opened the lock.
Their luck held. No Security man was stationed opposite the mouth ofthe axis tube at the south polar lock.
Halfway to the engineering quarters, Mike stopped, used a special keyto open an inspection plate, and they dropped lightly into the hugeshielding tank that now held only air. From there the pairback-tracked Mike's original path to the inspection plate in theengineering quarters, and so into his own bailiwick, where they foundIshie standing on catlike guard, a wrench in one hand, waiting forwhatever might come up.
"Confusion say," the grinning Chinese physicist declared, "two for oneis good luck."
* * * * *
General Steve Elbertson made his way wearily in through the south lockand on to the bridge where he found the communications officer incomplete charge with two Security men for assistants. The captain andBessie were effectively bound, and placed in spare console seats.
General Elbertson made his way to the captain's console and seatedhimself.
Hot Rod was dead, but their control was by no means lessened.
That he himself had not been shot dead on the way from Hot Rod was, tohim, a confirmation of the weakness of his enemies.
The satellite was under his control. The scientists would repair HotRod--and well he knew how to see to it that they did so.
U.N. Security Forces were in complete, dictatorial command of Earth.
He had only to eliminate the renegade Indian, and long before theSecurity scuttlebug, now on its way from Earth loaded with cracktroops, should arrive, Security would be in complete command not onlyof the Space Lab, but of the weapon, which would by then be in repair.
As a final test of its operation, it would be amusing to use theIndian, Blackhawk, as a target; and perhaps the captain as well,though he might have to use them as examples sooner--the captain andsome others.
The fortuitous accident that had put Hot Rod in operation ahead ofschedule had also stepped many plans months ahead. No violence hadactually been planned until the weapon had been thoroughly tested; butnow things looked to be working in orderly fashion; working with thewell-oiled precision of a master-plan, properly designed and properlyexecuted in the proper military manner.
Only one small difficulty marred the current smoothness of theoperation. The Security men were attempting to instruct the computerto precess the wheel back to its original position.
In reply, for every figure of any type sent over the keyboard, the Cowsent back a half-yard of confused, rambling figures and would donothing else.
General Elbertson snapped a single command. "Turn the thing off. We'llget to that later."
Busily the men switched the keys to the "off" position. Just as busilythe Cow continued to pour out figures, interspersed with ramblingpages of physics covering such odd subjects as the yak population ofthe Andes, the number of buffalo that were purported to be able todance on the rim of the Grand Canyon--a fantastic figure--someconfused statement about the birth rate in Indo-China, and an equallyconfused statement about the learning rate in schools in Haddock.
Eventually, if one cared to sort it out, the Cow might produce theentire Encyclopedia Britannica for the year 1911; and then again,possibly for the year 33,310. Actually, it only depended on what youwished to select. It was a vast mass of material that was beinghappily upchucked into the lap of the confused communications officerand his two, unhelpful assistants.
Not a single one of the view panels, either those at the computer'sconsole or the ones at the captain's console, were presenting areadable picture. Hodgepodges and flickerings, yes. Scraps ofstar-lit sky--perhaps. Or vaguely wavy electronic patterns that wouldhave been familiar to anyone who ever looked at a broken TV set.
The Cow was really wild.
Leaning back in the captain's chair, watching the screen casually,General Elbertson chuckled.
He didn't, he noticed, feel nearly so weary.
The position actually was good, even if those idiots didn't know whatthey were doing with the computer. That could be straightened out.
Somewhere, he was sure, there was cause for great pride in hisactions.
The peaceful glow of victory seemed to settle about him.
He HAD won. He was in the captain's chair of the only space stationthat man had ever put in orbit.
His worst enemy was tied to a chair only a few feet away.
At times like this a man could glow, could feel expansive even towardshis enemies.
Naylor wasn't such a bad chap. If he hadn't thrown in with thescientists he might even now be a fellow officer, entitled to fullrespect and honor.
General Elbertson did not consider it odd that his face was suddenlyflushed with triumph. There was a glow of energy. Why, he could evenget up and dance a jig--and this he proceeded to do.
Around him, the two Security men joined in, followed by thecommunications officer--and then, realizing that their friendscouldn't dance with them, they undid the ropes and invited the captainand Bessie to join them.
Soon they were all whirling giddily, though there was hardly the spacefor it. Maybe they should go next door, into the large clear area thatwas the ship's gymnasium when not being used as a morgue.
Surprisingly, amidst these dancing figures, a head emerged from thefloor. All of them leaned over to laugh at it; and even the needle gunfailed to frighten them.
* * * * *
Bessie had a hangover. She groaned and stretched. There certainly musthave been lots of vodka at that party last night.
Party? What party?
It was difficult to separate various concepts and orient herself to apresent where and when.
Slowly the soft susurrus background song of the big wheel penetratedconsciousness, and another, closer roar. Millie taking a shower, sherealized.
Suddenly she came out of the vagueness wide awake, the hangovercleared magically, evaporating much too quickly to have been caused byalcohol.
