"A shot, I think. What do you suggest?"
"Set your engine to roll for a hyperbolic and give it full drive for ... say an hour."
"Full power," Crane said, thoughtfully "I can't take that much. But…"
"I can't either," Dorothy said, foreboding in her eyes. "Nor Margaret."
"-full power is necessary," Crane continued as though the girl had not spoken, "full power it shall be. Is it really of the essence, DuQuesne?"
"Definitely. More than full would be better. And it's getting worse every minute."
"How much power can you take?" Seaton asked. "More than full. Not much more, but a little."
"If you can, I can." Seaton was not boasting, merely stating a fact. "So here's what let's do. Double the engines up. DuQuesne and I will notch the power up until one of us has to quit. Run an hour on that, and then read the news. Check?"
"Check," said Crane and DuQuesne simultaneously, and the three men set furiously to work. Crane went to the engines, DuQuesne to the observatory. Seaton rigged helmets to air- and oxygen-tanks through valves on his board.
Seaton placed Margaret upon a seat, fitted a helmet over her head, strapped her in, and turned to Dorothy. Instantly they were in each other's arms. He felt her labored breathing and the hard beating of her heart; saw the fear and the unknown in the violet depths of her eyes; but she looked at him steadily as she said: "Dick, sweetheart, if this is good-bye ..."
"It isn't, Dottie-yet-but I know . .
Crane and DuQuesne had finished their tasks, so Seaton hastily finished his job on Dorothy. Crane put himself to bed; Seaton and DuQuesne. put on their helmets and took their places at the twin boards.
In quick succession twenty notches of power went on. The Skylark leaped away from the other ship, which continued its mad fall-a helpless hulk, manned by a corpse, falling to destruction upon the bleak surface of a dead star. Notch by notch, slower now, the power went up. Seaton turned the mixing valve, a little with each notch, until the oxygen concentration was as high as they had dared to risk. As each of the two men was determined that he would make the last advance, the duel continued longer than either would have believed possible. Seaton made what he was sure was his final effort and waited-only to feel, after a minute, the surge of the vessel that told him that DuQuesne was still able to move.
He could not move any part of his body, which was oppressed by a sickening weight. His utmost efforts to breathe forced only a little oxygen into his lungs. He wondered how long he could retain consciousness under such stress. Nevertheless, he put out everything he had and got one more notch. Then he stared at the clock-face above his head, knowing that he was all done and wondering whether DuQuesne could put on one more notch.
Minute after minute went by and the acceleration remained constant. Seaton, knowing that he was now in sole charge of the situation, fought off unconsciousness while the sweephand of the clock went around and around.
After an eternity of time sixty minutes had passed and Seaton tried to cut down his power, only to find that the long strain had so weakened him that he could not reverse the ratchet. He was barely able to give the lever the backward jerk which broke contact completely. Safety straps creaked as, half the power shut off, the suddenly released springs tried to hurl five bodies upward.
DuQuesne revived and shut down his engine. "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din," he said, as he began to make observations.
"Because you were so badly bunged up, is all-one more notch would've pulled my cork," and Seaton went over to liberate Dorothy and the stranger.
Crane and DuQuesne finished their computations. "Did we gain enough?" Seaton asked.
"More than enough. One engine will take us past it." Then, as Crane still frowned in thought, DuQuesne went on:
"Don't you check me, Crane?"
"Yes and no. Past it, yes, but not safely past. One thing neither of us thought of, apparently-Roche's Limit."
"That wouldn't apply to this ship," Seaton said, positively. "High-tensile alloy steel wouldn't crumble."
"It might," DuQuesne said. "Close enough, it would ... What mass would you assume, Crane-the theoretical maximum?"
"I would. That star may not be that, quite, but it isn't far from it." Both men again bent over their computers.
"I make it thirty-nine point seven notches of power, doubled," DuQuesne said, when he had finished. "Check?"
"Closely enough-point six five," Crane replied. "Forty notches ... Ummm ... "
DuQuesne paused. "I went out at thirty-two... . That means an automatic advance. It'll take time, but it's the only... ."
