If it didn’t seem completely foolproof, neither did it seem a likely source of trouble. “Then we can forget about the gravital units,” said Cameron, arising. “But what about hand weapons? Are there any available?”
“You mean toasters?”
“Anything that’s lethal.”
“Nothing. No knives even. Maybe a stray bar or so of metal.” Vogel scratched his head. “There is something dangerous, though. Dangerous if you know how to take hold of it.”
Instantly Cameron was alert. “What’s that?”
“Why, the asteroid itself. You can’t physically touch any part of the gravital unit. But if you could somehow sneak an impulse into the computer and change the direction of the field.…” Vogel was very grave. “You could pick up Handicap Haven and throw it anywhere you wanted. At the Earth, say. Thirty miles in diameter is a big hunk of rock.”
It was this kind of information Cameron was looking for, though the engineer seemed to regard the occasion as merely a social call. “Is there any possibility of that occurring?” he asked quietly.
The engineer grinned. “Never happened, but they’re ready for things like that with any gravital system. They got monitor stations all over—the moons of Jupiter, Mars, Earth, Venus.
“Any time the gravital computer gets dizzy, the monitor overrides it. If that fails, they send a jammer impulse and freeze it up tight. It won’t work until they let loose.”
Cameron sighed. He was getting very little help or information from Vogel. “All right,” he said. “You’ve told me what I wanted to know.”
He watched the engineer depart for the gravity-generating chamber far below the surface of the asteroid.
* * * *
The post on Handicap Haven wasn’t pleasant; it wasn’t an experience a normal human would desire. It did have advantages—advancement came in sizes directly proportional to the disagreeableness of the place.
Ten months to go on a year’s assignment. If Cameron could survive that period with nothing to mar his administration, he was in line for better positions. A suicide or any other kind of unpleasantness that would focus the attention of the outside world on the forgotten asteroid was definitely unwelcome.
He flipped on the telecom. “Rocket dome. Get me the pilot.”
When the robot finally answered, it wasn’t encouraging. “I’m sorry. There is no answer.”
“Then trace him,” he snapped. “If he’s not in the rocket dome, he’s in the main dome. I want you to get him at once.”
A few seconds of silence followed. “There is no record of the pilot leaving the rocket dome.”
His heart skipped; with an effort he spoke carefully. “Scan the whole area. Understand? You’ve got to find him.”
“Scanning is not possible. The system is out of operation in that area.”
“All right,” he said, starting to shake. “Send out repair robots.” They were efficient in the sense they always did the work they were set to do, but not in terms of speed.
“The robots were dispatched as soon as scanning failed to work. Are there any other instructions?”
He thought about that. He needed help, plenty of it. Vogel? He’d be ready and willing, but that would leave the gravity-generating setup unprotected. Better do without him.
Who else? The sour old nurse who’d signed up because she wanted quick credits toward retirement? Or the sweet young thing who had bravely volunteered because someone ought to help those poor unfortunate men? Not the women, of course. She had a bad habit of fainting when she saw blood. Probably that was why she couldn’t get a position in a regular planetary hospital.
That was all, except the robots, who weren’t much help in a case like this. That and the rocket pilot. For some reason he wasn’t available.
The damned place was under-manned. Always had been. Nobody wanted to come except the mildly psychotic, the inefficient and lazy, or, conceivably, an ambitious young doctor like himself. Mentally, Cameron berated the last category. If anything serious happened here, such a doctor might end his career bandaging scratches at a children’s playground.
“Instructions,” he said. “Yes. Leave word in gravity-generating for Vogel. Tell him to throw everything he’s got around the units. Watch them.”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite. Send six general purpose robots. I’ll pick them up at the entrance to the rocket dome.”
“Repair robots are already in that area. Will they do as well?”
“They will not. I want geepees for another reason.” They wouldn’t be much help, true, but the best he could manage.
* * * *
Docchi waited near the rocket dome. Not hiding, merely inconspicuous among the carefully nurtured shrubbery that was supposed to give the illusion of Earth. If the plants failed in that respect, at least they contributed to the oxygen supply of the asteroid.
“Good girl,” said Docchi. “That Nona is wonderful.”
Jordan could feel him relax. “A regular mechanical marvel,” he agreed. “But we can gas about that later. Let’s get going.”
Docchi glanced around and then walked boldly into the passageway that connected the main dome with the much smaller, adjacent rocket dome. Normally, it was never dark in the inhabited parts of the asteroid; a modulated twilight was considered more conducive to the slumber of the handicapped. But it wasn’t twilight as they neared the rocket dome—it was a full-scale rehearsal for the darkness of interplanetary space.
Docchi stopped before the emergency airlock which loomed solidly in front of them. “I hope Nona was able to cut this out of the circuit,” he said anxiously.
“She understood, didn’t she?” asked Jordan. He reached out and the great slab moved easily aside in its grooves. “The trouble with you is that you lack confidence.”
Docchi, listening with a frown, didn’t answer.
“Okay, I hear it, too,” whispered Jordan. “We’d better get well inside before he reaches us.”