But she had been tied up to a chair on the bridge beside Nails,prisoner of the Security men, only minutes ago.
WHAT was going on?
Millie stepped out of the shower into the compartment the two girlsoccupied, and smiled.
"How're you doing? About to come out of it?"
"Da, Da eta--" with an effort Bessie switched to English. "Explosion?What happened?"
"Oh, Mike just had to get the Security men off guard. Something to dowith the air supply. He asked me to apologize to you if you don't feelso good. But after all, we got the Lab back and that's the mainthing."
"Security. Oh! I've got to get to Nails right away. They've taken overEarth, too, you know. We've got to make sure they don't get control ofthe projects. We'll be shot of course. But their ambitions rest onhaving control of Hot Rod and the wheel. Probably secret control--"
"But--"
"Nails has got to figure out how to destroy the project without toomany casualties. Maybe he can get some of our men back to Earth,though of course we're all expendable. We can't let these monstershave the wheel and Hot Rod! That's what they need for power--"
"Bessie--"
"Of course, we can stand and fight for as long as possible, but we'resitting ducks, and even with Hot Rod there's not much we can do--wecan't fire on Earth, we'd hit friend as well as enemy. So I thinkwe've just got to stand and fight a bit, and then destroy both Hot Rodand the wheel. Anyhow, that's Nails' decision, and I've got to get toNails--"
"Whoa!" Millie finally managed to stem the flow. "We're not stuck--notjust stuck here in orbit any longer, waiting to see what's going on onEarth," she said softly, "or what they're going to do about us 'madscientists.' Mike and Ishie started this whole thing when one of theirexperiments turned out to be a space drive, and the boys are workingreal hard on getting a drive unit set up capable of taking our wholecomplex out into space. But they need somebody to tell the captain ...uh ... properly ... as soon as he's awake that is ... uh ... you knowwhat I mean."
"Whoa, yourself, gir
l. What's this--space drive?"
"Well, they didn't find out themselves until after it had wiped outThule Base--nearly ten hours after that, in fact. That magneto-ionicthing the Sacred Cow's been talking about--they invented that realquick to cover up. You see ... oh, it's too complicated.
"Look, we've got a real _space_ drive. We can go to the moon orMars--or Pluto if we want to. And we've got to let Nails know realquick that he can get us out of here--and without making him mad thatwe wrecked Thule Base. But really, after the way those Security goonsacted, maybe he won't be mad if you handle it right. How about it?"
The hangover was disappearing magically. But this flow of informationwas nearly as bad.
A space drive? Bessie knew she couldn't evaluate one way or the otheron that. That would be Nails' problem.
But they were in a pickle, and it would be up to her to see that Nailsdidn't waste too much time evaluating things. Those Security men hadbeen prepared to play real rough, and more of them were on their wayup.
"Where is Nails?"
"The boys put him to bed. In his quarters. He got a dose of the samestuff that put you out. He ought to be coming to almost any time now.And probably mad about the whole thing."
Instantly, Bessie was on her feet, flinging on clothes, and out downthe corridor toward Nails' private stateroom.
* * * * *
It had been thirty-two hours since Major--General--whatever it wasElbertson--had been defeated on the bridge for the final time.
He and his men were now securely locked in one of the empty labs. Theparalysis effect of the needle gun had probably worn off. Mike hadn'tchecked to find out.
Bessie and her relief operators were watching the prisoners through avideo display on the Sacred Cow's console, and would report anythingunusual that went on to Captain Andersen.
Mike, Ishie, Millie, Paul and Tombu had completed the new Confusordrive units, and they were nearly installed.
More time would be taken arranging the engineering quarters so thatthe installation of her control panel and the units themselves wouldbe completed.
This part, Mike didn't like too well. It meant re-arranging hisalready carefully arranged units, and considerable re-wiring withoutinterfering with any of the basic functions of the wheel.
The new units had turned out to look very little like the original.Fourteen feet long by eighteen inches outside diameter, they lookedvery much like a group of stove-pipes arranged in a circular patternaround the engineering quarters, braced from wall to wall.
The control console itself, even though made rapidly, had the look ofa carefully planned and well-made unit; something that might haveturned up in one of Earth's better R&D labs, as part of amulti-million dollar project.
All together, the drive rods would provide something better than atenth of a gee thrust for the combined mass of the wheel, Hot Rod, thepile and the other subsidiary units around them.
A tenth of a gee. Not enough to land on Earth; but with things downthere the way they were now, who wanted to?
With these units, the whole storehouse of the solar system was attheir disposal.
With these units they could reach the asteroids.
With these units, they could range as far out as Pluto without fear ofconsequences--without, Mike added to himself, even the fear ofradiation that was a constant threat to them here, for the fartherfrom the sun they went, the less radiation they would have to endure.The three months would be extended. For those who needed it, bettershielding could be found.
The system was theirs.
Possibly, also the stars beyond.
That, he reminded himself, if they could get these units installedbefore the scuttlebug arrived.
Undoubtedly, Earth Security had sent arms as well as men.
