward him. + + * * * * * + +But the stellar grid showing through the direct-view port was blotted +out suddenly. He jerked his gaze to the scope. The Queen was +overhead--almost within grappling distance! + +He started to shout out, but at the same time brilliant hell exploded +outside. + +The Cluster Queen's jetwash raked across the upper bow of the Fleury, +throwing its nose down and its tail up and over in a hateful, wrenching +spin. + +The spin continued, losing none of its neck-snapping vehemence, as the +Queen burst off into space. The harness cut across Brad's aching arm and +set up a new, rending torture. But his good arm shot out and found the +forward belly jet lever. + +With what mushily reacted like the last erg of energy in the normal +drive converter tanks, the jet responded feebly. He nursed the power +carefully, determined not to waste juice through overcorrection. Finally +the Fleury steadied and resumed immobility of attitude. + +"Sorry, Conally," Altman apologized with exaggerated concern. "But her +majesty's acting up frisky-like. Can't seem to do much with her.... +Maybe if you came aboard we might find some way to quiet her down. How +about it?" + +Brad bit his lips and tightened his good fist until fingernails knifed +into the palm. "No, damn you!" he shouted with all the volume his lungs +could muster. + +He summoned all the spacewise epithets any stevedore or crewman had ever +used, added a few he imagined no one had thought of before, and held +them in abeyance until Altman would answer. + +But no sound came out of the speaker. + +The reason was apparent on the scope. A half dozen of the massive crates +had crashed through the hull--this time out of hold number One, the +massometer showed--and the Cluster Queen was on her way to take them +aboard. + +But he was more concerned with another complication. The red power +utilization indicator of the good hypertube was in motion, swinging back +to zero on its dial. He saw the flicker of the needle in the corner of +his vision. + +He checked the suspicion against the blips on the scope and obtained +verification ... the outlines of the Queen and the crates were fuzzy, +despite the fact they were still nearby spatially. The fuzziness could +only result from the Fleury's being removed hyperspatially from that +vicinity. + +He had accidentally touched the hyperjet lever while applying normal +power to correct the three-dimensional spin. Which way had he moved it? +Had he gone further into hyperspace? Or had he fallen further down the +descending node toward spillthrough? + +Studying sensations in his body for an indication of abnormal pain, he +stared abruptly out the view port. The twisting pain was there--inside +his chest. The star lines were short. + +He swore and scowled at his luck. + +Then, as the pain intensified, he grasped the lever of the hyperjet +again and thrust it forward. The tube sputtered feebly, came on full +force for a second, sputtered again and was silent. + +He jerked the lever back and forth on the forward side of neutral and +rammed it desperately all the way forward. The tube coughed, grabbed +once more for a moment, and sputtered out. He goosed it four more times, +but only got two boosts as a result. Then he twisted it past the stop to +the first emergency position. It wheezed, fired for two seconds and +died. + +Sweat forming in beads on his face, he ignored the pain in his shoulder +and reached to the control column with his injured arm. He swung back +the second safety stop bar out of the way and rammed the lever all the +way forward. + +The tube fired for another second, but that was all. He had used the +last erg. + +But how much time had he bought with his final means of retreat from the +spillthrough trough? He checked the celestial crisscrosses.... Not +much.... + + * * * * * + +Altman? he wondered suddenly. Where was the Cluster Queen? It wasn't +showing up on the scope any longer. Neither were the crates. Had he +retrieved them and shoved off? Brad jiggled the scope's brilliance +control, wondering whether it was faulty and was simply not registering +the Queen. + +An abrupt _thud_, coincident with a sharp jar throughout the ship and a +sudden shifting of the pseudogravitational field almost to normal, +brought him upright in his seat. He realized immediately what was +happening. + +He hadn't been able to pick up the Queen on the scope because it was too +close to register as a blip separate from the central luminescence on +the screen which was representative of the Fleury itself. Altman had +maneuvered alongside, aligned the hatch flanges of the two ships and +activated his magnetic grapples. The nearness of his grav coils had +restored some of the Fleury's internal stability. He was preparing to +board the Fleury. He would be aboard within ten minutes.... It took that +long to make minute adjustments in order to insure perfect +superimposition of the flange surfaces. + +Brad smiled grimly and unsnapped his harness with nervous fingers. If he +could get into his suit in time, it would be simple to open a hatch aft +and let the air spill from the Fleury. Then when Altman undogged the +inner hatch of the Fleury's air lock, it would be sucked open violently +and pull the skipper of the Cluster Queen into a vacuum. It would make a +mess out of the air lock and the control compartment--but that would be +advantageous. It would be evidence to prove at least that Altman had +taken the initiative in boarding the Fleury without first dispatching +his intention of doing so to the nearest port, as required by the law. + +Brad planned that if he then found the Queen's locks dogged, he would +temporarily close the Fleury's inner lock and fill the between-ships +passage with normal pressure air so he would be able to open the Queen's +hatches against the thirty-pound pressure in the other ship. After +opening her hatches, he would leap back to the Fleury's inner hatch, +release the single doglatch and let the vacuum suck all the air from the +other ship too. He would immediately report the defensive action to Vega +IV, borrow emergency cad rods from the Queen, prevent an internal pile +blast aboard the Fleury and withdraw the crippled ship, together with +its engine compartment evidence, to the node of the arc to await the +arrival of investigators. + +He clamped the helmet on his neck ring with a minute to spare as he +reassured himself it was a perfect plan and had a reasonable chance to +success. It was one too that required no physical exertion. He couldn't +go through any rough stuff with his sprained arm. + + * * * * * + +Stiffening, he watched the first of the six doglatches on the hatch +swing to the unlocked position. He moved over against the starboard +bulkhead, well away from the hatch. He would have to get out of the suit +again, and it would be a messy job if he were standing close to Altman +when the vacuum went to work on him. + +The final doglatch unsnapped. The hatch crashed open and he imagined he +could almost hear the swoosh of escaping air. + +Instead he heard a mocking voice over his audio. + +"You were right, captain," the voice laughed. + +"Who'd think Conally would try a trick like that?" Altman taunted, +extending a spacesuit clad leg across the hatch ledge. + +"You would and did.... He'll probably be right behind the hatch to the +left there, boss." + +Brad sprang forward. + +But Altman turned suddenly in his direction and pointed a gun at Brad's +stomach. It checked the attack. Brad backed away hopelessly. + +"Okay," Altman jerked his head in the confines of the helmet, "go to +work." + +The crewman from the Queen stepped into the control cabin and walked +toward the passageway aft while Altman held the gun on Brad. + +"Think you can do it quick enough?" Altman asked the crewman. +"Radiation, you know." + +The crewman thrust the wide-mouthed gun above his shoulder where Altman +could see it. "It'll just take one shot with this." + +He disappeared down the passageway. + +"Hell, captain," the voice sounded a minute later. "It's dead. He musta +used up all his reserve juice in that last surge upward." + +"Okay," Altman smiled--a weird, distorted smile as seen through the +thick, rounded helmet. "Come on back." He looked at Brad. "So you can't +pull away from the trough any longer? That's tough." + +Brad wanted to say, Okay, Altman, I'll go aboard the Queen with you. But +he didn't. He realized the plea would have been futile anyway as he +watched the crewman rejoin Altman and heard the latter say: "Just think, +Conally, you could have come aboard. I would have let you a while back. +But you've made this thing too tough and gave my boys the chance to +convince me we might have slipped up somewhere and you might be able to +prove your side of the story." + +The pair retreated to the air lock. Brad stood motionless, staring, not +breathing. + +"The pile'll hold," the crewman announced, "for another four hours, just +about." + +"Fine!" Altman exclaimed. "This junk'll slip through within an hour. +That'll give us another three hours, at least, to get this stiff aboard +the Queen and transfer cargo before she blows. Then we can mop up on +whatever crates we've...." + +But the air lock closed and the rest of his words were cut off. + + * * * * * + +If he could only get cleaned up before it came. If he could only enjoy +the luxury of a bath, a shave, clean clothes. Brad laughed at the last +item, wondering how clothes could be expected to remain clean if they +were on someone making the spillthrough transition at coasting speed. + +The Fleury lurched as the Queen cut loose and blasted away. Brad had +watched the pressure gauge climb back to normal and was removing his +helmet at the time. The ship's one-sided gravity field caught hold +unexpectedly and he toppled to the deck rolling to the port bulkhead. +His hurt shoulder rammed into metal and new pain knifed into existence +as the heavy helmet clattered down and crashed against his head. The +blow almost stunned him. But it left him with enough awareness to wish +it _had_ knocked him insensible--permanently insensible. + +The scope showed more cargo had spilled out in the last lurch. The Queen +started over toward the crates, but coasted past, turned and came back +to take post spatially alongside the disabled craft. Already the other +ship's outline was beginning to blur as the Fleury slipped away from her +hyperspatially--down the arc. + +Brad straddle-stepped on the deck and bulkhead to the control column and +broke out his pack of cigarettes. Suddenly his feet left the deck. The +port gray coil had gone out, he realized grimly, the current having +dropped below the minimum requirements. For a moment he became concerned +over weightlessness. Then he cut in the heel magna-grips of his suit and +clanged onto the floor. At least, he wasn't confronted with a +topsy-turvy ship any longer. He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and +half-centered his attention on the scope. Two more crates had left the +Fleury's holds. With the grav fields out on the ship, they did not take +up orbit. They just floated away, at an almost imperceptible speed. But +the Queen was still apparently not interested in picking them up. There +would be plenty of time to do that; right now she must stick close to +the Fleury spatially, Brad realized, so her instruments would indicate +the moment the spillthrough to normal space occurred, so her crew could +get to work. + +As though hypnotized in inconsequential thought, he watched the crates +slowly draw away. Almost incredibly expensive cargo. Cargo that Altman +would surely not allow to go unrecovered. Even as booty, the crated +equipment would bring every bit of what it was worth. But Altman would +see that they were delivered--every one of them. A contract with West +Cluster meant a good deal more than the face value of the one shipment +of inter-calc banks. + +Brad started and his face became alive with expression as a sudden +realization drove home. It was followed almost immediately by a second +jarring consideration. He tossed away the half-consumed cigarette. + +It wasn't more than fifteen minutes later when he stood before the mike +again. + +"Altman," he called out. + +Silence. + +"Altman," he shouted louder. + +"Go ahead and answer him, captain. Let's see what he has to say." + +"You can't come aboard, Conally," Altman said finally. + +"If you don't let me come aboard I'll slip through and be killed." + +"Ain't that touching!" + +"You mean you won't pick me up?" + +"We'll pick you up all right--we wanna take what's left of you back to +show how you died." + +"It's like that then? You're going to kill me to get the cargo?" + +"You're learning fast." + +"Are you going to hook on to the Fleury and drag her in to port?" + +"Are you nuts? The inspectors could easily find out that we worked her +over before you left port.... What's the matter--got a sentimental +attachment for that old crate?" + +"Look, Altman...." + +"Go to hell, Conally." + +The background hum died out of the Fleury's receiver abruptly. Brad +called twice. But there was no answer. + + * * * * * + +The SS Fleury was vibrant with the final pounding of its weakening vital +parts. + +_Clank-sss, clank-sss_, the coolant's safety valve hissed. +_Boom ... boom_, the jangling piston rod pounded. The expanding metal +plate added its _throom-throom_ note. + +The counter in the passageway _clackety-clacked_ louder. + +Their lines snapped by persistent tremors and lurches, more crates +danced in the holds. Some of them eventually found their way to the +gaping holes in the hull and, receiving a final, brief kick from jagged +metal, floated lightly out into space. + +In the scope of the Cluster Queen, the Fleury's outline became fuzzier. + +With mounting groans, the tortured vessel wrenched violently as she +slipped down the descending arc. + +Then suddenly she was through--in normal space where stars shown with +pinpoint brilliancy and where the celestial sphere was no longer a lazy, +crazy crisscross of blurred lines. + +The Cluster Queen started a wide hyperspatial turn, remaining spatially +alongside the Fleury. She gathered speed as she swung around and +straightened out and, with hyperjets blasting full force, plunged +through the barrier in somewhat less time than a milli-second. + +Ahead, the Fleury was picked up immediately on the scope. Like a hawk, +the Queen closed the distance to the other trembling, silent ship. + + * * * * * + +Vega IV's spaceport was bathed in brilliant, blue-cast light from the +magnificent sun. + +The Cluster Queen was docked. A tractor kept itself busy rolling up the +ramp into the ship and out again with huge crates that were apparently +in somewhat poorer condition than when they left Arcturus II. An +occasional splintered board jutted outward, held to its box only by +loose nails. + +Three men were next to the hold's hatch. They stood grouped about an +elongated form that lay on the concrete apron, covered with a white +square of linen. A spacesuit clad arm jutted out under one side of the +covered square. + +"We'll take you over to the office," Inspector Graham was saying. +"You'll have to make out an affidavit, you know. We'll need a couple of +your crewmen to verify it." + +"Be glad to," Altman answered. "Any time you're ready." + +"As soon as they pick up--Conally," the inspector looked down at the +form. + +"I don't understand it," Jim muttered, rubbing a thumb and forefinger +over closed eyelids. + +"_Maybe I've got a version that's easier to understand, Jim_," the voice +sounded forcefully from the direction of the hatch. + +Inspector Graham and Altman spun around. + +Jim didn't have to. He was facing the hatch. + +Altman blanched; backed away; stopped, and held his ground. + +"Brad!" Jim shouted unbelievingly and rushed forward to grasp