Rogue Ship

16

Two things had been happening as he talked. Lesbee squeezed the 'off' switch of the cage control, an entirely automatic gesture, convulsive, a spasmodic movement, result of his dismay. It was a mindless action. So far as he knew consciously, freeing Dzing's thoughts had no useful possibility for him. His only real hope – as he realized almost immediately – was to get his other hand into his remaining coat pocket and with it manipulate the remote-control landing device, the secret of which he had so naively revealed to Browne.

The second thing that happened was that Dzing, released from mental control, telepathed:

'Free again – and this time of course permanently! I have just now activated by remote control the relays that will in a few moments start the engines of this ship, and I have naturally reset the mechanism for controlling the rate of acceleration-'

The robot's thoughts must have impinged progressively on Browne, for it was at that point that the officer paused uncertainly.

Dzing continued: 'As I have rectified the field-control system, the atomic drive will now be able to achieve velocities close to that of light. I have also synchronized the artificial gravity so that there will be a considerable gap between that and the acceleration. They have neglected to take any real precautions against capture by this means -'

Lesbee reached over, tripped on the speaker system, and yelled into the microphone: 'All stations prepare for emergency acceleration! Grab anything!'

To Browne, he shouted: 'Get to your seat – quick!'

His actions and words were automatic responses to danger. Only after he had spoken did it occur to him that he had no interest in the survival of Captain Browne. And that, in fact, the only reason the man was in danger was because he had stepped away from his safety belt so that Mindel's blaster would kill Lesbee without damaging Browne.

Browne evidently understood his danger. He started toward the control chair from which he had released himself moments before. His reaching hands were still a foot or more from it when the impact of acceleration stopped him instantly and flung him backward to the floor. Still going back, he pressed the palms of his hands and his rubber shoes hard against the floor. That probably saved him from a head injury, for his tremendous effort brought him to a sitting position. And so he slid into the rear wall with his back. It was cushioned to protect human beings; it reacted like rubber, bouncing him several times.

Pinned there by several g's of the continuing acceleration, he managed a strangled yell. 'Lesbee, put a tractor beam on me. Save me. I'll make it up to you.'

The man's wild appeal brought momentary wonder to Lesbee. There was of course nothing he could do. He also was pinned in. But he was amazed that Browne hoped for mercy after what had happened.

The thought and the emotion yielded to the reality that the acceleration was now constant at a bone-breaking intensity. Lesbee became acutely aware of his own awkward position.

He had turned around to speak to Browne, and so he was facing in the wrong direction when the forward drive of the ship hit him. The safety belt and the pit of his stomach had taken the blow. Now, he hung in his belt, doubled up, still in his seat but like a man whose hands and feet were manacled together in front of him. He had the peculiar feeling that his insides would simply flow out of him if there were an opening anywhere in his body. His eyes bulged. The sensation was hideous.

...He must swing the chair around so that its back would bear the colossal pressure of acceleration.

He was about to make his first tense effort in that direction, when the lid of the cage lifted and the head of Dzing appeared over its rim... The robot's thoughts had been coming steadily during these momentous seconds.

'...Well, that was simple enough,' the Karn reported. 'I have the acceleration gap set at four of their gravities, enough to hold these two-legged beings but not kill them. How long will the boarding party be?' There was a pause and evidently an answer from below, for Dzing said mentally: 'That should give me time to investigate the engine room directly. There's some kind of control confusion, which operates on such a tiny level that I'm not programmed to deal with it by remote energies -'

As it made these comments, the creature climbed out of its cage and – without any visible effect from the acceleration -walked to the door and disappeared into the corridor beyond. For a few moments longer, Lesbee was aware that it was continuing its description and discussion. But swiftly, the thought waves grew dim and then faded altogether.

Lesbee became conscious that Browne had also watched Dzing's departure. The two men glared at each other, and then Browne attempted to speak. It was awful to watch him; the acceleration pulled his lips and his mouth muscles, and what came through was a strangled sound. Lesbee made out a few of the words.

'... Your mad action... We'll be captured... destroyed -'

Lesbee thought, 'I'll be damned. He's blaming me for our predicament.'

He felt a twinge of guilt, but it was momentary. The question of where cause began in a human disaster, when everyone was being human, was not as simple as Browne seemed to believe... Since when, for instance, did a Browne have the right to name a Lesbee as expendable...?

Lesbee did not give voice to these thoughts. He was trying to draw his right arm from its straight-out position in front of him. By bending his elbow, he found movement was not impossible. Cautiously, he forced the arm backward, and with his fingers – and with nearly all his strength – grasped the seat of the control chair... fumbled along it to the push-button controls of the chair.

Reached them! Poised his finger on the one that would swing the chair around to face the board -

There he stopped. His mind was beginning to work again. And, though it was like speaking with a cake of soap in his mouth, he gulped at Browne: 'How much fuel... in engine?'

Impossible to tell from the stunned expression on Browne's face if the question produced a cunning reaction. The commander's muffled answer was: 'Many hours!'

Lesbee experienced instant disappointment. For that moment, for that brief moment, he had hopefully recalled the continual talk of fuel shortage. There had even been rumors that during the period of slowing down for Alta there had been times when the engine had only an hour or so of fuel. In fact, he himself had several times been asked to torch-cut metals from hidden parts of the ship. And this he had done, and had taken the product of his effort to the engine room, in the understanding that the drive was ravenous; that the stuff would be used immediately.

If that were so, then where did the present relative plenty come from?

