Part 9 (1/2)

”Our screens are a little better than theirs, so there's a slim chance they haven't picked us up yet. We'll drop you and get out of here. But don't worry. We have your orbit fixed, and we'll find you when the screens are clear.”

”Suppose they find us while you're gone?” Rip said.

”It's a chance,” O'Brine admitted. ”You'll have to take s.p.a.ceman's luck on that one. But we won't be far away. We'll duck behind Vesta, or another of the big asteroids, and hide so their screens won't pick up our motion. Every now and then we'll sneak out for a look, if the screen seems clear. If those high-vack vermin do find you, get on the landing-boat radio and yell for help. We'll come blasting.”

He waved a hand, thumb and forefinger held together in the ancient symbol for ”everything right,” then ordered, ”Get flaming.” He stepped through the valve.

”Clear the lock,” Rip ordered. ”Open outer valve when ready.”

He took a quick, final look around. The pilots were in the boats. His Planeteers were standing by, safety lines already attached to the boats and their belts. He moved into position and snapped his own line to a ring on Dowst's boat. The s.p.a.cemen vanished through the valve, and the ma.s.sive door slid closed. The overhead lights flicked out. Rip now snapped on his belt light, and the others followed suit.

In front of the boxlike landing boats a great door slid open, and air from the lock rushed out. Rip knew it was only imagination, but he felt as though all the heat from his suit was radiating into s.p.a.ce, chilling him to near absolute zero. Beyond the lights from their belts, he saw stars and recognized the constellation for which the s.p.a.ce cruiser was named. A superst.i.tious s.p.a.ceman would have taken that as a good sign.

Rip admitted that it was nice to see.

”Float 'em,” he ordered.

The Planeteers gripped handholds at the entrance with one hand and launching rails on the boats with the other, then heaved. The boats slid into s.p.a.ce. As the safety lines tightened, the Planeteers were pulled after the boat.

Rip left his feet with a little spring and shot through the door.

Directly below him, the asteroid gleamed darkly in the light of the tiny sun. His first reaction was ”Great Cosmos! What a little chunk of rock!”

But that was because he was used to looking from the s.p.a.ce platform at the great curve of Terra or at the big ball of the moon. Actually the asteroid was fair-sized, when compared with most of its kind.

The Planeteers hauled themselves into the boats by their safety lines.

Rip waited until all were in, then pulled himself along his own line to the black square of the door. Koa was waiting to give him a hand into the craft.

The Planeteers were standing, except for Dowst. Rip had never seen an old-type railroad, or he might have likened the landing boat to a railroad boxcar. It was about the same size and shape, but had huge ”windows” on both sides and in front of the pilot--windows that were not enclosed. The s.p.a.ce-suited men needed no protection.

”Blast,” Rip ordered.

A pulse of fire spurted from the top of each boat, driving them bottom first toward the asteroid.

”Land at will,” Rip said.

The asteroid loomed large as he looked through an opening. It was rocky, but there were plenty of smooth places.

Dowst picked one. He was an expert pilot, and Rip watched him with pleasure. The exhaust from the top lessened, and fire spurted soundlessly from the bottom. Dowst balanced the opposite thrusts of the top and bottom blasts with the delicacy of a woman threading a needle. In a few moments the boat was hovering a foot above the asteroid. Dowst cut the exhausts, and Rip stepped out onto the tiny planet.

The Planeteers knew what to do. Corporal Pederson produced hardened steel spikes with ring tops. Private Trudeau had a sledge. Driving the first spike would be the hardest, because the action of swinging the hammer would propel the Planeteer like a rocket exhaust. In s.p.a.ce, the law that every action has an equal and opposite reaction had to be remembered every moment.

Rip watched, interested in how his man would tackle the problem. He didn't know the answer himself, because he had never driven a spike on an airless world with almost no gravity, and no one had ever mentioned it to him.

Pederson searched the gray metal with his torch and found a slender spur of thorium, perhaps two feet high, a short distance from the boat.

”Here's a hold,” he said. ”Come on, Frenchy. You too, Bradshaw.”

Trudeau, carrying the sledge, walked up to the spur of rock and stood with his heels against it. Pederson sat down on the ground with his legs on either side of the spur. He stretched, hooking his heels around Trudeau's ankles, anchoring him. With his gloves, he grabbed the seat of the Frenchman's s.p.a.ce suit.

Bradshaw took a spike and held it against the gray metal ground. The Frenchman swung, his hammer noiseless as it drove the tough spike. A few inches into the metal was enough. Bradshaw took a wrench from his belt, put it on the head of the spike, and turned it. Below the surface, teeth on the spike bit into the metal. It would hold.

The rest was easy. The spike was used to anchor Trudeau while he drove another, at his longest reach. Then the second spike became his anchor, and so on, until enough spikes had been set to lace the boat down against any sudden shock.