Spillthrough Page 5

flange surfaces.

  Brad smiled grimly and unsnapped his harness with nervous fingers. If hecould get into his suit in time, it would be simple to open a hatch aftand let the air spill from the Fleury. Then when Altman undogged theinner hatch of the Fleury's air lock, it would be sucked open violentlyand pull the skipper of the Cluster Queen into a vacuum. It would make amess out of the air lock and the control compartment--but that would beadvantageous. It would be evidence to prove at least that Altman hadtaken the initiative in boarding the Fleury without first dispatchinghis 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 wouldtemporarily close the Fleury's inner lock and fill the between-shipspassage with normal pressure air so he would be able to open the Queen'shatches against the thirty-pound pressure in the other ship. Afteropening 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 theother ship too. He would immediately report the defensive action to VegaIV, borrow emergency cad rods from the Queen, prevent an internal pileblast aboard the Fleury and withdraw the crippled ship, together withits engine compartment evidence, to the node of the arc to await thearrival of investigators.

  He clamped the helmet on his neck ring with a minute to spare as hereassured himself it was a perfect plan and had a reasonable chance tosuccess. It was one too that required no physical exertion. He couldn'tgo through any rough stuff with his sprained arm.

  * * * * *

  Stiffening, he watched the first of the six doglatches on the hatchswing to the unlocked position. He moved over against the starboardbulkhead, well away from the hatch. He would have to get out of the suitagain, and it would be a messy job if he were standing close to Altmanwhen the vacuum went to work on him.

  The final doglatch unsnapped. The hatch crashed open and he imagined hecould 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 theleft there, boss."

  Brad sprang forward.

  But Altman turned suddenly in his direction and pointed a gun at Brad'sstomach. It checked the attack. Brad backed away hopelessly.

  "Okay," Altman jerked his head in the confines of the helmet, "go towork."

  The crewman from the Queen stepped into the control cabin and walkedtoward 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 Altmancould 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 mustaused up all his reserve juice in that last surge upward."

  "Okay," Altman smiled--a weird, distorted smile as seen through thethick, rounded helmet. "Come on back." He looked at Brad. "So you can'tpull away from the trough any longer? That's tough."

  Brad wanted to say, Okay, Altman, I'll go aboard the Queen with you. Buthe didn't. He realized the plea would have been futile anyway as hewatched 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 toconvince me we might have slipped up somewhere and you might be able toprove your side of the story."

  The pair retreated to the air lock. Brad stood motionless, staring, notbreathing.

  "The pile'll hold," the crewman announced, "for another four hours, justabout."

  "Fine!" Altman exclaimed. "This junk'll slip through within an hour.That'll give us another three hours, at least, to get this stiff aboardthe Queen and transfer cargo before she blows. Then we can mop up onwhatever 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 enjoythe luxury of a bath, a shave, clean clothes. Brad laughed at the lastitem, wondering how clothes could be expected to remain clean if theywere on someone making the spillthrough transition at coasting speed.

  The Fleury lurched as the Queen cut loose and blasted away. Brad hadwatched the pressure gauge climb back to normal and was removing hishelmet at the time. The ship's one-sided gravity field caught holdunexpectedly and he toppled to the deck rolling to the port bulkhead.His hurt shoulder rammed into metal and new pain knifed into existenceas the heavy helmet clattered down and crashed against his head. Theblow almost stunned him. But it left him with enough awareness to wishit _had_ knocked him insensible--permanently insensible.

  The scope showed more cargo had spilled out in the last lurch. The Queenstarted over toward the crates, but coasted past, turned and came backto take post spatially alongside the disabled craft. Already the othership's outline was beginning to blur as the Fleury slipped away from herhyperspatially--down the arc.

  Brad straddle-stepped on the deck and bulkhead to the control column andbroke out his pack of cigarettes. Suddenly his feet left the deck. Theport gray coil had gone out, he realized grimly, the current havingdropped below the minimum requirements. For a moment he became concernedover weightlessness. Then he cut in the heel magna-grips of his suit andclanged onto the floor. At least, he wasn't confronted with atopsy-turvy ship any longer. He blew a cloud of smoke into the air andhalf-centered his attention on the scope. Two more crates had left theFleury's holds. With the grav fields out on the ship, they did not takeup orbit. They just floated away, at an almost imperceptible speed. Butthe Queen was still apparently not interested in picking them up. Therewould be plenty of time to do that; right now she must stick close tothe Fleury spatially, Brad realized, so her instruments would indicatethe moment the spillthrough to normal space occurred, so her crew couldget to work.

  As though hypnotized in inconsequential thought, he watched the cratesslowly draw away. Almost incredibly expensive cargo. Cargo that Altmanwould surely not allow to go unrecovered. Even as booty, the cratedequipment would bring every bit of what it was worth. But Altman wouldsee that they were delivered--every one of them. A contract with WestCluster meant a good deal more than the face value of the one shipmentof inter-calc banks.

  Brad started and his face became alive with expression as a suddenrealization drove home. It was followed almost immediately by a secondjarring consideration. He tossed away the half-consumed cigarette.

  It wasn't more than fifteen minutes later when he stood before the mikeagain.

  "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 toshow 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 herover before you left port.... What's the matter--got a sentimentalattachment for that old crate?"

  "Look, Altman...."

  "Go to hell, Conally."

  The background hum died out of the Fleury's receiver abruptly. Bradcalled twice. But there was no answer.

  * * * * *

  The SS Fleury was vibrant wi
th the final pounding of its weakening vitalparts.

  _Clank-sss, clank-sss_, the coolant's safety valve hissed._Boom ... boom_, the jangling piston rod pounded. The expanding metalplate added its _throom-throom_ note.

  The counter in the passageway _clackety-clacked_ louder.

  Their lines snapped by persistent tremors and lurches, more cratesdanced in the holds. Some of them eventually found their way to thegaping holes in the hull and, receiving a final, brief kick from jaggedmetal, 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 sheslipped down the descending arc.

  Then suddenly