Roki started the timers he had set, then donned a pressure suit. Carrying a circuit diagram of the changes he had wrought, he went to stand in the outer lock. He held open the outer hatch. The beam of a searchlight stabbed out to hold him while the Sol Ship eased closer. He could see another suited figure in its lock, calling guidance to the pilot. Roki glanced up at his own grapples; they were already energized and waiting for something to which they could cling.
The ships came together with a rocking jerk as both sets of grapples caught and clung. Roki swung himself across a gravityless space, then stood facing the burly figure of the Solarian. The man pushed him into the next lock and stepped after him.
“Search him for weapons,” growled a harsh voice as Roki removed his helmet. “And get the boarding party through the locks.”
“If you do that, you’ll blow both ships to hell,” the Cophian commented quietly. “The hatches are rigged to throw the reactors past red line.”
The commander, a sharp-eyed oldster with a massive bald skull, gave him a cold stare that slowly became a sneer. “Very well, we can cut through the hull.”
Roki nodded. “You can, but don’t let any pressure escape. The throttles are also keyed to the pressure gauge.”
The commander reddened slightly. “Is there anything else?”
“Several things.” Roki handed him the circuit diagram. “Have your engineer study this. Until he gets the idea, anything you do may be dangerous, like trying to pull away from my grapples. I assure you we’re either permanently grappled together, or permanently dead.”
The Solarian was apparently his own engineer. He stared at the schematic while another relieved Roki of his weapon. There were four of them in the cabin. Three were armed and watching him carefully. He knew by their expressions that they considered him to be of a lesser species. And he watched them communicate silently among themselves by a soundless language of facial twitches and peculiar nods. Once the commander looked up to ask a question.
“When will this timer activate this network?”
Roki glanced at his watch. “In about ten minutes. If the transmitter’s periodic signals aren’t answered in the correct code, the signals serve to activate C-drive.”
“I see that,” he snapped. He glanced at a burly assistant. “Take him out. Skin him—from the feet up. He’ll give you the code.”
“I’ll give it to you now,” Roki offered calmly.
The commander showed faint surprise. “Do so then.”
“The Cophian multiplication tables is the code. My transmitter will send a pair of Cophian numbers every two minutes. If you fail to supply the product within one second, a relay starts the C-drive. Since you can’t guarantee an exactly simultaneous thrust, there should be quite a crash.”
“Very well, give us your Cophian number symbols.”
“Gladly. But they won’t help you.”
“Why not?”
“Our numbers are to the base eighteen instead of base ten. You couldn’t react quickly enough unless you’ve been using them since childhood.”
The Solarian’s lips pulled back from his heavy teeth and his jaw muscles began twitching. Roki looked at his watch.
“You have seven minutes to get your transmitter set up, with me at the key. We’ll talk while I keep us intact.”
The commander hesitated, then nodded to one of the guards who promptly left the room.
“Very well, manthing, we will set it up temporarily.” He paused to smile arrogantly. “You have much to learn about our race. But you have little time in which to learn it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just this. This transmitter—and the whole apparatus—will be shut down after a certain period of time.”
Roki stiffened. “Just how do you propose to do it?”
“Fool! By waiting until the signals stop. You obviously must have set a time limit on it. I would guess a few hours at the most.”
It was true, but he had hoped to avoid mentioning it. The power to the control circuits would be interrupted after four hours, and the booby trap would be deactivated. For if he hadn’t achieved his goal by then, he meant to neglect a signal during the last half-hour and let the C-ward lurch tear them apart. He nodded slowly.
“You’re quiet right. You have four hours in which to surrender your ship into my control. Maybe. I’ll send the signals until I decide you don’t mean to co-operate. Then—” He shrugged.
The Solarian gave a command to his aides. They departed in different directions. Roki guessed that they had been sent to check for some way to enter the Idiot that would not energize a booby circuit.
His host waved him through a doorway, and he found himself in their control room. A glance told him that their science still fell short of the most modern cultures. They had the earmarks of a new race, and yet Sol’s civilization was supposedly the oldest in the galaxy.
“There are the transmitters,” the commander barked. “Say what you have to say, and we shall see who is best at waiting.”
Roki sat down, fingered the key, and watched his adversary closely. The commander fell into a seat opposite him and gazed coolly through narrowed lids. He wore a fixed smile of amusement. “Your name is Eli Roki, I believe. I am Space Commander Hulgruv.”
A blare of sound suddenly came from the receiver. Hulgruv frowned and lowered the volume. The sound came forth as a steady musical tone. He questioned the Cophian with his eyes.
“When the tone ceases, the signals will begin.”
“I see.”
“I warn you, I may get bored rather quickly. I’ll keep the signals going only until I think you’ve had time to assure yourselves that this is not a bluff I am trying to put over on you.”
“I’m sure it’s not. It’s merely an inconvenience.”
“You know little of my home planet then.”
“I know a little.”
“Then you’ve heard of the ‘Sword of Apology.’”
“How does that—” Hulgruv paused and lost his smirk for an instant. “I see. If you blunder, your code demands that you die anyway. So you think you wouldn’t hesitate to neglect a signal.”
“Try me.”
“It may not be necessary. Tell me, why did you space them two minutes apart? Why not one signal every hour?”
“You can answer that.”
“Ah yes. You think the short period insures you against any painful method of persuasion, eh?”
“Uh-huh. And it gives me a chance to decide frequently whether it’s worth it.”
“What is it you want, Cophian? Suppose we give you the girl and release you.”
“She is a mere incidental,” he growled, fearful of choking on the words. “The price is surrender.”
Hulgruv laughed heartily. It was obvious he had other plans. “Why do you deem us your enemy?”
“You heard the accusation I beamed back to my Cluster.”
“Certainly. We ignored it, directly. Indirectly we made a fool of you by launching another, uh, mercy ship to your system. The cargo was labeled as to source, and the ship made a point of meeting one of your patrol vessels. It stopped for inspection. You’re less popular at home than ever.” He grinned. “I suggest you return to Sol with us. Help us develop the warp locks.”
Roki hesitated. “You say the ship stopped for inspection?”
“Certainly.”
“Wasn’t it inconvenient? Changing your diet, leaving your ‘livestock’ at home—so our people wouldn’t know you for what you really are.”
Hulgruv stiffened slightly, then nodded. “Good guess.”
“Cannibal!”
“Not at all. I am not a man.”