his arms +as the Fleury's skipper leaped off the side of the ramp. He was haggard +but smiling. + +"Who's this?" the inspector asked. + +"This is Conally, the skipper of the Fleury," Jim explained jubilantly. + +The inspector started, looked at the form on the apron, back at Brad, +then at Altman. + +"A trick!" Altman cried hoarsely. "I see it all, inspector. It's a +damned trick! I've been roped in!" + +He was putting on a rather good act, Brad thought. But he went along +with his story anyway. As Brad unfolded the incidents of sabotage, +threat, assault, refusal to assist, pirating cargo, plotting murder and +disregard of Space Code Regulations, he watched Altman gain more control +over himself. + +"I realized about an hour before spillthrough," Brad was approaching the +end of his account, "that the Fleury was no longer holding the spilled +cargo in an orbit because its grav system wasn't working. Whatever +crates broke free from the holds also broke free from the ship's system +and were no longer being dragged down the descending node toward +spillthrough. They were remaining stationary on the arc--where Altman +was sure to pick them up. + +"Your spacesuit, Jim, came in handy. Without it, nothing could have been +done. I just filled it up with anything I could find--extra clothing, +insulation from the ruptured tube, a few utensils. It didn't make any +difference. The crew members who would handle the "body" would believe +it felt as torn apart as any other space suited body that experienced +spillthrough at a snail's pace. + +"To add weight, I broke open a bin of hematite and poured about a +hundred pounds or so of the stuff into the suit. I stirred it gently; +got more hematite--red ocher, you know--and half-filled the helmet. We +had enough control column oil left to wet it down rather thoroughly. The +new mixture had a rich, dark-red color, just like I thought it would. I +sloshed the goo around in the helmet so all the inner surface was coated +with the mixture and with small bits of indistinguishable odds and ends; +then I clamped the dome onto the suit and harnessed it in the pilot's +seat. + +"I put on my own helmet again, went aft and crawled into a half-busted +crate. With the wrist propulsor, I jockeyed the thing out of the hold to +make damned sure it would break free of the Fleury's system and wouldn't +spill through with the ship. After I saw I was drifting off, I worked my +way well into the bracing between the crate and the inter-calc unit so I +couldn't be seen through the broken sections of the box. + +"Sure enough--about three hours later, along comes grabbenheimer," he +threw a thumb in Altman's direction, "with his grapples. I was able to +squeeze out of the suit an hour or so after that. But I've been cramped +up in that crate for two days, with only emergency rations." + + * * * * * + +Altman loosed a sarcastic laugh and turned to the inspector. "It's a +damned clever trick, inspector!" he shouted. "I been grappled in on the +scheme.... Like I said, I arrived when he was slipping through. I +couldn't do anything to stop it. Naturally I wasn't going to let the +cargo go to waste. Naturally I was going to bring back what I thought +was his body--regulations say I gotta do that. + +"But he knew for a couple of hours that I was coming in answer to his +SOS. I had gotten a fix on the point where he was slipping through and +he was certain I would follow the Fleury through to normal space, pick +up his body and the cargo that was aboard and go back into hyper to get +the rest of the cargo. He had time to make all those preparations. So he +dreams up the scheme of hiding in with the cargo that's free in hyper +and telling this story later. You see...." + +Brad laughed. "Your tongue's working a little too fast, Altman. When I +picked the crate I was going to ride in, I picked a very special one. +The tractor's bringing it out now." He pointed to the ramp. Part of the +space suit was visible through the splintered side of the box. + +"That crate," he continued, "will carry more weight as evidence than the +oaths of all your crewmen on a pile of Bibles stacked from here to +Arcturus." + +Altman frowned puzzledly. + +Jim and the inspector looked at each other. + +"Inside is one of West Cluster's integrator-calculator audio retention +banks," Brad explained. "It took only ten minutes to hook leads from the +bank input to the intercommunication jackbox in the hold and to switch +it in on the radio voice system. With that setup, everything said on the +voice radio afterward spilled over into the retention bank. The only +reason why I held that final conversation with you was to get you to +repeat what you had done and were planning." + +Brad turned to Graham. "How about it inspector? Do you think the courts +will see that we get compensation for the loss of the Fleury?" + +"The least you'll get," Graham said, "is the Cluster Queen." + +Brad looked up appraisingly at the massive vessel. "She ought to +do as security on a loan to cover the purchase of two or three other +spaceworthy freighters to go with her. Wouldn't you think so, +Jim?--That'd make a nice nucleus for a fleet!" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Spillthrough, by Daniel F. 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