by Jeff Sutton
CHAPTER 5
"Alpine wants a private confab," Prochaska said. His voice was ominous."Probably another stinker."
"Again?" Crag plugged in his ear insert microphone thinking he wasn'tgoing to like what he'd hear. Just when things had started lookingsmooth too. He cut Prochaska out of the system and acknowledged.
"Crag?" Gotch's voice was brittle, hard. He looked sideways atProchaska, who was studiously examining one of the instruments, tryingto give him the privacy demanded. He shifted his head. Larkwell wasstanding at the side port with his back toward him. Nagel lay back inhis seat, eyes closed.
Crag answered softly. "Shoot."
"More bad news," Gotch reported somberly. "Burning Sands picked apackage out of Drone Able just before launch time. It's just beenidentified."
"Check," he replied, trying to assimilate what Gotch was telling him.
Gotch stated flatly. "It was a time bomb. Here's a description. Bomb waspackaged in a flat black plastic case about one by four inches. Probablynot big enough to wreck the drone but big enough to destroy thecontrols. It was found tucked in the wiring of the main panel. Gotthat?"
"Check."
"The bomb squad hasn't come through with full details yet. If you find amate, don't try to disarm it. Dump it, pronto!"
"Can't. It'll stay with us."
"It's size indicates it wouldn't be fatal if it exploded outside thehull," Gotch rasped. "It was designed to wreck controls. If you findone, dump it. That's an order." The earphones were silent. Crag wasswiveling toward Prochaska when they came to life again.
"One other thing." Gotch was silent for a moment. Crag pictured himcarefully framing his words. "It means that the situation is worse thanwe thought," he said finally.
"They haven't left anything to chance. If you have a bomb, it wascarried there after the final security check. Do you follow me?"
"Yeah," Crag answered thoughtfully. He sat for a moment, debating whatto do. Prochaska didn't ask any questions. Gotch was telling him thatthe Aztec might be mined. Wait, what else had he said? _The bomb wascarried there after the security check._ That spelled traitor. The Aztechad been shaken down too often and too thoroughly for Intelligence tohave muffed. It would have to have been planted at the last moment. Ifthere was a bomb, he'd better keep quiet until Gotch's suspicions wereproven false--or verified.
He turned toward Prochaska, keeping his voice low. "Search the consolepanels--every inch of them."
He looked around. Nagel and Larkwell were back in their seats. Nagelseemed asleep, but Larkwell's face was speculative. Crag's eyes sweptthe cabin. Spare oxygen tanks, packaged pressure suits, water vents,chemical commode, the algae chamber and spare chemicals to absorb carbondioxide in case the algae system failed--these and more items filledevery wall, cupboard, occupied every cubic inch of space beyond the bareroom needed for human movement. Where was the most sensitive spot? Thecontrols. He sighed and turned back to the panels.
Prochaska was methodically running his hands through the complex ofwiring under the instrument panels. His face was a question, the face ofa man who didn't know what he was looking for. He decided not to tellhim ... yet. His earphones gave a burst of static followed by theColonel's hurried voice.
"Burning Sands reports packaged timed for 0815," he snapped. "That'seight minutes away. Get on the ball. If you've got one there, it'sprobably a twin."
"Okay," Crag acknowledged. "Adios, we've got work to do." He swungtoward Nagel.
"Break out the pressure suits," he barked. "Lend him a hand, Larkwell."
Nagel's eyes opened. "Pressure suits?"
"Check. We may need them in a couple of minutes."
"But--"
"Get to it," Crag rasped. "It may be a matter of life or death." Heturned. Prochaska was still examining the wiring. No time to search therest of the cabin, he thought. It might be anywhere. It would have to bethe panels or nothing. Besides, that was the most logical place. He wentto the Chief's assistance, searching the panels on his side of theboard, pushing his fingers gently between the maze of wiring. Nothingbelow the analog, the engine instruments, the radar altimeter. Heglanced at the chronometer and began to sweat. The hands on the dialseemed to be racing. Prochaska finished his side of the console andlooked sideways at him. Better tell him, Crag thought.
He said calmly, "Time bomb. Burning Sands says, if we have one, it mayblow in--" he glanced hurriedly at the chronometer--"five minutes."
Prochaska looked hurriedly at the array of gear lining the bulkheads.
"Probably in the controls, if we have one." Crag finished the panels onhis side without any luck. Prochaska hastily started re-examining thewiring. Crag followed after him. A moment later his fingers found it, asmooth flat case deeply imbedded between the wiring. Prochaska had goneover that panel a moment before! The thought struck him even as he movedit out, handling it gingerly. Prochaska showed his surprise. Cragglanced at Nagel and Larkwell. They had the suits free. He laid thebomb on the console. Larkwell saw it. His face showed understanding. Heheaved one of the suits to Prochaska and a second one to Crag. Theyhurriedly donned them. Space limitations made it an awkward task. Cragkept his eyes on the chronometer. The hand seemed to whiz across thedial. He began to sweat, conscious that he was breathing heavily.
