She adjusted the focus to suit her own vision. She said at last, "That painted-on-name is the work of human hands all right. But the other . . . I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it before. There’s a certain lack of logicality—human logicality, that is. Oh, that stylized D is logical enough. But the substitution of I for 'E'—if it is a substitution… And then, as far as we are concerned, a destroyer is a class of ship—not a ship’s name…"
"I seem to recall," Grimes told her, "that there was once a warship called Dreadnought—and the dreadnoughts have been a class of warship ever since the first ironclads were launched on Earth’s seas."
"All right, Mr. amateur naval historian—but have you ever, in the course of your very wide reading on your favorite subject, come across mention of a ship called Destroyer—and spelled without a single E? There are non-humans mixed up in this somewhere—and highly intelligent non-humans at that."
"And humans," said Grimes.
"But we’ll never find out anything just by talking about it," grumbled the Mate. "An' the sooner we take this bitch in tow, the shorter the long drag back to Port Forlorn. I’d make fast alongside—but even here, in the blast shadow, that hull is too damn' hot. It’ll have to be tow wires from the outriggers—an' keep our fingers crossed that they don’t get cut by our exhaust…"
"Take her in tow, then board," said Sonya.
"O' course. First things first. There’ll be nobody alive inside that radio-active can…"
The intercommunication telephone was buzzing furiously. Grimes picked up the instrument. "Commodore here."
"Mayhew, sir." The telepath’s voice was oddly muffled. He sounded as though he had been crying. "It’s Lassie, sir. She’s dead…"
A happy release, thought Grimes. But what am I supposed to do about it?
"One of her nightmares, sir," Mayhew babbled on. "I was inside her mind, and I tried to awaken her. But I couldn’t. There was this huge rat—and there were the sharp yellow teeth of it, and the stink of it… It was so… it was so real, so vivid. And it was the fear that killed her—I could feel her fear, and it was almost too much for me…"
"I’m sorry, Mr. Mayhew," said Grimes inadequately. "I’m sorry. I will see you later. But we are just about to take the derelict in tow, and we are busy."
"I… I understand, sir."
And then Grimes relaxed into the padding of his chair, watching, not without envy, as Williams jockeyed the salvage tug into position ahead of the derelict, then carefully matched velocity. The outriggers were extruded, and then there was the slightest shock as the little missiles, each with a powerful magnetic grapnel as its warhead, were fired.
Contact was made, and then Williams, working with the utmost care, eased Rim Marnelute around in a great arc, never putting too much strain on the towing gear, always keeping the wires clear of the tug’s incandescent exhaust. It was pretty to watch.
Even so, when at last it was over, when at last the Lorn Star was almost directly astern, he could not resist the temptation of asking, "But why all this expenditure of reaction mass and time to ensure a bows-first tow, Mr. Williams?"
"S.O.P., Skipper. It’s more convenient if the people in the towed ship can see where they’re going."
"But it doesn’t look as though there are any people. Not live ones, that is."
"But we could be putting a prize crew aboard her, Skipper."
Grimes thought about saying something about the radio-activity, then decided not to bother.
"You just can’t win, John," Sonya told him.
VI
In theory one can perform heavy work while clad in radiation armor. One can do so in practice—provided that one has been through a rigorous course of training. Pendeen, Second Engineer of Rim Mamelute, had been so trained. So, of course, had been Mr. Williams—but Grimes had insisted that the Mate stay aboard the tug while he, with Sonya and the engineer, effected an entry into the hull of the derelict. Soon, while the boarding party was making its exploratory walk over the stranger ship’s shell plating, he had been obliged to order Williams to cut the drive; sufficient velocity had been built up so that both vessels were now in Free Fall away from the sun.
Even in Free Fall it was bad enough. Every joint of the heavy suit was stiff, every limb had so much mass that great physical effort was required to conquer inertia. Weary and sweating heavily, Grimes forced himself to keep up with his two companions, by a great effort of will contrived to maintain his side of the conversation in a voice that did not betray his poor physical condition—
He was greatly relieved when they discovered, towards the stern, what was obviously an airlock door. Just a hair-thin crack in the plating it was, outlining a circular port roughly seven feet in diameter. There were no signs of external controls, and the crack was too thin to allow the insertion of any tool.
"Send for the bell, sir?" asked Pendeen, his normally deep voice an odd treble in Grimes' helmet phones.
"The bell? Yes, yes. Of course. Carry on, Mr. Pendeen."
"Al to Bill," Grimes heard. "Do you read me? Over."
"Bill to Al. Loud an' clear. What can I do for you?"
"We’ve found the airlock. But we want the bell."
"You would. Just stick around. It’ll be over."
"And send the cutting gear while you’re about it."
"Will do. Stand by."
"Had any experience with the Laverton Bell, sir?" asked Pendeen, his voice not as respectful as it might have been.
"No. No actual working experience, that is."
"I have," said Sonya.
"Good. Then you’ll know what to do when we get it."
Grimes, looking towards Rim Mamelute, could see that something bulky was coming slowly towards them along one of the tow wires, the rocket that had given the packet its initial thrust long since burned out. He followed the others towards the stem of the derelict, but stood to one side, held to the plating by the magnetic soles of his boots, as they unclipped the bundle from the line. He would have helped them to carry it back aft, but they ignored him.
Back at the airlock valve, Sonya and Pendeen worked swiftly and competently, releasing the fastenings, unfolding what looked like a tent of tough white plastic. This had formed the wrapper for other things—including a gas bottle, a laser torch and a thick tube of adhesive. Without waiting for instructions Sonya took this latter, removed the screw cap and, working on her hands and knees, used it to describe a glistening line just outside the crack that marked the door. Then all three of them, standing in the middle of the circle, lifted the fabric above their heads, unfolding it as they did so. Finally, with Grimes and Pendeen acting as tent poles, Sonya neatly fitted the edge of the shaped canopy to the ring of adhesive, now and again adding a further gob of the substance from the tube.
"Stay as you are, sir," the engineer said to Grimes, then fell to a squatting position. His gloved hands went to the gas cylinder, to the valve wheel. A white cloud jetted out like a rocket exhaust, then faded to invisibility. Around the boarding party the walls of the tent bellied outwards, slowly tautened, distended to their true shape by the expanding helium. Only towards the end was the hiss of the escaping gas very faintly audible.