The checkpoint at that moment, though, seemed as helpless as anything in space could be. It was a derelict without a drive. Its velocity toward the crossing-point of the comets was unalterable. Chenery blindly believed Scott could do something, but Chenery didn’t try to guess what. He’d ceased, though, to believe in his own cleverness. Bugsy might believe in the danger from the comets, but he hadn’t stopped believing in violence. And because of that he could still convince himself that Scott was only bluffing. It was touch and go. Bugsy was frustrated to the point where at any instant he could convince himself of anything that allowed him to take violent action. He could reason that there was only Scott’s word, for the existence of danger and ignore a spreading luminous mist on the vision-screens, and the terror that had sobered a drunken space engineer when he stared at the comets from the control room. This was evidence enough, but Bugsy could reject it and react, like a madman.
So this was the crucial moment. Out of pure fury Bugsy could destroy Scott and everybody else—including himself—by acting on the idea that Scott must be lying.
But he wasn’t. Not even about the possibility of survival. He should and he would be able to get the checkpoint-buoy through the thickest and most irresistible of rushing meteoric swarms, provided that it was here and now and under the current conditions. If Bugsy would believe it. But he couldn’t be told how it should be done. He wouldn’t believe that!
So Scott went out of the control room to act out a lie. The one necessary thing was Janet’s safety for the next forty-five minutes. He couldn’t demand that the search for her stop. Bugsy wouldn’t honor it and Scott couldn’t enforce agreement. He had to make sure she wouldn’t be found. That Bugsy’s men would only search where they wouldn’t find her. Given forty-five minutes more, he could put the ship in a position of relative safety. It wouldn’t be wise to do it earlier. Then, given panic—which he should be able to contrive—he might join her. And then, given unlimited good fortune, he’d have Lambda safe. He could have reasonable hope of survival for Janet and himself. And he might have Bugsy and Chenery and their followers set up for a final, painless journey into official gas-chambers. It was Scott’s duty to arrange that. But he almost regretted Chenery.
Such a sequence of events was possible. The outline of actions to produce it was complete in Scott’s mind. But when he tried to envision carrying it out, pessimism arose. He couldn’t believe he’d make it. But he had to try.
He went down the stairs to the hotel level. The hotel space was totally empty, yet Scott couldn’t believe he hadn’t been seen.
Bugsy would scatter his men, fast, to find out which direction Scott moved to take Janet out of hiding. He’d have his followers search desperately ahead of Scott. If they found her, Bugsy would hold the whip hand from that moment on.
Scott reached the bottom of the grand stairway to the three cabin levels. He heard rustlings nearby. Once he heard what seemed to be furtive, hurrying footsteps. He was definitely being watched, though there weren’t eyes upon him every second. But when he wasn’t seen, his footfalls were heard. He went down to the baggage level. The three decks of hydroponic garden. To the freight warehouse level. On down to the engine room. All was empty, or seemed to be except the last.
In the engine room there were two figures, close by the useless solar system drive unit. One was Chenery. He plainly had desperately tried to get the still-drunken engineer roused to sobering panic again, so he could make the drive unit work again. If he succeeded, and if the engineer accomplished it, it would spoil Scott’s intended maneuver. Chenery, of course, couldn’t imagine that.
“Chenery,” said Scott grimly, “I’ll tell you a secret. That’s hopeless. The engine can’t be made to work. It’s a big job.”
He heard sounds of movement. He’d outstripped some of the men who’d accompanied him this far. Chenery turned harried eyes upon him.
“I disabled it,” said Scott. “It can’t be made to work. I need it not to work. It’s necessary if I’m to get the buoy through the comets.”
Chenery, staring at him, seemed astonished. Scott said, more grimly than before, “And I’ll tell you another secret. Bugsy’s got men trying to find out where I’m going. I’m going after Janet. I don’t want to be followed. So I’m doing something about it.”
He turned. He’d come down a straight-line stairway with a right-angled turn at the top. It was strictly utilitarian. Scott deliberately threw a hand grenade. It was one of those he’d taken from baggage on the luggage level. It barely skimmed over the top step of the stairway. Curving down, it hit the wall beyond. It exploded. There was flame and a racking detonation and the top of the stairway was bent and twisted. It was not a practical stairway from that moment on. There were howlings, above.
Scott went on. He left Chenery making vague gestures to himself, as if he were not quite able to control his hands. The engineer remained semi-comatose. He’d been roused for a moment at the shock of the explosion and had gazed dazedly about. Then he went to sleep again.
There were more levels going down. Scott descended in a cold fury. Normally the tradition of the Patrol was that it had its work to do, and its members chose to join the Patrol to do that work. It dealt to some extent with criminals, who chose their profession with the same freedom. Ordinarily a Patrol man didn’t hate a criminal as a man, however sternly he dealt with what a criminal did. But this was where men only are involved. Had there been only men on Lambda, Scott could have dealt with Chenery and Bugsy without emotion—and would probably have done a better job. But there had been women passengers murdered only to prepare for another crime. Janet was hunted now for further atrocity.
He raged. But he’d learned painfully to distrust all emotion-motivated thinking. He tried again to examine his reasons for doing what he did now. He was heading for the lifeboat’s stern. Janet was not hidden there. She was in a lifeboat up near the bow. But no less than twice she’d been seen in the stern, with Scott. It should look as if some special hiding-place had been chosen for her there.
And Scott’s present armed foray, on top of his savage command that everybody get out of his way, ought to make it look as if he were going to get her out of that hiding-place.
The reasoning checked. It made sense. But it didn’t feel right. He had another grenade ready for demonstration purposes, when he heard patterings behind hun. He stopped his descent instantly. The following, rushing footfalls continued. Then a wheezing, anguished voice panted, “Lieutenant! Lieutenant!”
It was Chenery, sounding as if he dreaded equally that Scott wouldn’t hear him and that someone else would. He came desperately down the stairs.
Scott said, “Hold it!”
Chenery stopped short so abruptly that he almost fell forward. He clung to the stairway handrail, panting.
“Lieutenant—”
“Well?”
“You said you’d smashed the drive-engine!”
“I disabled it,” said Scott coldly. “There’s only one way to get the Lambda through the next few hours. A fool using the drive could spoil that way.”
“Are you—goin’ to get through yourself? Honest, Lieutenant?”
Scott shrugged.
“I’m betting on it. A big bet. My life.”
“Listen!” panted Chenery. “I—I don’t want to die, Lieutenant! But I—I didn’t mean this job to be worked this way! It was goin’ to be smooth an’ crisp an’ smart! Nobody hurt, and the biggest job ever, pulled off like a—like a masterpiece! See?”
“I haven’t much time,” said Scott impatiently.
“L-look! If Bugsy gets away with the Golconda Ship, he’s goin’ to kill me anyhow! I know it! So I got nothing to lose. But—I’ve been a fool! And—I got a public. There’s people that admire me! But—I’ll have brought him here an’ planned everything an’ he’ll—”