revise upward his estimate of the overall size of the ship.
Much of the equipment was totally alien to him, but there was also a great deal that he could at least guess the purpose of. Including a fabulous array of electronic equipment.
When Wayne still didn’t say anything, the Cirissin closed the door. “Batter blan,” he announced. “Wheeze india buck terth. Cup girlish ear. Torch herf youdon brink high dragon bump.”
Wayne said, “Huh?”
“Flow me.” O’Reilly led Wayne and Sheilah through a maze of corridors, tunnels and hatchways, stopping at last to throw open a door and let Wayne peer into the control cabin of a miniature space ship.
O’Reilly jumblingly explained that it was a reconnaissance ship, used for visiting the surface of a planet when it was impractical to land the mother ship.
The control board was simple: a few dials, one or two buttons, several switches and a view plate. It looked too simple.
Wayne said, “Now, wait. Let’s see if I have this straight. You want me to take this ship to earth and swipe you a high dragon bump. And you’re going to keep Sheilah here and torture her if I don’t deliver the goods, huh?”
The Cirissin said that was right. “Kwiger butter. Jus bush piggest putton. Token ley tours gutther.”
“I see. And what about communications?” Wayne asked. “Is the boat equipped with radio? How can I let you know when I have your high dragon bump?”
O’Reilly said, “Can’t. Combundlecations Cirissin only.”
From his further explanation Wayne gathered that communications between the two ships was on the basis of some sort of amplified brain waves, and could carry only the brain waves of Cirissins.
Wayne considered the situation.
Two hours to get to earth. No radio. The big Cirissin ship was circling earth at an unknown distance, unknown speed and unknown direction. And although the ship was enormous, it would be impossible to spot it from earth unless you knew exactly where to look.
He said, “It would really be better, wouldn’t it, if I could make the high dragon bump right here?”
O’Reilly agreed that it would be better.
“Well, let me try. You’ve got a good lab, and we have plenty of time. Twenty-four hours, you said? Well, give me about ten hours in the laboratory. If I can’t produce a high dragon bump in that time I’ll take the small ship down and get you one. Okay?”
While the Cirissin thought it over in meditative silence Wayne was aware of Sheilah watching him with cold, hostile eyes. He wished he could explain things to her, but he didn’t dare try.
Finally O’Reilly said, “Hokum. Tenners in lab. Thistle.”
“It’ll be enough,” Wayne assured him.
Sheilah was taken back to the room where Wayne had met her and the Cirissin instructed her to stay there. He closed the door but did not lock it. Then he took Wayne back to the lab.
“Neediest hulp?” he asked.
“Hulp? Help? Uh… Why, no. No, thanks. I can manage fine by myself. In fact I’d rather work alone. Fewer distractions the better, you know.”
“Hack saw lent. Wheel buzzy preparation. In trol room few deriding hulp needed.” Then O’Reilly floated out the door.
Wayne was astounded. He’d taken it for granted that the Cirissin would insist on supervising him, and he’d been evolving elaborate plans for escaping his attention.
But Wayne thought he had the explanation for the Cirissins’ idiotic behavior.
This ship and everything about it indicated an extremely high intelligence and an advanced culture.
Everything, that is, but the Cirissins themselves.
The idea of kidnapping him from earth to provide them with a weapon to destroy earth; kidnapping Sheilah to seduce him; the idea of even expecting him to be able to produce such a weapon—it was all idiotic.
There was only one explanation that he could see.
The Cirissins were idiots.
Some other race had produced this ship. These cosmic degenerates had somehow gotten hold of it and were on a mad binge through the universe, destroying all the worlds they didn’t like.
He wondered how many they’d already wiped out. They had to be stopped.
Wayne immediately started constructing a radio transmitter from convenient materials in the laboratory. It was fairly simple.
He was not interrupted for nearly two hours. At which time he was saying into his improvised microphone:
“Seven hours? That long? Can’t make it any sooner than that? Five hours? Six?”
And then it was not a Cirissin voice behind him which said: “Drop that. Put up your hands and turn around!”
It was Sheilah.
Wayne turned and saw her floating at the doorway pointing a long, tubular metal object at him, her finger poised on a protruding lever.
“What’s that?” Wayne asked.
Sheilah said, “It’s a gun I found after lookin’ all over the damn ship. I’m going to kill you. And then I’m going to kill your Cirissin friends. You’re nothing but a dirty traitor, and I wouldn’t seduce you if—I never did trust you scientists. Maybe I’ll be killed, too, but I don’t care.” She was close to tears.
“You’re going to kill me?” Wayne said. “With that? How do you know it’s even a gun? Looks more like a fire extinguisher to me. Aw, you poor little imbecile, I haven’t had a chance to explain yet, but—”
Sheilah said, “You make me sick.” She pulled the trigger.
The object was not a fire extinguisher, after all. It was quite obviously a weapon of some kind.
Also it seemed obvious that Sheilah had been pointing the wrong end of the weapon toward Wayne.
One more obvious fact that Wayne had time to comprehend was that the weapon was not a recoilless type.
But by then Sheilah had gone limp and the gun had rebounded from her grasp and was sailing at Wayne’s head.
He ducked but not fast enough. The object whacked him solidly on top of his head.
His brain exploded into a display of dazzling lights, excruciating pain and deafening noise.
Then the lights went out and a long, dense silence set in.
When Wayne fought through the layers of renewed pain and opened his eyes, he was still floating near his makeshift radio equipment in the laboratory.
Sheilah still hung limply in mid-air near the door. The tubular weapon wavered near the ceiling. The radio transmitter was still open.
It was just as though he’d been unconscious no more than a few minutes. But Wayne had a strong feeling that it had been more than that.
Therefore he was only shocked, rather than stunned, when a glance at his wristwatch indicated six hours and forty minutes had elapsed.
He held his head tightly in both hands to keep it from flying off in all directions at once, and he tried to think.
He knew it was important to think—fast and straight.
Six hours and forty minutes.
That was too long to be unconscious from a simple blow on the head, and his head didn’t really hurt that bad.
Probably the weapon had still been firing whatever mysterious ammunition it used when it struck him; and when it bounced off his head it had turned, and he’d been caught in its blast.
But that didn’t matter. That wasn’t the important thing.
Six hours and forty minutes he’d been out.
Seven hours!