Ruefully, Lesbee realized that the colonists had probably been subjected to a propaganda harassment. There was, of course, a fuel shortage. But Browne had exaggerated its immediacy to the point where he had been able to order Lesbee out as an expendable, and no one had said a word.

But regrettably now, he believed Browne. There was fuel in the engines... His brief hope that the available fuel would burn up and release them – was shattered... They'd have to escape from the acceleration pressure some other way...The only method he had was extremely dangerous. Meanwhile, other actions -

Lesbee pressed the button on the side of the control chair.

The chair, power driven, whirled around; the movement did bobbling things to his internal organs, and his legs and arms flip-flopped, were swung about, and forced back. With a thud, he landed breathless against the long, cushioned back of the chair, dizzy but safe and, after a long moment, ready for his next move.

Tensing his arm muscles for the awkward effort, Lesbee forced his arm up, reached with straining fingers for his pocket, and pushed down. It was like using flesh to prop a heavy object. But seconds later, his hand – bruised and strangely numb – was inside his pocket.

With all his strength, he forced his hand to open, to grasp the remote-control device that was in that pocket. But he did not immediately activate its first stage. 'Wait,' he thought, 'till the Karn gets some distance away.'

He sat there; rather, he remained in his squeezed position, breathing with difficulty, conscious of a developing exhaustion. That brought alarm. Was it possible that his body could wear itself out at four g's, sitting?

Yet if he killed Dzing at once, that would leave him alone with Browne and his minions, facing a sentence of death which Browne had not rescinded.

And if he merely stopped the acceleration, that would bring the Karn robot racing back to find out what had happened.

...Nonpermissible, yet how avoid it...?

As Lesbee reasoned it, the longer he could hold off final action the better his chance of learning vital information. For example, the question of how Dzing had speeded up the ship's drive had to be correctly understood. With so much new force in motion, an unconsidered move could kill people instantly, might even damage the ship itself.

With that thought, he began a careful examination of the big board in front of him. The minutes dragged; and still he continued his study. The extreme tiredness that rapidly grew on him began to be his main problem. He kept dozing, and he would awaken with the shocked realization that time had gone by.

But presently he understood.

The acceleration was twelve gravities; the artificial-gravity force was eight gravities. The gap between the two – four gravities – was the pressure that was affecting them so severely.

Lesbee had a sense of awe. This was a new, unheard-of technique. It meant that drastic changes had been made by remote-control mental action in the drive and the artificial-gravity coils.

Hitherto the use of artificial gravity at the same time as acceleration had not been possible. There simply wasn't enough power available. But Dzing had rectified that by creating a vast new power source; the rapid ejection and expansion of particles multiplied the usable energy by some huge amount; theoretically, it was tens of thousands of times greater. In practice, of course, at low speeds, it was only a few hundred times greater.

But there was enough power for all conceivable contingencies.

Sitting there, breathing in that labored fashion, Lesbee felt the fantastic reality of the universe. During all this slow century of flight through space, the Hope of Man had had the potential for this vastly greater velocity.

'And Dr. Tellier missed it,' he thought.

Missed it! And so a shipload of human beings had wandered for generations through the black deeps of interstellar space.

Lesbee thought, 'the moment I activate the first of the three stages of my little control device, Dzing will lose his control of the drive and of the artificial gravity.'

Unfortunately, it would probably also send him racing back to the alternate control board to find out what had happened.

Lesbee realized he could not take any chances with that at all. He would have to activate the Karn's self-destruct system with Stage Three of his little control device. And what bothered him about that was, paradoxically, 'that the robot was a protection for him.

The moment the creature was destroyed, the total power that Browne had aboard the ship would be reasserted. Lesbee thought, 'If I can gain just a few minutes time here, while I maneuver around with Browne -'

He thought about that for a moment longer. And then, because he dared not delay, he pressed the first button and then the third one.

Instantly, his body sagged in its belt, weightless.

Lesbee held himself alert, listening. But if there was an explosion anywhere on the ship, its repercussion failed to reach him.

He thought, appalled, 'Good God, can it be the destruct system didn't work?'

The panicky feeling that came subsided before a new urgent problem. Across the room Browne was climbing groggily to his feet.

He muttered: '... better get back to... control chair...'

He had taken only a few uncertain steps when a realization seemed to strike him. He looked up, and stared wildly at Lesbee. 'Oh!' he said. It was a gasp of horrified understanding.

There was no time any more to think about Dzing. As he slapped a complex of tractor beams on Browne, Lesbee said, 'That's right. You're looking at your enemy. Let's have that completely understood, because we haven't got much time. Now, I want to ask you some questions.'

Browne was pale. He said huskily, 'I did what any lawful government does in an emergency. I dealt with treason summarily, taking time only to find out what it consisted of.'

The explanation was a meaningless bit of nonsense, in view of the history of the ship. But Lesbee did not pause to argue. He had a tense consciousness of working against time. It was outrageous that he had to fight both Browne's forces and Dzing, but that was the fact; and so, hastily, he swung Browne over in front of him, and took his blaster.

Lesbee felt better when he had the weapon. But there was still another danger. Without turning, he spoke at the screen that connected directly with the bridge: 'Mr. Miller, are you there?'

There was no answer.

Lesbee said to Browne, 'Tell Miller not to attempt preemption. Any attempt by him to take over control means I'll use this blaster on you. Got that, Miller?' His voice was uncompromising.

Again, there was no reply.

Browne said uneasily, 'He may have been knocked unconscious.'

Lesbee ardently hoped so, but there was no time for verification. For a few, vital uninterrupted minutes, now, he needed Browne's knowledge.