"We've got it already-all we have to do is set it. But that'll take an ungodly lot of copper and what'll we do to live through it? Plus pressure on the oxygen? Or what?"
After a short but intense consultation the men took all the steps they could to enable the whole party to live through what was coming. Whether they could do enough no one knew. Where they might lie at the end of this wild dash for safety; how they were to retrace their way with their depleted supply of copper, what other dangers of dead star, sun, or planet lay in their path, were terrifying questions that had to be ignored.
DuQuesne was the only member of the party who actually felt any calmness, the quiet of the others expressing their courage in facing fear.
The men took their places. Seaton started the motor which would automatically advance both power levers exactly forty notches and then stop.
Margaret Spencer was the first to lose consciousness. Soon afterwards, Dorothy stifled an impulse to scream as she felt herself going under. A half minute later and Crane went out, calmly analyzing his sensations to the last. Shortly thereafter DuQuesne also lapsed into unconsciousness, making no effort to avoid it, as he knew that it would make no difference in the end.
Seaton, though he knew it was useless, fought to keep his senses as long as possible, counting the impulses as the levers were advanced.
Thirty-two. He felt the same as when he had advanced his lever for the last time.
Thirty-three. A giant hand shut off his breath, although he was fighting to the utmost for air. An intolerable weight rested upon his eyeballs, forcing them back into his head. The universe whirled about him in dizzy circles; orange and black and green stars flashed before his bursting eyes.
Thirty-four. The stars became more brilliant and of more wildly variegated colors, and a giant pen dipped in fire wrote equations and symbols upon his quivering brain.
Thirty-five. The stars and the fiery pen exploded in pyrotechnic coruscation of searfing, blinding light and he plunged into a black abyss.
Faster and faster the Skylark hurtled downward in her not-quite-hyperbolic path. Faster and faster; as minute by minute went by, she came closer and closer to that huge dead star. Eighteen hours from the start of that fantastic drop she swung around it in the tightest, hardest conceivable arc. Beyond Roche's Limit, it is true, but so very little beyond it that Martin Crane's hair would have stood on end if he had known.
Then, on the back leg of that incomprehensibly gigantic swing, the forty notches of doubled power began really to take hold. At thirty-six hours her path was no longer even approximately hyperbolic. Instead of slowing down, relative to the dead star that held her in an ever-weakening grip, she was speeding up at a tremendous rate.
At two days, that grip was very weak.
At three days the monster she had left was having no measurable effect.
Hurtled upward, onward, outward by the inconceivable power of the unleashed copper demons in her center, the Skylark tore through the reaches of interstellar space with an unthinkable, almost incalculable velocity, beside which the velocity of light was as that of a snail to that of a rifle bullet.
Seaton opened his eyes and gazed about him wonderingly. Only half conscious, bruised and sore in every part, he could not remember what had happened. Instinctively drawing deep breath, he coughed as the plus-pressure gas filled his lungs, bringing with it a complete
understanding of the situation. He tore off his helmet and drew himself across to Dorothy's couch.
She was still alive!
He placed her face downward upon the floor and began artificial respiration. Soon he was rewarded by the coughing he had longed to hear. Snatching off her helmet, he seized her in his arms, while she sobbed convulsively on his shoulder. The first ecstasy of their greeting over, she started guiltily.
"Oh, Dick! See about Peggy-I wonder if . . :' "Never mind," Crane said. "She is doing nicely."
Crane had already revived the stranger. DuQuesne was nowhere in sight. Dorothy blushed vividly and disengaged her arms from around Seaton's neck. Seaton, also blushing, dropped his arms and Dorothy floated away, clutching frantically at a hand-hold just out of her reach.
"Pull me down, Dick!" Dorothy laughed.
Seaton grabbed her ankle unthinkingly, neglecting his own anchorage, and they floated in the air together. Martin and Margaret, each holding a line, laughed heartily.
"Tweet, tweet-I'm a canary," Seaton said, flapping his arms. "Toss us a line, Mart."
"A Dicky-bird, you mean," Dorothy said.
