I already havean idea of how the drive is operated. Another look and I could make itwork. Think of it, Johnny! What difference does it make where we went,or what we found? You're a misfit, too, you know that--this coarsenessand bitterness is a shell, if you could only see it, a sham. You don'treally believe in this world we're in--who cares where, if only we couldgo, get away? Oh, it's a chance, the wildest, freak chance, but we couldtake it--"
"If only to get away from _him_," said Sabo in a muted voice. "Lord, howI hate him. I've seen smallness and ambition before--pettiness andtreachery, plenty of it. But that man is our whole world knotted up inone little ball. I don't think I'd get home without killing him, just tostop that voice from talking, just to see fear cross his face one time.But if we took the ship, it would break him for good." A new lightappeared in the big man's eyes. "He'd be through, Brownie. Washed up."
"And we'd be _free_--"
Sabo's eyes were sharp. "What about the acceleration? It killed thosethat came in the ship."
"But they were so frail, so weak. Light brittle bones and soft jelly.Our bodies are stronger, we could stand it."
Sabo sat for a long time, staring at Brownie. His mind was suddenlyconfused by the scope of the idea, racing in myriad twirling fantasies,parading before his eyes the long, bitter, frustrating years, thehopelessness of his own life, the dull aching feeling he felt deep inhis stomach and bones each time he set back down on Earth, to join theteeming throngs of hungry people. He thought of the rows of drabapartments, the thin faces, the hollow, hunted eyes of the people he hadseen. He knew that that was why he was a soldier--because soldiers atewell, they had time to sleep, they were never allowed long hours tothink, and wonder, and grow dull and empty. But he knew his life hadbeen barren. The life of a mindless automaton, moving from place toplace, never thinking, never daring to think or speak, hoping only towork without pain each day, and sleep without nightmares.
And then, he thought of the nights in his childhood, when he had lainawake, sweating with fear, as the airships screamed across the dark skyabove, bound he never knew where; and then, hearing in the far distancethe booming explosion, he had played that horrible little game withhimself, seeing how high he could count before he heard the weary,plodding footsteps of the people on the road, moving on to anotherplace. He had known, even as a little boy, that the only safe place wasin those bombers, that the place for survival was in the strikingarmies, and his life had followed the hard-learned pattern, twisting himinto the cynical mold of the mercenary soldier, dulling the quick andclever mind, drilling into him the ways and responses of order and obey,stripping him of his heritage of love and humanity. Others lessthoughtful had been happier; they had succeeded in forgetting the lifethey had known before, they had been able to learn easily and well thelessons of the repudiation of the rights of men which had crept like ablight through the world. But Sabo, too, was a misfit, wrenched into amold he could not fit. He had sensed it vaguely, never really knowingwhen or how he had built the shell of toughness and cynicism, but alsosensing vaguely that it was built, and that in it he could hide,somehow, and laugh at himself, and his leaders, and the whole worldthrough which he plodded. He had laughed, but there had been longnights, in the narrow darkness of spaceship bunks, when his mind poundedat the shell, screaming out in nightmare, and he had wondered if he hadreally lost his mind.
His gray eyes narrowed as he looked at Brownie, and he felt his heartpounding in his chest, pounding with a fury that he could no longerdeny. "It would have to be fast," he said softly. "Like lightning,tonight, tomorrow--very soon."
"Oh, yes, I know that. But we _can_ do it--"
"Yes," said Sabo, with a hard, bitter glint in his eyes. "Maybe we can."
* * * * *
The preparation was tense. For the first time in his life, Sabo knew themeaning of real fear, felt the clinging aura of sudden death in everyglance, every word of the men around him. It seemed incredible that thecaptain didn't notice the brief exchanges with the little engineer, orhis own sudden appearances and disappearances about the Station. But thecaptain sat in his cabin with angry eyes, snapping answers without evenlooking up. Still, Sabo knew that the seeds of suspicion lay planted inhis mind, ready to burst forth with awful violence at any slightprovocation. As he worked, the escape assumed greater and greaterproportions in Sabo's mind; he knew with increasing urgency and daringthat nothing must stop him. The ship was there, the only bridge awayfrom a life he could no longer endure, and his determination blinded himto caution.
