But the time would come … and soon … when he would have to do something. For he couldn’t let the ship return to the Ring. To do that would be to infest the other ships parked there, spread the bugs throughout the solar system. And those bugs definitely were something the solar system could get along without.
The ship shuddered and twisted, weaving its way through the pack of players. More plates ripped loose. Glancing up, Meek could see the glory of Saturn through the gleaming ribs.
Then the ball was over the line and Meek’s team mates were shrieking at him over the radio in his spacesuit … happy, glee-filled yells of triumph. He didn’t answer. He was too busy ripping out the control wires. But it didn’t help. Even while he was doing it the ship went on unhampered and piled up another score.
Apparently the bugs didn’t need the controls to make the ship do what they wanted. More than likely they were in control of the firing mechanism at its very source. Maybe, and the thought curled the hair on Meek’s neck, they were the firing mechanism. Maybe they had integrated themselves with the very structure of the entire mechanism of the ship. That would make the ship alive. A living chunk of machinery that paid no attention to the man who sat at the controls.
Meanwhile, the ship made another goal. …
There was a way to stop the bugs … only one way … but it was dangerous.
But probably not half as dangerous, Meek told himself, as Gus or the Junior Chamber or the Thirty-seven team … especially the Thirty-seven team … if any of them found out what was going on.
He found a wrench and crawled back along the shivering ship.
Working in a frenzy of fear and need for haste, Meek took off the plate that sealed the housing of the rear rocket assembly. Breath hissing in his throat, he fought the burrs that anchored the tubes. There were a lot of them and they didn’t come off easily. Rockets had to be anchored securely … securely enough so the blast of atomic fire within their chambers wouldn’t rip them free.
Meanwhile, the ship piled up the score.
Loose burrs rolled and danced along the floor and Meek knew the ship was in the thick of play again. Then they were curving back. Another goal!
Suddenly the rocket assembly shook a little, began to vibrate. Wielding the wrench like a madman, knowing he had seconds at the most, Meek spun two or three more bolts, then dropped the wrench and ran. Leaping for a hole from which a plate had been torn, he caught a rib, swung with every ounce of power he had, launching himself into space.
His right hand fumbled for the switch of the suit’s rocket motor, found it, snapped it on to full acceleration. Something seemed to hit him on the head and he sailed into the depths of blackness.
VI
Billy Jones sat in the office of the repair shop, cigarette dangling from his lip, pouring smoke into his watery eye.
“Never saw anything like it in my life,” he declared. “How he made that ship go at all with half the plates ripped off is way beyond me.”
The dungareed mechanic sighted along the toes of his shoes, planted comfortably on the desk.
“Let me tell you, mister,” he declared, “the solar system never has known a pilot like him … never will again. He brought his ship down here with the instruments knocked out. Dead reckoning.”
“Wrote a great piece about him,” Billy said. “How he died in the best tradition of space. Stuff like that. The readers will eat it up. The way that ship let go he didn’t have a chance. Seemed to go out of control all at once and went weaving and bucking almost into Saturn. Then blooey … that’s the end of it. One big splash of flame.”
The mechanic squinted carefully at his toes. “They’re still out there, messing around,” he said. “But they’ll never find him. When that ship blew up he was scattered halfway out to Pluto.”
The inner lock swung open ponderously and a spacesuited figure stepped in.
They waited while he snapped back his helmet.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Oliver Meek.
They stared, slack-jawed.
Jones was the first to recover. “But it can’t be you! Your ship … it exploded!”
“I know,” said Meek. “I got out just before it went. Turned on my suit rocket full blast. Knocked me out. By the time I come to I was halfway out to the second Ring. Took me awhile to get back.”
He turned to the mechanic. “Maybe you have a second hand suit you would sell me. I have to get rid of this one. Has some bugs in it.”
“Bugs? Oh, yes, I see. You mean something’s wrong with it.”
“That’s it,” said Meek. “Something’s wrong with it.”
“I got one I’ll let you have, free for nothing,” said the mechanic. “Boy, that was a swell game you played!”
“Could I have the suit now?” asked Meek. “I’m in a hurry to get away.”
Jones bounced to his feet. “But you can’t leave. Why, they think you’re dead. They’re out looking for you. And you won the cup … the cup as the most valuable team member.”
“I just can’t stay,” said Meek. He shuffled his feet uneasily. “Got places to go. Things to see. Stayed too long already.”
“But the cup. …”
“Tell Gus I won the cup for him. Tell him to put it on that mantelpiece. In the place he dusted off for it.”
Meek’s blue eyes shone queerly behind his glasses. “Tell him maybe he’ll think of me sometimes when he looks at it.”
The mechanic brought the suit. Meek bundled it under his arm, started for the lock.
Then turned back.
“Maybe you gentlemen. …”
“Yes,” said Jones.
“Maybe you can tell me how many goals I made. I lost count, you see.”
“You made nine,” said Jones.
Meek
