Part 12 (1/2)

”All right,” barked Loring, ”lay off the lecture! Just get that s.p.a.ce suit on in a hurry!”

”Listen, wise guy,” challenged Mason, ”just tell me one thing. If we bail out of this tub in s.p.a.ce suits, who's going to pick us up?”

”We're not bailing out!” said Loring.

”We're not? Then what are we suiting up for?”

”Just in case,” said Loring. ”Now listen to me. In a few minutes the _Annie Jones_'ll make contact with traffic control. Only instead of talking to the pilot--they'll be talking to us. Because we'll have taken over.”

”But unless we land they'll be suspicious. And if we land ...”

Loring interrupted. ”n.o.body's going to suspect a thing. I'll tell traffic control we've got an extra-heavy load. Then they won't let us land. We follow their orders and blast off into s.p.a.ce--find an emergency fuel station--head for Tara--and n.o.body suspects anything.”

Mason twisted his face into a scowl. ”Sounds awful risky to me,” he muttered.

”Sure it's risky,” sneered Loring, ”but you don't hit the jackpot without ever taking a _chance_!”

The two men, huddled against a jumble of packing cases in the cargo hold of the _Annie Jones_, made careful preparations. Checking their weapons, they opened their way toward the freighter's control deck. Just outside the hatch they stopped, paralo-ray guns ready, and listened.

Inside, Pilot James Jardine and Leland Bangs, his first officer, were preparing for the landing at the s.p.a.ce station.

”Ought to be picking up the approach radar signal pretty soon,” said Bangs. ”Better take her off automatic control, Jardine. Use the manual for close maneuvering.”

”Right,” answered his s.p.a.cemate. ”Send out a radar blip for them to pick up. I'll check the cargo and make sure it's lashed down for landing.

Captain Stefens is tough when it comes to being s.h.i.+pshape.”

The freighter blasted evenly, smoothly onward through the darkness of s.p.a.ce in a straight line for the man-made satellite. Jardine got up from the freighter's dual-control board, picked up a portable light, and headed for the hatch leading to the cargo deck.

”He's coming,” hissed Loring. ”We'll take him soon's he reaches us.”

There was a sharp clank as the hatch opened, and Jardine's head came into view.

”Now!” yelled Loring. He swung the heavy paralo-ray gun at Jardine's head.

”What the--” exclaimed the startled s.p.a.ceman. ”Bangs, look out!”

He tried to avoid the blow, but Loring's gun landed on the side of his head. Jardine crumpled to the deck.

Bangs was out of his seat in a moment, at his pilot's call. The burly redheaded s.p.a.ceman saw at a glance what was wrong and lunged for the hatch.

Loring stepped toward him, holding his paralo-ray.

”All right, s.p.a.ceboy!” he grated. ”Hold it or I'll freeze you stiff!”

Bangs stopped and stared at the gun and at Jardine who was slumped on the deck. Mason rushed past him to the controls.

”What is this?” demanded Bangs.

”An old game,” explained Loring with a sneer. ”It's called 'You've got it and I take it.' And if you don't like it, you get it.” He gestured with his gun. ”You get it--with this.”

Bangs nodded. ”O.K.,” he said. ”O.K. But how about letting me take care of my buddy. He's hurt.”

[Ill.u.s.tration]