"Short exposure," he rapped out. "Minimum pressure." He slipped on hishelmet, secured it to the neck ring and snapped on the face plate. Heturned the oxygen valve and felt the pressure build up within the suitand helmet. The chronometer showed two minutes to go. He snapped aglance around. Nagel peered at him through his thick face plate with aworried expression. Larkwell's lips were compressed against his teeth.His jaws worked spasmodically. Both were waiting, tense, watching him.
Prochaska was the last to finish. Crag waited impatiently for him toswitch on his oxygen valve before picking up the bomb. He motioned theothers to stand back and began opening the dogs which secured the escapehatch. He hesitated on the last one. The escaping air could whisk himinto space in a flash. The same thing had happened to crewmen riding inbubbles that broke at high altitude. Whoosh! He'd be gone! Conceivably,it could suck the cabin clean. Fortunately their gear had been securedas protection against the high g forces of escape. Too late to lashhimself with the seat harnessing. Time was running out. Panic touchedhis mind. Calm down, Crag, he told himself. Play it cool, boy.
Prochaska saw his dilemma at the same instant. He squatted on the deckand thrust his legs straight out from the hips, straddling one of theseat supports. Larkwell and Nagel hurriedly followed suit. Crag cast abackward glance at the chronometer--a minute and ten seconds to go! Hethrew himself to one side of the hatch, squatted and hooked an arm intoa panel console, hoping it was strong enough. He laid the bomb on thedeck next to the hatch and reached up with his free hand, held hisbreath, hesitated, and jarred the last dog loose.
The hatch exploded open. A giant claw seemed to grab his body, pullinghim toward the opening. It passed as quickly as it came, leaving himweak, breathless. The bomb had been whisked into space. He got to hisfeet and grasped the hatch combing, looking out. It was a giddy,vertiginous moment. Before him yawned a great purple-black maw, ablacker purple than that seen through the view ports. It was studdedwith unbelievably brilliant stars agleam with the hard luster ofdiamonds--white diamonds and blue sapphires.
_Something bright blinked in space._
He hesitated. The cold was already coming through his suit. Heremembered he hadn't turned on either the heating element or interphonesystem. He drew the hatch shut and dogged it down, then switched bothon. The others saw his movements and followed suit.
"See anything?" Prochaska was the first to ask. His voice sounded tinnyand far away. Crag adjusted his amplifier and said grimly:
"It blew."
"How ... how did it get here?" He identified the voice as Nagel's.
He snapped brusquely, "That's what I'm going to find out." Larkwell wassilent. Nagel began fiddling with the oxygen valves. They waited,quietly, each absor
bed in his thoughts until Nagel indicated it was safeto remove their suits. Crag's thoughts raced while he shucked the heavygarments. It's past, he thought, but the saboteur's still here. Who? Heflicked his eyes over the men. Who? That's what he had to findout--soon! When the suit was off, he hurriedly put through a call toGotch, reporting what had happened.
The Colonel listened without comment. When Crag finished, he was silentfor a moment. Finally he replied:
"Here's where we stand. We will immediately comb the record of everyintelligence agent involved in the last shakedown. We'll also recomb therecords of the Aztec crew, including yours. I've got to tell you thisbecause it's serious. If there's a saboteur aboard--and I think thereis--then the whole operation's in jeopardy. It'll be up to you to keepyour eyes open and analyze your men. We've tried to be careful. We'vechecked everyone involved back to birth. But there's always the sleeper.It's happened before."
"Check," Crag said. "I only hope you don't catch up with all my earlypeccadillos."
"This is no time to be funny. Now, some more news for you. Washingtonreports that the enemy launched another missile this morning."
"Another one?" Crag sighed softly. This time there would be nosatelloid, no Pickering to give his life.
The Colonel continued grimly. "Radar indicates this is a different kindof rocket. Its rate of climb ... its trajectory ... indicates it'smanned. Now it's a race."
Crag thought a moment. "Any sign of a drone with it?"
"No, that's the surprising part, if this is a full-scale attempt atestablishing a moon base. And we believe it is."
Crag asked sharply. "It couldn't be their atom-powered job?" Thepossibility filled him with alarm.
"Positively not. We've got our finger squarely on that one and it's agood year from launch-date. No, this is a conventional rocket ...perhaps more advanced than we had believed...." His voice dropped off."We'll keep you posted," he added after a minute.
"Roger." Crag sighed. He removed the earphone reflectively. He wouldn'ttell the others yet. Now that they were in space maybe ... justmaybe ... he could find time to catch his breath. Damn, they hadn'tanticipated all this during indoctrination. The intercept-missile ...time bomb ... possible traitor in the crew. What more could go wrong?For just a second he felt an intense hostility toward Gotch. An AirForce full of pilots and he had to pick him--and he wasn't even in theAir Force at the time. Lord, he should have contented himself withjockeying a jet airliner on some nice quiet hop. Like between L. A. andPearl ... with a girl at each end of the run.
He thought wistfully about the prospect while he made a routine check ofthe instruments. Cabin pressure normal ... temperature 78 degrees F. ...nothing alarming in the radiation and meteor impact readings. Carbondioxide content normal. Things might get routine after all, he thoughtmoodily. Except for one thing. The new rocket flashing skyward from eastof the Caspian. One thing he was sure of. It spelled trouble.
