JК
The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 13 из 164Then the flow from the tanks would commence and the rocketing would continue.
He tried matches.
Matches will not burn in the vacuum of space.
He tried flint and steel.
Sparks will not glow in the absolute zero of space.
He thought of red-hot filaments.
He had no electric power of any description aboard the «Nomad» to make a filament red hot.
He found texts and read. Although he was blacking out frequently and close to complete collapse, he thought and planned. He was inspired to greatness by «Vorga.»
Foyle brought ice from the frozen galley tanks, melted it with his own body heat, and added water to the jet combustion chamber. The fuel and the water were nonmiscible, they did not mix. The water floated in a thin layer over the fuel.
From the chemical stores Foyle brought a silvery bit of wire, pure sodium metal. He poked the wire through the open petcock. The sodium ignited when it touched the water and flared with high heat. The heat touched off the Hi-Thrust which burst in a needle flame from the petcock. Foyle closed the petcock with a wrench. The ignition held in the chamber and the lone aft jet slammed out flame with a soundless vibration that shook the ship.
The off-center thrust of the jet twisted the «Nomad» into a slow spin. The torque imparted a slight gravity. Weight returned. The floating debris that cluttered the hull fell to decks, walls and ceilings; and the gravity kept the fuel feeding from tanks to combustion chamber.
Foyle wasted no time on cheers. He left the engine room and struggled forward in desperate haste for a final, fatal observation from the control bridge. This would tell him whether the «Nomad» was committed to a wild plunge out into the no-return of deep space, or a course for Jupiter and rescue.
The slight gravity made his air tank almost impossible to drag. The sudden forward surge of acceleration shook loose masses of debris which flew backward through the «Nomad.» As Foyle struggled up the companionway stairs to the control deck, the rubble from the bridge came hurtling back down the corridor and smashed into him. He was caught up in this tumbleweed in space, rolled back the length of the empty corridor, and brought up against the galley bulkhead with an impact that shattered his last hold on consciousness. He lay pinned in the center of half a ton of wreckage, helpless, barely alive, but still raging for vengeance.
He tried matches.
Matches will not burn in the vacuum of space.
He tried flint and steel.
Sparks will not glow in the absolute zero of space.
He thought of red-hot filaments.
He had no electric power of any description aboard the «Nomad» to make a filament red hot.
He found texts and read. Although he was blacking out frequently and close to complete collapse, he thought and planned. He was inspired to greatness by «Vorga.»
Foyle brought ice from the frozen galley tanks, melted it with his own body heat, and added water to the jet combustion chamber. The fuel and the water were nonmiscible, they did not mix. The water floated in a thin layer over the fuel.
From the chemical stores Foyle brought a silvery bit of wire, pure sodium metal. He poked the wire through the open petcock. The sodium ignited when it touched the water and flared with high heat. The heat touched off the Hi-Thrust which burst in a needle flame from the petcock. Foyle closed the petcock with a wrench. The ignition held in the chamber and the lone aft jet slammed out flame with a soundless vibration that shook the ship.
The off-center thrust of the jet twisted the «Nomad» into a slow spin. The torque imparted a slight gravity. Weight returned. The floating debris that cluttered the hull fell to decks, walls and ceilings; and the gravity kept the fuel feeding from tanks to combustion chamber.
Foyle wasted no time on cheers. He left the engine room and struggled forward in desperate haste for a final, fatal observation from the control bridge. This would tell him whether the «Nomad» was committed to a wild plunge out into the no-return of deep space, or a course for Jupiter and rescue.
The slight gravity made his air tank almost impossible to drag. The sudden forward surge of acceleration shook loose masses of debris which flew backward through the «Nomad.» As Foyle struggled up the companionway stairs to the control deck, the rubble from the bridge came hurtling back down the corridor and smashed into him. He was caught up in this tumbleweed in space, rolled back the length of the empty corridor, and brought up against the galley bulkhead with an impact that shattered his last hold on consciousness. He lay pinned in the center of half a ton of wreckage, helpless, barely alive, but still raging for vengeance.