Primarily, he pondered over the charts, while Brownie, growing hourlymore nervous, poured his heart into a study of his notes and sketches. Asecond look at the engines was essential; the excuse he concocted forreturning to the ship was recklessly slender, and Sabo spent a gruelingfive minutes dissuading the captain from accompanying him. But thecaptain's eyes were dull, and he walked his cabin, sunk in a gloomy,remorseful trance.
The hours passed, and the men saw, in despair, that more precious,dangerous hours would be necessary before the flight could be attempted.And then, abruptly, Sabo got the call to the captain's cabin. He foundthe old man at his desk, regarding him with cold eyes, and his heartsank. The captain motioned him to a seat, and then sat back, lighting acigar with painful slowness. "I want you to tell me," he said in alifeless voice, "exactly what Brownie thinks he's doing."
Sabo went cold. Carefully he kept his eyes on the captain's face. "Iguess he's nervous," he said. "He doesn't belong on a Satellite Station.He belongs at home. The place gets on his nerves."
"I didn't like his report."
"I know," said Sabo.
The captain's eyes narrowed. "It was hard to believe. Ships don't justhappen out of space. They don't wander out interstellar by accident,either." An unpleasant smile curled his lips. "I'm not telling youanything new. I wouldn't want to accuse Brownie of lying, of course--oryou either. But we'll know soon. A patrol craft will be here from theTriton supply base in an hour. I signaled as soon as I had yourreports." The smile broadened maliciously. "The patrol craft will haveexperts aboard. Space drive experts. They'll review your report."
"An hour--"
The captain smiled. "That's what I said. In that hour, you could tell methe truth. I'm not a drive man, I'm an administrator, and organizer anddirector. You're the technicians. The truth now could save you muchunhappiness--in the future."
Sabo stood up heavily. "You've got your information," he said with abitter laugh. "The patrol craft will confirm it."
The captain's face went a shade grayer. "All right," he said. "Go ahead,laugh. I told you, anyway."
Sabo didn't realize how his hands were trembling until he reached theend of the corridor. In despair he saw the plan crumbling beneath hisfeet, and with the despair came the cold undercurrent of fear. Thepatrol would discover them, disclose the hoax. There was no choiceleft--ready or not, they'd _have_ to leave.
Quickly he turned in to the central control room where Brownie wasworking. He sat down, repeating the captain's news in a soft voice.
"An _hour_! But how can we--"
"We've _got_ to. We can't quit now, we're dead if we do."
Brownie's eyes were wide with fear. "But can't we stall them, somehow?Maybe if we turned on the captain--"
"The crew would back him. They wouldn't dare go along with us. We've gotto run, nothing else." He took a deep breath. "Can you control thedrive?"
Brownie stared at his hands. "I--I think so. I can only try."
"You've got to. It's now or never. Get down to the lock, and I'll getthe charts. Get the sleds ready."
He scooped the charts from his bunk, folded them carefully and boundthem swiftly with cord. Then he ran silently down the corridor to thelanding port lock. Brownie was already there, in the darkness, closingthe last clamps on his pressure suit. Sabo handed him the charts, andbegan the laborious task of climbing into his own suit, panting in thedarkness.
And then the alarm was clanging in his ear, and the lock wa
s floodedwith brilliant light. Sabo stopped short, a cry on his lips, staring atthe entrance to the control room.
The captain was grinning, a nasty, evil grin, his eyes hard andhumorless as he stood there flanked by three crewmen. His hand grippedan ugly power gun tightly. He just stood there, grinning, and his voicewas like fire in Sabo's ears. "Too bad," he said softly. "You almostmade it, too. Trouble is, two can't keep a secret. Shame, Johnny, asmart fellow like you. I might have expected as much from Brownie, but Ithought you had more sense--"
Something
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