walked on, taking one cautious step at a time, using the rope to keep him oriented.
A dark object loomed out of the grey and he neared it warily, only to recognize it with an embarrassed laugh as one of the crawlers—the one which had made the journey back and forth to deliver Rich’s material to his chosen camp site.
Back and forth—!
Dane’s hand closed on the tread. What if—? They couldn’t be sure—they could only hope—
He used the cord to haul himself back to the ramp, the need for haste making him stumble. If what he hoped was true—then they had the answer to their problem. They could find the camp, make a surprise descent upon the archaeologist, a descent which the other might not be prepared to meet.
There was the ramp and Rip waiting. The astrogator-apprentice must have guessed from Dane’s expression that he had discovered something, but he asked no questions, only fell in behind as the other hurried into the ship.
“Where’s Van Rycke—Captain Jellico?”
“Captain’s asleep—Tau made him take a rest,” Rip answered. “Van Rycke is in his cabin, I think.”
So Dane made his way to his own superior officer. If only what he hoped was true ! It would be a stroke of luck—the best luck they had had since that auction had brought them this headache which was Limbo.
The cargo-master was stretched out on his bunk, his hands behind his head. Dane hesitated in the doorway but Van Rycke’s blue eyes were not closed and they did roll in his direction. He asked a question first:
“Have you used the crawler in the past two days, sir?”
“To my knowledge no one has—why?”
“Then it was only used for one purpose here,” Dane’s excitement grew, “and that was to carry Dr. Rich’s supplies to his camp—”
Van Rycke sat up. Not only sat up, but reached for his boots and pulled them on his feet.
“’And you think that the fix has been left on that camp. It might just be, son, it might just be.” He was tugging on his tunic now.
Rip caught on. “A guide all ready to go!” he exulted.
“We hope,” Van Rycke applied a cautious warning.
It was the cargo-master who led the way out of the Queen once more, back to the parked crawler. The low slung cargo shifter was standing just as Dane had left it in the shelter of the Queen’s fins, its blunt nose pointing forward, out of the enclosure of the fins, to make a quarter turn to the west! The auto-fix was still on the camp. Dane took a running jump for the slow moving vehicle and brought it to a stop. But it was on a line which would take it, fog or no fog, straight to the camp where it had carried supplies two days before. And it would provide an unerring guide for men roped to it. They had a chance now to locate Ali.
The cargo-master made no comment but started towards the Queen, the others following. Dance glanced over his shoulder at the crawler.
“If we had one of those portable flamers—” he muttered and Rip caught him up on that.
”A sonic screamer would be more to the point!”
Dane was startled. A flamer could be used as a threat or a tool with which to force one’s way into a fortification. It need not be a weapon. But a sonic screamer—there was no protection against the unseen waves which could literally tear a man apart. If Rip wanted a screamer he must fear real trouble. Since the Queen was a law abiding ship and carried neither fitting the point must remain purely academic.
Van Rycke climbed to control. And as he rapped at the Captain’s private cabin they could hear the screaming of the Hoobat. Jellico opened the panel, his face wearing a weary frown. Before he greeted the cargo-master he slapped the cage of the blue creature, setting it to oscillating crazily, but the shaking up did nothing to discourage the throat splitting squalls.
The cargo-master watched the frenzied Hoobat. “How long has Queex been acting that way, Captain?”
Jellico gave the caged captive a baneful glare and then stepped into the corridor away from the din.
“Most of the night. The thing’s gone mad, I think.” He shut the panel and the shrieks were muffled. “I can’t see what sets it off like that.”
“Its hearing range goes into the super-sonic, doesn’t it?” Van Rycke persisted.
“Four points, But what—” the Captain bit off that “what” and his eyes narrowed. “That blasted interference! Do you suppose that’s sonic?”
“Could be. Does Queex howl when it cuts out?”
“We can see—” Jellico made as if to return to his cabin but Van Rycke caught his arm.
“Something more important on the launching cradle now, Captain.”
“Such as what?”
“We’ve found a guide to take us to Rich’s camp.” Van Rycke explained about the crawler. Jellico leaned against the wall of the corridor, his face impassive. Van Rycke might have been reciting the table of cargo stowing.
“Could just work,” was his only comment when the cargo-master concluded. But he did not appear in any hurry to put it to the proof.
Once more the crew assembled by order in the mess room— without Tang, who stayed by the com. When Jellico came in he was holding a small silver rod, fastened to a chain locked on his belt.
“We’ve discovered,” he began without preliminaries, “that the supply crawler is still on auto-beam to Rich’s camp. It can act as a guide—”
He was answered by a murmur which separated into individual demands to know when they could start. But these died as Jellico hammered the rod on the table top for their attention.
“Lots—” he said.
Mura had them ready, slips of white straw he dropped into a bowl and stirred about with his finger.
“Tang has to stay with the com,” Jellico reminded them. “That leaves ten of us—the five with short straws go—”
The steward passed around, holding the bowl above eye level of the seated men. Each, Dane noticed, palmed his choice, not even looking at it. When all had one they opened their hands together displaying their luck.
Short straw! Dane felt a thrill—was it of pleasure or apprehension. He looked around to see who would be his companions on the trip. Rip—Rip’s straw was also short! And so was the one between Kosti’s grimed fingers. Steen Wilcox showed the next, and the last was Mura’s.
Wilcox would be in command—that was good. Dane had every confidence in the taciturn astrogator. And it was odd how luck had ruled. In a way, those whom fate had chosen were the most expendable of the crew. Should disaster strike, the Queen could safely lift from Limbo. Dane tried not to think of that.
Jellico grunted when he found himself ruled out of the expedition. He got to his feet and crossed to the wall on the right. There he applied the rod, unsealing some concealed panel. There was a grating sound as if some catch had not been activated for a long time.
Then a rack was revealed—a rack of hand blasters! And below them holster belts swung on pegs, full refills glinting evilly in the light. The arsenal of the Queen, which could only be opened when the Captain deemed the situation highly serious.
One by one Jellico lifted out blasters, passing each in turn to Stotz who inspected it closely, flipping the charge slot open and shut before putting it down on the table. Five blasters, five belts complete with recharges. It appeared that Jellico expected war.
The Captain closed the panel and locked it with that master control rod which by Federation law could not leave his person day or night. Now he returned to the table, facing the five who had been chosen. He gestured to the arms. By training they knew how to use blasters, but a Trader might not have to carry one more than once in a lifetime among the stars.
“They’re all yours, boys,” he said. And he needed to add nothing to impress upon them just how bad he considered their task to be.
CHAPTER NINE:
