by H. B. Fyfe
* * *
In the control room, he found Donna and Truesdale peering into thescreen. He crowded close to look over their shoulders. A small blob oflight floated near the center of the view. "That it?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Donna. "Just enough Mars-light to show it."
"How near are we?" asked Phillips.
"About a hundred and fifty miles. I have quite a large magnification,but they may spot us if they're alert. Are you ready to ... dosomething?"
"Reasonably," said Phillips. "Where's Brecken?"
"You probably _killed_ him!" Truesdale broke in accusingly.
"I found a first-aid kit and gave him a shot," said Donna. "He has anasty lump on the head, but he might sleep it off."
Phillips was watching Truesdale. The youth was visibly nervous. Was itthe thought of Brecken, the engineer wondered, or fear of what they wereplanning to do? Perhaps it would be best to clear the air now, before itwas too late.
"I guess you can handle it here, Donna," he said. "Truesdale and I willgo to the turret and stand by."
The youth shrank away. "No! I won't go up there again! You can't make medo this!"
"Do what?" demanded Phillips.
"It's _murder_! You both know it is! They won't even have any warning."
"I _hope_ not," said Phillips drily. "They might get _us_!"
"You _would_ put it that way," sneered Truesdale; "you're homicidal atheart anyway!" He turned on Donna, wiping perspiration from hisforehead. "Are you going to let him do it?" he shrilled. "Are you goingto help him commit such a crime?"
The girl stared at him with a worried look in her blue eyes but saidnothing.
"Come on, Truesdale," said Phillips, making an effort at a peaceful,persuasive tone. "It will be either their lives or ours if they spotus--and millions more if they get by. They'll be too desperate to thinkof us. Do you want to die?"
The instant he spoke the last words, he remembered the other's recordand wished he had kept quiet. He saw, a strange, wild expression creepover Truesdale's features. It changed into a look of hateful cunning asthe youth, began to sidle toward the door.
"_I'm_ not afraid to die!" he boasted in a low-pitched but tense voice."But how about you, Phillips? How about the big, brutal space engineerwho is proud of smashing men's skulls against steel walls, who wouldlike nothing better than to blow up a shipload of innocent people. Howdo you really know they're dangerous? But you don't care, do you?"
"Truesdale!" snapped Phillips. "Calm down!"
"I'll calm you down with me!" shouted the other hysterically. "I'll_show_ you who's afraid to die!"
He ducked through the door toward which he had been backing. Phillipslunged after him, just barely missing a grip.
"On your toes!" he shouted over his shoulder to Donna, and turned on alljets.
But Truesdale, driven by his peculiar fury, not only stayed ahead asthey raced along the corridor, but actually gained.
He was fifteen or twenty feet out in front as they reached the midwaypoint. Phillips, expecting him to take refuge in the rocket room, wascompletely fooled when Truesdale leaped for the ladder in the verticalwell. He stumbled, and grabbed a handrail to stop himself. The other wasswarming upward. Phillips sprang to follow.
Hardly had he climbed half a dozen rungs, however, than he saw he wasoutdistanced. Truesdale's feet were already disappearing beyond thehatchway. Phillips waited for the airtight door to slam shut. Itremained open....
Then a thrill of instinctive fear shot through him as he thought of whatTruesdale might do--probably was _doing_ at that very instant!
4]
Throwing his feet clear of the rungs, he plunged back toward the deck,guided only by his hands brushing the sides of the ladder. As Phillipsreached the junction of the passages, he kicked desperately away fromthe ladder. He landed with a thump that would have hurt had he been in acalmer state.
Rolling over toward the control room, he came to his feet in time toglimpse Donna looking out the doorway before a jarring shock floored himagain.
The deafening roar of an explosion resounded in the corridor as abrilliant light was luridly reflected from somewhere behind him. Thebewildering force hurled him at the deck; he saw he could not preventhis head from striking--
Phillips found himself on hands and knees, staring stupidly at the decka few inches past his nose. As in a nightmare, he seemed to spend aneternity pushing himself painfully to his feet. Clutching a handrail, hefinally made it.
He saw Donna kneeling in the doorway, hand to head. As he watched, thegirl looked at her hand, and dazedly pulled out a handkerchief to wipeoff the blood.
Then Phillips became aware of a high breeze in his face. Behind him, thesound of rushing air rose to a moan, then to a shriek. That shocked himto his senses.
"_Button up!_" he screamed above the noise, bringing his hands togetherin an urgent gesture understood by all spacemen.
As the girl staggered to her feet, he whirled and leaped toward thejunction of the cross corridors. He wasted no time in a vain glanceupwards--he knew what Truesdale had done. Only setting off thetorpedoes' rockets in the enclosed turret compartment would have causedan explosion just severe enough to rupture the ship's skin; if thewarheads had gone off, he never would have known it.
Diving headlong through the opening in the deck, he experienced adizzying shift of gravity as he passed through the plane of the maindeck. When he had his bearings again, he scrambled "up" the laddertoward the belly turret. By the time he got the airtight hatch open, hewas beginning to pant in the thinning air. He pulled himself through atlast, and sealed the compartment.
Phillips sucked in a deep, luxurious breath while he glanced about. Thisturret, he saw, was a duplicate of the other. He immediately located theintercom screen and called the control room. Donna's worried faceappeared. "Where are you?" was her relieved inquiry.
Phillips explained what had happened. "The only thing," he concluded,"is to try it from here."
"I think they must have spotted the flash," Donna told him. "Theinstruments show a shift in their course."
"Blast right at them!" said Phillips. "We might get away with it ifwe're quick."
He turned away, leaving the intercom on. A few quick steps took him tothe control panels in the bulkhead. Guided by his lessons in the otherturret, and by faded memories of space school on Earth, he brought uptwo of the torpedoes. He checked the radio controls and ran the missilesinto their launching tubes. As he worked, with nervous sweat runningdown into his eyes, he was aware of the intermittent jar of rocketblasts.
"Run 'em down!" he muttered, trying to steady his hand on the controls.
He had a hand at each panel, with the torpedoes poised viciously in thetubes, when he heard Donna's shout, shrill with excitement, over theintercom.
Instantly, he launched the missiles. He started the rockets by remotecontrol, and scanned the screens for a sight of the other vessel.
For a moment, his view was confused by the expanding puff of air; thenthat froze, and drifted back to the hull, and he could see the stars.
* * * * *
Donna's voice, strained but coldly controlled, came over the intercomwith readings from her instruments. He corrected his coursesaccordingly.
Then he saw the image of their target centered on one screen, so heconcentrated on steering the other missile. He made the nose yaw, butwas unable to locate anything on its screen.
"You're sending one of them too far above, I think," Donna reported.
"I have something wrong," he shouted. "I can't spot them at all for thatone. The jets must be out of line and shooting it in a curve."
Nevertheless, he fired a corrective blast on the weight of the guess,before returning his attention to the first torpedo.
This one was right on the curve. He could see the massive hull of thecruiser plainly now. It was almost featureless until, as he watched,several sections seemed to slide aside.
The screen showed him a
momentary glimpse of a swarm of small,flame-tailed objects spewing forth from one of the openings. Then theview went dark. "Interceptor rockets with proximity fuses," he muttered."They'll be after us next, crazy-mean and frantic!"
Over the intercom, he heard Donna exclaim in dismay. He caught afleeting sight of her face and realized that the situation must betorture for the girl, as for himself or any normal person of theircivilization.
Cursing himself for an optimist, he raised two more of the missilesfrom the magazine. Hopping about like a jet-checker five minutes beforetake-off time, he made them ready. It seemed like hours before he gotthem into the launching tubes and blew