Where they were, not strictly on course, but still in a satellite-typeorbit, they remained sitting ducks for any number of countermeasuresthat Earth might throw against them.
Once gone from this orbit, there was not sufficient rocket-power onEarth to track them down.
If they took Hot Rod with them, there was no single weapon at man'scommand that could stop them. And take Hot Rod with them they would.
In his address to the ship's personnel this morning, Captain Nailshad made it quite clear that they wanted no part of the plots andcounterplots of Earth; that theirs was the job of scientists, notsoldiers; that a path was open to them that they would follow.
Later, they could return. Later, with the supplies that were free tobe taken from space, they could build strength.
They could return quietly, one by one, two by two, at times and placesof their own choosing.
Then, and only then, they could lend aid to those on Earth who wouldalways fight for freedom.
But not now.
They were yet weak; the path of escape and the path of promise laybefore them.
The only help they could be would be to follow that path.
It might not be that the path led where they wanted to go--or wherethey thought they were going--but nevertheless the path was there, andfollow it they must.
* * * * *
Quite a speech, Mike thought. There had been much more, but that, andthe Declaration of the Freedom of Space, were the parts that hadstayed with him.
That last they had broadcast back to Earth, thrown, as it were, intothe screaming teeth of the new dictatorial leaders.
Mike leaned back from what he was doing and caught Ishie's eye.
He chuckled, and said "That was quite a mass of stuff that the Cowupchucked on your command. Why didn't you just freeze her like Ithought you were going to do?"
"Confusion say," quoth Ishie blandly, "he who would play poker withdishonest men should never put all cards on table too soon. Or inother words, Confusion is the better part of valor. The garbage madethem think that the Cow had sprung a cog somewhere, without everguessing that we had control.
"And by the way, Mike, that was quite a trick you pulled with the airsupply. Having the Cow boost up the oxygen on the bridge until thoseidiots got so drunk they were climbing the walls."
"You don't happen to have any education as a psychologist, do youIshie? Or perhaps a brain surgeon?" Mike inquired. "It seems a shameto drag those Security apes along with us. We can't just dump themoverboard, but it would be nice if we could just confuse them orsomething."
"Sorry, Mike. Techniques of brainwashing are a bit out of my line.Beside, Confusion say those who run from wolf pack have better chanceif they leave some meat behind for the wolves to fight over. I'vealready spoken to Captain Nails about it. We _intend_ to dump themoverboard--just twenty minutes before the scuttlebug arrives. Insuits, of course," he added. "Then we'll take off and see whetherSecurity takes care of its own."
There was a possibility, Mike felt grimly, that perhaps Securitywouldn't take care of its own. But then, he asked himself, did hereally care? And found it very difficult to come up with an answer.But he realized with vast respect that the master of Confusion was nothimself confused as to the issues involved before them.
"It's lucky for us," Mike said, "that you happened to pick this timeto be aboard. Your work would have gone more smoothly if you'd waiteduntil the next go-round."
Ishie grinned, for once slightly embarrassed. "Confusion say," hesaid, "luck is for those who make it. I expected that with Hot Rodcoming into operation, some such play would be attempted. I've metSecurity before."
Millie laid down her soldering iron, and disappeared through thebulkhead, returning shortly with a tray of sandwiches and coffee.
Coffee in real cups, for there was spin on the satellite, things wereworking well, and those bottles--ugh.
"Relax, boys, we've still got three hours," she told them. "Radarhasn't spotted the scuttlebug yet. But our new communications officer,Lal, has them on the line. He's apparently convinced them of hishonorable intentions and gotten an exact prediction of arrival time.They think Major ... uh, General Elber
tson has the situation well inhand. They even think Hot Rod's operational!"
The crew relaxed around the circular room, squatting whereverconvenient, and sipping luxuriously at the cups of coffee, munchingsandwiches, and for the moment content.
Hot Rod had been secured to the ship with extra acceleration cables,and as soon as practicable a remote-controlled Confusor would beplaced aboard to assist in any fast maneuvers that they might have tomake; but for now there was no acceleration, and the group composed ofthe wheel, the big laser, the dump and the pile moved peacefully inorbit under free-fall conditions.
Millie began to hum a soft tune. Someone else brought forth aharmonica that had been smuggled aboard, and suddenly Paul Chernovburst into song, his deep baritone, perhaps inspired by the captain'sspeech earlier in the day, lending the wailing "The Spaceman'sLament," an extra folk beat:
_"The captain spoke of stars and bars Of far-off places like maybe Mars But the slipsticks slip on this ship of ours-- And we'll get where I wasn't going!"_
Mike looked over at Millie as she drank her coffee, a slender, darkfigure--able with a soldering iron; able as a defending panther; ableas a spaceman's mate. He was glad the captain of the ship was a propermarrying officer, for he had an idea the feeling he felt was mutual,as he joined with the crew in the chorus:
_"There's a sky-trail leading from here to there And another yonder showing-- But when we get to the end of the run It'll be where I wasn't going...."_
* * * * *
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