JК
The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 74 из 164It'll mean a tough trip back but it's worth it. Strip the ship. Fast! Go, girl. Go!»
He pushed her away and without another glance in her direction, attacked the safe. It was built into the structural steel of the hull, a massive steel ball some four feet in diameter. It was welded to the strakes and ribs of the «Nomad» at twelve different spots. Foyle attacked each weld in turn with acids, drills, thermite, and refrigerants. He was operating on the theory of structural strain . . . to heat, freeze, and etch the steel until its crystalline structure was distorted and its physical strength destroyed. He was fatiguing the metal.
Jisbella returned and he realized that forty-five minutes had passed. He was dripping and shaking but the globe of the safe hung free of the hull with a dozen rough knobs protruding from its surface. Foyle motioned urgently to Jisbella and she strained her weight against the safe with him. They could not budge its mass together. As they sank back in exhaustion and despair, a quick shadow eclipsed the sunlight pouring through the rents in the «Nomad» hull. They stared up. A spaceship was circling the asteroid less than a quarter of a mile off.
Foyle placed his helmet against Jisbella's. «Dagenham,» he gasped. «Looking for us. Probably got a crew down here combing for us too. Soon as they talk to Joseph they'll be here.»
«Oh Gully.”
«We've still got a chance. Maybe they won't spot Sam's Weekender until they've made a couple of revolutions. It's hidden in that crater. Maybe we can get the safe aboard in the meantime.»
«How, Gully?»
«I don't know, damn it! I don't know.» He pounded his fists together in frustration. «I'm finished.»
«Couldn't we blast it out?»
«Blast . . . ? What, bombs instead of brains? Is this Mental McQueen speaking?»
«Listen. Blast it with something explosive. That would act like a rocket jet . . . give it a thrust.»
«Yes, I've got that. But then what? How do we get it into the ship, girl? Can't keep blasting. Haven't got time.»
«No, we bring the ship to the safe.»
«What?»
«Blast the safe straight out into space. Then bring the ship around and let the safe sail right into the main hatch. Like catching a ball in your hat. See?»
He saw. «By God, Jiz, we can do it.» Foyle leaped to the pile of equipment and began sorting out sticks of dynamite gelatine, fuses and caps.
«We'll have to use the short-wave. One of us stays with the safe; one of us pilots the ship. Man with the safe talks the man with the ship into position.
He pushed her away and without another glance in her direction, attacked the safe. It was built into the structural steel of the hull, a massive steel ball some four feet in diameter. It was welded to the strakes and ribs of the «Nomad» at twelve different spots. Foyle attacked each weld in turn with acids, drills, thermite, and refrigerants. He was operating on the theory of structural strain . . . to heat, freeze, and etch the steel until its crystalline structure was distorted and its physical strength destroyed. He was fatiguing the metal.
Jisbella returned and he realized that forty-five minutes had passed. He was dripping and shaking but the globe of the safe hung free of the hull with a dozen rough knobs protruding from its surface. Foyle motioned urgently to Jisbella and she strained her weight against the safe with him. They could not budge its mass together. As they sank back in exhaustion and despair, a quick shadow eclipsed the sunlight pouring through the rents in the «Nomad» hull. They stared up. A spaceship was circling the asteroid less than a quarter of a mile off.
Foyle placed his helmet against Jisbella's. «Dagenham,» he gasped. «Looking for us. Probably got a crew down here combing for us too. Soon as they talk to Joseph they'll be here.»
«Oh Gully.”
«We've still got a chance. Maybe they won't spot Sam's Weekender until they've made a couple of revolutions. It's hidden in that crater. Maybe we can get the safe aboard in the meantime.»
«How, Gully?»
«I don't know, damn it! I don't know.» He pounded his fists together in frustration. «I'm finished.»
«Couldn't we blast it out?»
«Blast . . . ? What, bombs instead of brains? Is this Mental McQueen speaking?»
«Listen. Blast it with something explosive. That would act like a rocket jet . . . give it a thrust.»
«Yes, I've got that. But then what? How do we get it into the ship, girl? Can't keep blasting. Haven't got time.»
«No, we bring the ship to the safe.»
«What?»
«Blast the safe straight out into space. Then bring the ship around and let the safe sail right into the main hatch. Like catching a ball in your hat. See?»
He saw. «By God, Jiz, we can do it.» Foyle leaped to the pile of equipment and began sorting out sticks of dynamite gelatine, fuses and caps.
«We'll have to use the short-wave. One of us stays with the safe; one of us pilots the ship. Man with the safe talks the man with the ship into position.