Sweating, Pinback heaved the canister aside and peered across the dark elevator shaft. Still no sign of the alien, neither in the black unlit depths nor in the heights above.
Carefully, working as noiselessly as possible, he edged the board across the open gap. His one real concern was that it might not be long enough, but it spanned the gulf easily.
It would have been nice if he had had a board more than a dozen centimeters wide. This was not a very reassuring bridge, but it would have to do. And it was much better than a cable, which for a while he thought he might have to use.
Well, there was nothing left but simply to climb on and crawl across. Nothing to it. His pulse was racing.
Come on, now, Pinback, it’s only a couple of meters. You’ll be across before you know it.
Shifting the flashlight to his left hand, he put both hands out on the board, over the blackness, and pressed down sharply a couple of times. The board gave very slightly. Seemed solid enough.
Moving slowly, ever so slowly, he crawled out a centimeter at a time until his full weight was on the board. He stopped, jiggled while resting on the wood. Again it gave slightly. But there were no threatening cracking sounds, and the board didn’t bend under him.
It was going to be all right.
Setting both hands in front of him, he brought his knees under his waist. Hands, knees, hands, knees—and then he was reaching for the far rim. He was more relieved than he cared to acknowledge when he was finally across and through the hatchway on the opposite side.
Standing up in the corridor, he saw lights in the distance. The only lights that would be shining here would be from the region of the emergency airlock, and then only if the interior airlock door had been activated.
Probably the crazy Beachball had bumbled into the contact switch which activated the door mechanism. Another couple of steps confirmed it. The door was wide open, the interior of the bay bright with light.
A sudden thought brought him to an abrupt stop. No doubt the alien was trapped inside. He had retreated to the absolute end of the ship. But Pinback had forgotten the broom. Well, he wasn’t going back across that pit for a stick of wood. The flashlight would make do as a prod. Considering his present state of mind, he suspected his bare hands would be equal to the job.
He slowed as he neared the open doorway, edged right up to the opening, and jumped inside, holding the flashlight in front of him and trying to scan every direction at once.
A familiar twittering and honking greeted him. The alien was there, sure enough, clinging with those seemingly adhesive claws to the far wall. Pinback’s gaze went immediately to another nearby switch—the one that would blow the explosive bolts on the emergency hatch cover and send anyone inside the lock flying out into free space.
Thus far the Beachball hadn’t made a motion toward it. But if it suddenly took it into its head—or wherever its thinking mechanism was located—to fly onto the switch, even its slight weight should be enough to set off the device. He tried to edge toward it without being obvious.
“Go on, get out of there,” he muttered menacingly, dividing his gaze between the alien and the lock mechanism. He made poking motions toward the alien with the blunt end of the flashlight. Unimpressed, the creature didn’t budge.
“Out!” Pinback screamed. At his screech the alien leaped, not for the worrisome switch but straight at Pinback. He should have been ready for it. He wasn’t.
This time it didn’t attempt to dig at him. Instead, it made a sort of half-swipe in passing. That was more than enough to distract Pinback. Then it flew out the door, back the way they had both come.
Maybe now was the time to call for aid. After all, the monster had made two recognizably antagonistic moves at him. It could now be classed as definitely hostile, despite his earlier, gushing report. He saw his naiveté in retrospect.
No, what kind of coward are you, Pinback? What are you afraid of… a little corrosive alien saliva?
“Come back here, you!” he yelled decisively, hurrying in pursuit.
Actually, he made up some distance on it. But not enough. Reaching the hatchway leading to the shaft, he bent quickly, stared in—and saw the board disappearing back across the black gulf, back between a pair of busy clawed feet.
“No… oh, no…”
Beachball was being imitative again.
5
THEY RESTED LIKE that—man on one side, alien on the other. The alien gobbled playfully, evidentally enjoying the interesting afternoon. It didn’t look malicious. Pinback, however, found that he could no longer regard the alien with anything remotely like objectivity.
He sat on the inside of the access port, caught his breath, and thought. This was the end. Now he would have to go back to the emergency airlock, get on the intercom, and ask either Boiler or Doolittle to send the elevator down for him. No way he could even do that for himself now.
Turning and kneeling, he stared across the shaft at the alien. It was still resting on the edge of the drop, quivering expectantly and twittering to itself. Pinback eyed it and thought uncomplimentary thoughts.
He would never live this down. Never. Boiler would never let him forget it. If there were any way to avoid calling for help… but how? What else could he do?
The board was gone, and long wooden boards were not scattered haphazardly about the ship. If there were another way across the shaft.
Sure… Leaning out, he looked down and traced the tiny ledge that ran completely around the interior walls. It was only a few centimeters wide, but it would hold his weight easily, being part of the structure itself.
If he moved carefully, took a step at a time, the ledge ought to be negotiable.
Unaware that his breathing had suddenly grown stronger than normal, he stuck his head, turned upward, into the shaft. Hanging on to the inside of the hatchway with both hands, he slid one foot out and tested the strength of the ledge. It was part of the shaft wall, for sure.
Gritting his teeth and edging his body out a little at a time, he soon found himself standing upright on the ledge, his body pressed tight against the wall, hands outstretched and facing inward.
He only looked down once.
Now, if he could just edge around, make his way across the first corner… Trying to get a grip on the smooth metal walls, and wishing his members were as adhesive as the alien’s seemed to be, he stepped over the first corner. Then the back foot, and he was already nearly halfway across.
Hell, this was easy! The Beachball gobbled at him, and Pinback felt secure enough to risk shaking a fist at it.
“Idiot! When I get out of here and get you back into your room—”
Another voice interrupted him sharply, and he looked wildly around the shaft.
“Attention, attention.” Soft voice, feminine—the computer again. “The central trunk elevator shaft is now activated. All personnel please clear the area.”
There was a snap, a brilliant flare, and the shaft suddenly appeared above and below him, fully lighted. Now he could see exactly how high it was, exactly how deep it was, and exactly where he was trapped in relationship to those extremes. He screamed. He was all right when he didn’t have to look down and see a bottom, but now…
His fear quickly gave way to anger.
“Doolittle… Boiler, Talby. I’m in here, you idiots! In the shaft. What are you playing with the elevator for? Turn it off. Turn…!”
His voice faded. There was absolutely no reason for Doolittle to activate the elevator. There was no reason for Boiler to activate the elevator. And even if there had been a reason for Talby to activate the elevator, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. This led him to the obvious explanation: there had been another malfunction, possibly keyed by his own presence in the shaft.