Docchi walked rapidly into the darkness of the rocket dome. He allowed his face to become faintly luminescent, the one part of his altered metabolism that he had learned to control, when he wasn’t under emotional strain.
He was nervous now, but his control had to be right. Enough light so that he’d be noticed, not so much that details of his appearance would be plain.
The footsteps came nearer, accompanied by a steady volume of profanity. Docchi flashed his face once and then lowered the intensity almost immediately.
The footsteps stopped. “Docchi?”
“No. Just a lonely little light bulb out for an evening stroll.”
The rocket pilot’s laughter wasn’t altogether friendly. “I know it’s you. I meant, what are you doing here?”
“I saw the lights in the rocket dome go out. The entrance was open, so I came in. Maybe I can help.”
“They’re off, all right. Everything. Even the standby system.” The rocket pilot moved closer. The deadly little toaster was in his hand. “You can’t help. You’d better get out. It’s against regulations for you to be in here.”
Docchi ignored the weapon. “What happened? Did a meteor strike?”
The pilot grunted. “Not likely.” He peered intently at the barely visible silhouette. “Well, I see you’re getting smart. You should do that all the time. You look better that way, even if they’re not usable arms. You look.…” His voice faded away.
“Sure, almost human,” Docchi finished for him. “Not like a pair of legs and a spinal column with a lightning bug stuck on top.”
“I didn’t say that. So you’re sensitive about it, eh? Maybe that’s not your fault. Anyway, you’d better get going.”
“But I don’t want to go,” said Docchi deliberately. “I’m not afraid of the dark. Are you?”
“Cut the psycho talk, Docchi. All your circuits are working and you know it. Now get out of here before I take your fake hand and drag you out.”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” declare
d Docchi reproachfully, nimbly stepping away.
“You asked for it,” growled the pilot, lunging after him. What he took hold of wasn’t an imitation hand, made of plastic. It was flesh and blood. That was why the pilot screamed, once, before he was lifted off his feet and slammed to the floor.
Docchi bent double. The dark figure on his back came over his head like a sword from a scabbard.
“Jor—”
“Yeah,” said Jordan.
He wrapped one arm around the pilot’s throat and clamped it tight. With the other he felt for the toaster the pilot still held. Effortlessly he tore it away and used the butt with just enough force to knock the pilot unconscious without smashing the skull. Docchi stood by until it was over. All he could offer was an ineffectual kick, not balanced by arms.
It wasn’t needed.
“Let there be light,” ordered Jordan, laughing, and there was, a feeble, flickering illumination from Docchi.
Jordan was balancing himself on his hands. A strong head, massive, powerful arms and shoulders. His body ended at his chest. A round metal capsule contained his digestive system.
“Dead?” Docchi looked down at the pilot.
Jordan rocked forward and listened for the heartbeat. “Nah,” he said. “I remembered in time that we can’t afford to kill anyone.”
“Good,” said Docchi, and stifled an exclamation as something coiled around his leg. His reactions were fast; he broke loose almost instantly.
“Repair robot,” said Jordan, looking around. “The place is lousy with them.”
Docchi blinked on and off involuntarily and the robot came toward him.
“Friendly creature,” observed Jordan. “He’s offering to fix your lighting system for you.”
Docchi ignored the squat contrivance and stared at the pilot. “Now what?” he asked.
“Agreed,” said Jordan. “He needs attention. Not the kind I gave him.” He balanced the toaster in his hand and burned a small hole in the little wheeled monster. Tentacles emerged from the side of the machine and felt puzzledly at the damaged area. The tentacles were withdrawn and presently reappeared with a small torch and began welding.
Jordan pulled the unconscious pilot toward him. He leaned against the machine, raised the inert form over his head and laid it gently on the top flat surface. Another tentacle reached out to investigate the body of the pilot. Jordan welded the joints solid with the toaster. Three times he repeated the process until the pilot was fastened to the robot.
“The thing will stay here, repairing itself, until it’s completely sound again,” remarked Jordan. “However, that can be fixed.” He adjusted the toaster beam to an imperceptible thickness. Deftly he sliced through the control case and removed a circular section. He reached inside and ripped out circuits. “No further self-repair,” he said cheerfully. “Now I’m going to need your help. From a time stand-point, I think it’s a good idea to run the robot around the main dome a few times before it delivers the pilot to the hospital. No point in giving ourselves away before we’re ready.”
Docchi bent over the robot, and with his help the proper sequence was implanted. The machine scurried erratically away.
Docchi watched it go. “Time for us to be on our way.” He bent double for Jordan. The arms folded around his neck, but Jordan made no effort to climb up onto his back. For a panic moment Docchi knew how the pilot felt when strength, where there shouldn’t have been strength, reached out from the darkness and gripped his throat.
He shook the thought from his mind. “Get on my back,” he insisted.
“You’re tired,” said Jordan. “Half gravity or not, you can’t carry me any farther.” His fingers worked swiftly and the carrying harness fell to the floor. “Stay down,” growled Jordan. “Listen.”
Docchi listened. “Geepees!”
“Yeah,” said Jordan. “Now get to the rocket.”
