Dark Benediction

within three hours, indicating that a ship had been hovering just ahead of him, beyond the range of his own outmoded detectors.

“Cluster-Ship from Sol Seven,” crackled the loud-speaker. “Do you wish to land on our planet? If so, please prepare to he boarded. One of our pilots will take you in. You are approaching our outer patrol zone. If you refuse to be boarded, you will have to turn back. Noncooperative vessels are destroyed upon attempting to land. Over.”

There was a note of amusement in the voice. They knew he wouldn’t turn back. They had a hostage. They were inviting him to surrender but phrasing the invitation politely.

Roki hesitated. Why had the man said—“destroyed upon attempting to land?” After a moment’s thought, he realized that it was because they could not destroy a ship while manuevering in the fifth component. They could not even stay in the same continuum with it, unless they had the warp-locking devices. A vague plan began forming in his mind.

“I agree conditionally. Do you have Talewa Walkeka aboard? If so, prove it by asking her to answer the following request in her own voice: ‘List the garments contained in the closet of her quarters aboard this ship.’ If this is accomplished satisfactorily, then I’ll tentatively assume intentions are not hostile. Let me remind you, however, that while we are grappled together, I can rip half your hull off by hitting my C-drive—unless you’re equipped with warp-locking devices.”

That should do it, he thought. With such a warning, they would make certain that they had him aboard their own ship as a captive before they made any other move. And he would do his best to make it easy for them. Two or three hours would pass before he could expect an answer, so he began work immediately, preparing to use every means at his disposal to make a booby trap of the Idiot, and to set the trap so that only his continued well-being would keep it from springing.

The Idiot’s stock of spare parts was strictly limited, as he had discovered previously. There were a few spare selsyns, replacement units for the calculator and courser, radio and radar parts, control-mechanisms for the reactors, and an assortment of spare instruments and detectors. He augmented this stock by ruthlessly tearing into the calculator and taking what he needed.

He was hard at work when the answer came from the Sol ship. It was Daleth’s voice, crisp and angry, saying, “Six pair of dungarees, a jacket, a robe, and a silk frock. Drop dead, Roki.”

The Solarian operator took over. “Expect a meeting in six hours. In view of your threat, we must ask that you stand in the outer lock with the hatch open, so that we may see you as we grapple together. Please acknowledge willingness to co-operate.”

Roki grinned. They wanted to make certain that he was nowhere near the controls. He gave them a grumbling acknowledgment and returned to his work, tearing into the electronic control-circuits, the radio equipment, the reaction-rate limiters, and the controls of the C-drive. He wove a network of inter-dependency throughout the ship, running linking-circuits from the air-lock mechanisms to the reactors, and from the communication equipment to the C-drive. Gradually the ship became useless as a means of transportation. The jets were silent. He set time clocks to activate some of the apparatus, and keyed other equipment by relays set to trip upon the occurrence of various events.

It was not a difficult task, nor a long one. He added nothing really new. For example, it was easy to remove the wires from the air lock indicator lamp and feed their signal into a relay section removed from the calculator, a section which would send a control pulse to the reactors if the air locks were opened twice. The control pulse, if it came, would push the units past the red line. The relay sections were like single-task robots, set to obey the command: “If this happens, then push that switch.”

When he was finished, the six hours were nearly gone. Pacing restlessly, he waited for them to come. Then, noticing a sudden flutter on the instruments, he glanced out to see the dark hulk slipping through his radiation screen. It came to a stop a short distance away.

Roki started the timers he had set, then donned a pressure suit. Carrying a circuit diagram of the changes he had wrought, he went to stand in the outer lock. He held open the outer hatch. The beam of a searchlight stabbed out to hold him while the Sol Ship eased closer. He could see another suited figure in its lock, calling guidance to the pilot. Roki glanced up at his own grapples; they were already energized and waiting for something to which they could cling.

The ships came together with a rocking jerk as both sets of grapples caught and clung. Roki swung himself across a gravityless space, then stood facing the burly figure of the Solarian. The man pushed him into the next lock and stepped after him.

“Search him for weapons,” growled a harsh voice as Roki removed his helmet. “And get the boarding party through the locks.”

“If you do that, you’ll blow both ships to hell,” the Cophian commented quietly. “The hatches are rigged to throw the reactors past red line.”

The commander, a sharp-eyed oldster with a massive bald skull, gave him a cold stare that slowly became a sneer. “Very well, we can cut through the hull.”

Roki nodded. “You can, but don’t let any pressure escape. The throttles are also keyed to the pressure gauge.”

The commander reddened slightly. “Is there anything else?”

“Several things.” Roki handed him the circuit diagram. “Have your engineer study this. Until he gets the idea, anything you do may be dangerous, like trying to pull away from my grapples. I assure you we’re either permanently grappled together, or permanently dead.”

The Solarian was apparently his own engineer. He stared at the schematic while another relieved Roki of his weapon. There were four of them in the cabin. Three were armed and watching him carefully. He knew by their expressions that they considered him to be of a lesser species. And he watched them communicate silently among themselves by a soundless language of facial twitches and peculiar nods. Once the commander looked up to ask a question.

“When will this timer activate this network?”

Roki glanced at his watch. “In about ten minutes. If the transmitter’s periodic signals aren’t answered in the correct code, the signals serve to activate C-drive.”

“I see that,” he snapped. He glanced at a burly assistant. “Take him out. Skin him—from the feet up. He’ll give you the code.”

“I’ll give it to you now,” Roki offered calmly.

The commander showed faint surprise. “Do so then.”

“The Cophian multiplication tables is the code. My transmitter will send a pair of Cophian numbers every two minutes. If you fail to supply the product within one second, a relay starts the C-drive. Since you can’t guarantee an exactly simultaneous thrust, there should be quite a crash.”

“Very well, give us your Cophian number symbols.”

“Gladly. But they won’t help you.”

“Why not?”

“Our numbers are to the base eighteen instead of base ten. You couldn’t react quickly enough unless you’ve been using them since childhood.”

The Solarian’s lips pulled back from his heavy teeth and his jaw muscles began twitching. Roki looked at his watch.

“You have seven minutes to get your transmitter set up, with me at the key. We’ll talk while I keep us intact.”

The commander hesitated, then nodded to one of the guards who promptly left the room.

“Very well, manthing, we will set it up temporarily.” He paused to smile arrogantly. “You have much to learn about our race. But you have little time in which to learn it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just this. This transmitter—and the whole apparatus—will be shut down after a certain period of time.”

Roki stiffened. “Just how do you propose to do it?”

“Fool! By waiting until the signals stop. You obviously must have set a time limit on it. I would guess a few hours at the most.”