Crane studied the floating pair with mock gravity. "That is a peculiar pose, Dick. What is it supposed to represent-Zeus sitting on his throne?"
"I'll sit on your neck, you lug, if you don't get a wiggle on with that rope!"
As he spoke, however he came within reach of the ceiling, and could push himself and his companion to a line. Seaton put a bar into one of the engines and, after flashing the warning light, applied a little power. The Skylark seemed to leap under them; then everything had its normal weight once more.
"Now that things have settled down a little," Dorothy said, "I'll introduce you two to Miss Margaret Spencer, a very good friend of mine. These are the boys I told you so much about, Peggy. This is Dr. Dick Seaton, my fiance. He knows everything there is to be known about atoms, electrons, neutrons, and so forth. And this is Mr. Martin Crane, who is a simply wonderful inventor. He made all these engines and things."
"I may have heard of Mr. Crane," Margaret said, eagerly. "My father was an inventor, too, and he used to talk about a man named Crane who invented a lot of instruments for supersonic planes. He said they revolutionized flying. I wonder if you are that Mr. Crane?"
"That is unjustifiedly high praise, Miss Spencer," Crane replied, uncomfortable, "but as I have done a few things along that line I could be the man he referred to."
"If I may change the subject," Seaton said, "where's DuQuesne?"
"He went to clean up. Then he was going to the galley to check damage and see about something to eat."
"Stout fella!" Dorothy applauded. "Food! And especially about cleaning up-if you know what I mean and I think you do. Come on, Peggy, I know where our room is."
"What a girl!" Seaton said as the women left, Dorothy half-supporting her companion. "She's bruised and beat up from one end to the other. She's more than half dead yet-she didn't have enough life left in her to flag a handcar. She can't even walk; she can just barely hobble. And did she let out one single yip? I ask to know. 'Business as usual,' all the way, if it kills her. What a girl!"
"Include Miss Spencer in that, too, Dick. Did she 'let out any yips'? And she was not in nearly as good shape as Dorothy was, to start with."
"That's right," Seaton agreed, wonderingly. "She's got plenty of guts, too. Those two women, Marty my old and stinky chum, are blinding flashes and deafening reports... . Well, let's go get a bath and shave. And shove the air-conditioners up a couple of notches, will you?"
When they came back they found the two girls seated at one of the ports. "Did you dope yourself up, Doc?" Seaton asked.
"Yes, both of us. With amylophene. I'm getting to be a slave to the stuff." She made a wry face.
Seaton grimaced too. "So did we. Ouch! Nice stuff that amylophene."
"But come over here and look out of this window. Did you ever see anything like it?"
As the four heads bent, so close together, an awed silence fell upon the little group. For the blackness of the black of the interstellar void is not the darkness of an earthly night, but the absolute absence of light-a black beside which that of platinum dust is merely grey. Upon this indescribably black backdrop there glowed faint patches which were nebulae; there blazed hard, brilliant, multi-colored, dimensionless points of light which were stars.
"Jewels on black velvet," Dorothy breathed. "Oh, gorgeous ... wonderful!"
Through their wonder a thought struck Seaton. He leaped to the board. "Look here, Mart. I didn't recognize a thing out there and I wondered why. We're heading away from the Earth and we must be making plenty of lightspeeds. The swing around that big dud was really something, of course, but the engine should have ... or should it?"
"I think not ... Unexpected, but not a surprise. That close to Roche's Limit, anything might happen."
"And did, I guess. We'll have to check for permanent deformations. But this object-compass still works-let's see how far we are away from home."
They took a reading and both men figured the distance. "What d'you make it, Mart? I'm afraid to tell you my result."
"Forty-six point twenty-seven light centuries. Check?"
"Check. We're up the well-known creek without a paddle... . The time was twenty-three thirty-two by the chronometer-good thing you built it to stand going through a stone-crusher. My watch's a total loss. They all are, I imagine. We'll read it again in an hour or so and see how fast we're going. I'll be scared witless to say that figure out loud, too."
"Dinner is announced," said DuQuesne, who had been standing at the door, listening.