“What can I do when I get there? You’ll have to help me.”
“You’ll figure something out when the time comes. Hurry up!”
“Not without you,” said Docchi stubbornly, without moving.
A huge paw clamped around the back of his skull. “Listen to me,” whispered Jordan fiercely. “Together we were a better man than the pilot—your legs and my arms. It’s up to us to prove that separately we are a match for Cameron and his geepees.”
“We’re not trying to prove anything,” said Docchi.
A brilliant light sliced through the darkness and swept around the rocket dome.
“Maybe we are,” said Jordan. Impatiently, he hitched himself along the ground. “I think I am.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going up. With no legs, that’s where I belong.”
He grasped the structural steel member in his great hands, and in the light gravity, ascended rapidly.
“Careful,” warned Docchi.
“This is no time to be careful.” His voice floated down from high in the lacy structure. It wasn’t completely dark; the lights were getting nearer. Docchi decided it was possible for Jordan to see what he was doing.
They hadn’t expected to be discovered so soon. But the issue had not yet been settled against them. Docchi settled into a long stride, avoiding the low-slung repair robots that seemed to be everywhere. If Jordan refused to give up, Docchi had to try.
He stayed well ahead of the oncoming general purpose robots.
* * * *
He reached the rocket and barely had time to look around. It was enough, however. The ship’s passenger and freight locks were closed. Nona had either not understood all their instructions, or she hadn’t been able to carry them out. The first, probably. She had put the light and scanning circuits out of commission with no tools except her hands. That and her uncanny knowledge of the inner workings of machines. It was too much to expect that she should also have the ship ready and waiting for them.
It was up to him to get in. If he had the toaster they’d taken from the pilot, he might have been able to soften the proper area of the passenger lock. But he didn’t. Not having arms, he couldn’t have used it. For that reason Jordan had kept the weapon.
The alternative was to search the surrounding mechanical jungle for an external control of the rocket. There had to be one, at least for the airlocks. Then it was a matter of luck whether he could work it.
The approaching lights warned him that he no longer had that alternative. If Cameron hadn’t tried to search the rocket dome as he came along, the geepees would be solidly ringed around the ship now. That was Cameron’s mistake, however, and he might make more.
In all probability Jordan was still at large. Perhaps nearby. Would Cameron know that? He might not.
Docchi descended into the shallow landing pit. Until both of them were caught, there was always a chance. He had to hide, but the landing pit seemed remarkably ill-suited for that purpose.
He leaned against the stern tube cluster and tried to shake his brain into activity. The metal pressed hard into the thin flesh that covered his back. In the smooth glazed surface of the landing pit, the only answer was the tubes.
He straightened up and looked into them. A small boy might climb inside and crawl out of sight. Or a grown man who had no shoulders or arms to get wedged in the narrow cylinder.
Out in space, the inner ends of the tubes were closed with a combustion cap wherein the fuel was ignited. But in the dome, where the ship was not used for months at a time.…
Yes, there was that possibility.
He tried a lower tube. He lay on the floor and thrust his head inside. He wriggled and shoved with his feet until he had forced himself entirely in. It was dark and terrifying, but no time for claustrophobia.
He stopped momentarily and listened. A geepee descended noisily into the landing pit. The absence of any other sound indicated to Docchi that it was radio-controlled.
He drove himself on, though it was slow progress. The walls were smooth and it was difficult to get much purchase
. The going became even tougher—the tube was getting smaller. Not much, but enough to matter.
Again he stopped. Outside, there was the characteristic sputter, like frying, that the toaster beam made when it struck metal. A great clatter followed.
“Get him!” shouted Cameron. “He’s up there!”
Jordan had arrived and had picked off a geepee. And it wasn’t going to be easy for Cameron to capture him. The diversion would help.
“Don’t use heat,” ordered Cameron. “Get your lights on him. Blind him. Drive him in a corner and then go up and get him.”
Docchi had been wrong; the geepees were controlled by voice, not radio. That would make it easier for him once he got inside the ship. If he did.
It looked as though he would. The tube wasn’t getting narrower. More important, the air was not noticeably stale. The combustion cap had been retracted, which was a lucky break. His feet slipped. It didn’t matter; somehow he inched along. Blood was pounding in his veins from the constriction, but his head emerged in the rocket.
He stared at the retracted combustion cap a few feet away. If he had arms, he could grasp it and pull himself free. But if he had arms, he would never have gotten this far. He wriggled until his body was nearly out and only his legs were in the tube. He kicked hard, fell to the floor.
He lay there while his head cleared, then rolled to his feet and staggered forward to the control compartment. The rocket was his, but he didn’t want it for himself alone.
He stared thoughtfully at the instrument panel. It had been a long time since he had operated a ship. When he understood the controls, he bent down and thrust his chin against the gravital dial. Laboriously he turned it to the proper setting. Then he sat down and kicked on a switch. The ship rocked and rose a few inches.
Chances were that Cameron wouldn’t notice that in the confusion outside. If he did, he had thirty seconds in which to stop Docchi. That wouldn’t be enough for Cameron.
The Eleventh Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack Page 9