The wanderers, battered, stiff, and sore, seated themselves at a folding table. While eating, Seaton watched the engine-when he was not watching Dorothy-and talked to her. Crane and Margaret chatted easily. DuQuesne, except when addressed directly, maintained a self-sufficient silence.
After another observation Seaton said, "DuQuesne, we're almost five thousand light-years away from earth, and getting farther away at about one light-year per minute."
"It'd be poor technique to ask how you know?"
"It would. Those figures are right. But we've got only four bars of copper left. Enough. to stop us and some to spare, but not nearly enough to get us back, even by drifting-too many lifetimes on the way."
"So we land somewhere and dig up some copper."
"Check. What I wanted to ask you-isn't a copperbearing sun apt to, have copper-beating planets?"
"I'd say so."
"Then take the spectroscope, will you, and pick out a sun somewhere up ahead-down ahead, I mean-for us to shoot at? And Marty, I s'pose we'd better take our regular twelve-hour tricks-no, eight; we've got to either trust the guy or kill him-I'll take the first watch. Beat it to bed."
"Not so fast." Crane said. "If I remember correctly, it's my turn."
"Ancient history doesn't count. I'll flip you a nickel for it. Heads, I win."
Seaton won, and the warn-out travelers went to their rooms-all except Dorothy, who lingered to bid her lover a more intimate good night.
Seated beside him, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, she sat blissfully until she noticed, for the first time, her bare left hand. She caught her breath and her eyes grew round.
"'Smatter, Red?"
"Oh, Dick!" she exclaimed in dismay, "I simply forgot everything about taking what was left of my ring out of the doctor's engine."
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
She told him; and he told her about Martin and himself.
"Oh, Dick-Dick-it's so wonderful to be with you again!" she concluded. "I lived as many years as we covered miles!"
"It was tough ... you had it a lot worse than we did ... but it makes me ashamed all over to think of the way I blew my stack at Wilson's. If it hadn't been for Martin's cautious old bean we'd've ... we owe him a lot, Dimples."
"Yes, we do ... but don't worry about the debt, Dick. Just don't ever let slip
a word to Peggy about Martin being rich, is all."
"Oh, a matchmaker now? But why not? She wouldn't think any less of him-that's one reason I'm marrying you, you know-for your money."
Dorothy snickered sunnily. "I know. But listen, you poor, dumb, fortune-hunting darling-if Peggy had any idea that Martin is the one and only M. Reynolds Crane she'd curl right up into a ball. She'd think he'd think she was chasing him and then he would think so. As it is, he acts perfectly natural. He hasn't talked that way to any girl except me for five years, and he wouldn't talk to me until he found out for sure I wasn't out after him."
"Could be, pet," Seaton agreed. "On one thing you really chirped it-he's been shot at so much he's wilder than a hawk!" At the end of eight hours Crane took over and Seaton stumbled to his room, where he slept for over ten hours like a man in a trance. Then, rising, he exercised and went out into the saloon.
Dorothy, Peggy, and Crane were at breakfast; Seaton joined them. They ate the gayest, most carefree meal they had had since leaving earth. Some of the worst bruises still showed a little, but, under the influence of the potent if painful amylophene, all soreness, stiffness, and pain had disappeared.
After they had finished eating, Seaton said, "You suggested, Mart, that those gyroscope bearings may have been stressed beyond the yield-point. I'll take an integrating goniometer ..."
"Break that down to our size, Dick-Peggy's and mine," Dorothy said.
"Can do. Take some tools and see if anything got bent out of shape back there. It might be an idea, Dot, to come along and hold my head while I think."
""That is an idea if you never have another one." Crane and Margaret went over and sat down at one of the crystal-clear ports. She told him her story frankly and fully, shuddering with horror as she recalled the awful, helpless fall during which Perkins had been killed.
"We have a heavy score to settle with that Steel crowd and with DuQuesne," Crane said, slowly. "We can convict him of abduction now.... Perkins' death wasn't murder, then?"
The Best of E E 'Doc' Smith Page 4
