"Not exactly, my friend. There's something in your back, you know. Maybe you can't feel it through the metal, but it's there, I assure you."
"A push-gun. So what. It doesn't mean a thing as long as we're held together." But his arms halted their writhing attempt to seize Lucky.
"I'm not a push-gun duelist." Lucky sounded cheerful about it. "But I still know more than you do about push-guns. Push-gun shots are exchanged miles apart. There's no air resistance to slow and mess up the gas stream, but there's internal resistance. There's always some turbulence in the stream. The crystals knock together, slow up. The line of gas widens. If it misses its mark, it finally spreads out in space and vanishes, but if it finally hits, it still kicks like a mule after miles of travel."
"What in space are you talking about? What are you running off about?" The pirate twisted with bull strength, and Lucky grunted as he forced him back.
Lucky said, "Just this. What do you suppose happens when the carbon dioxide hits at two inches, before turbulence has done anything at all to cut down its velocity or to broaden the beam. Don't guess. I'll tell you. It would cut through your suit as though it were a blowtorch, and through your body, too."
"You're nuts! You're talking crazy!"
Dingo swore madly, but of a sudden he was holding his body stiffly motionless.
"Try it, then," said Lucky. "Move! My push-gun is
hard against your suit and I'm squeezing the trigger. Try.,.» it out.
"You're fouling me," snarled Dingo. "This isn't a clean.» win.
"I've got a crack in my face plate," said Lucky. "The men will know where the foul is. You have half a minute to make up your mind."
The seconds passed in silence. Lucky caught the motion of Dingo's hand.
He said, "Good-by, Dingo!"
Dingo cried thickly, "Wait! Wait! I'm just extending my sending range." Then he called, "Captain Anton… Captain Anton…"
It took an hour and a half to get back to the ships.
The At las was moving through space again in the wake of its pirate captor. Its automatic circuits had been shifted to manual controls wherever necessary, and a prize crew of three controlled its power. As before, it had a passenger list of one-Lucky Starr.
Lucky was confined to a cabin and saw the crew only when they brought him his rations. The Atlas's own rations, thought Lucky. Or, at least, such as were left. Most of the food and such equipment that wasn't necessary for the immediate maneuvering of the ship had already been transferred to the pirate vessel.
All three pirates brought him his first meal. They were lean men, browned by the unsoftened rays of the sun of space.
They gave him his tray in silence, inspected the cabin cautiously, stood by while he opened the cans and let their contents warm up, then carried away the remains.
Lucky said, "Sit down, men. You don't have to stand while I eat."
They did not answer. One, the thinnest and lankest of the three, with a nose that had once been broken and was now bent sideways, and an Adam's-apple that jutted sharply outward, looked at the others as though he felt inclined to accept the invitation. He met with no response, however.
The next meal was brought by Broken Nose alone. He put down the tray, went back to the door, which he opened. He looked up and down the corridor, closed the door again, and said, "I'm Martin Maniu."
Lucky smiled. "I'm Bill Williams. The other two don't talk to me, eh?"
"They're Dingo's friends. But I'm not. Maybe you're a government man like the captain thinks, and maybe you're not. I don't know. But as far as I'm concerned, anyone who does what you did to that scupper, Dingo, is all right. He's a wise guy and he plays rough. He got me into a push fight once when I was new. He nearly pushed me into an asteroid. For no reason, either. He claimed it was a mistake, but listen, he doesn't make any mistakes with a pusher. You made quite a few friends, mister, when you dragged back that hyena by the seat of his pants."
"I'm glad of that, anyway."
"But watch out for him. He'll never forget it. Don't ever be alone with him even twenty years from now. I'm telling you. It isn't just beating him, you see. It's bluffing him with the story about cutting through an inch of metal with the carbon dioxide. Everyone's laughing at him and he's sick about it. Man, I mean sick! It's the best thing that's ever happened. Man, I sure hope the Boss gives you a clean bill."
"The Boss? Captain Anton?"
"No, the Boss. The big fellow. Say, the food you've got on board ship is good. Especially the meat." The pirate smacked his lips loudly. "You get tired of all these yeast mashes, especially when you're in charge of a vat yourself."
Lucky was brushing up the remainder of his meal. "Who is this guy?"
"Who?"
"The Boss."
Maniu shrugged. "Space! I don't know. You don't think a guy like me would ever meet him. Just someone the fellows talk about. It stands to reason someone's boss."
"The organization is pretty complicated."
"Man, you never know till you join. Listen, I was dead broke when I came out here. I didn't know what to do. I thought, well, we'll bang up a few ships and then I'll get mine and it'll be over. You know, it would be better than starving to death like I was doing."
"It wasn't that way?"
"No. I've never been on a raiding expedition. Hardly any of us are. Just a few like Dingo. He goes out all the time. He likes it, the scupper. Mostly we go out and pick up a few women sometimes." The pirate smiled. "I've got a wife and a kid. You wouldn't believe that now, would you? Sure, we've got a little project of our own. Have our own vats. Once in a while I draw space duty, like now, for instance. It's a soft life. You could do all right, if you join up. A good-looking fellow like you could get a wife in no time and settle down. Or there's plenty of excitement if that's what you want.
"Yes, sir, Bill. I hope the Boss takes you."
Lucky followed him to the door. "Where are we going, by the way? One of the bases?"
"Just to one of the rocks, I guess. Whichever is nearest.
You'll stay there till the word comes through. It's what they usually do."
He added as he closed the door, "And don't tell the fellows, or anybody, I've been talking to you. Okay, pal?"
"Sure thing."
Alone again, Lucky pounded a fist slowly and softly into his palm. The Boss! Was that just talk? Scuttlebutt? Or did it mean something? And what about the rest of the conversation?
He had to wait. Galaxy! If only Conway and Henree had the good sense not to interfere for a while longer.
Lucky did not get a chance to view the "rock" as the Atlas approached. He did not see it until, preceded by Martin Maniu and followed by a second pirate, he stepped out of the air-lock into space and found it a hundred yards below.
The asteroid was quite typical. Lucky judged it to be two miles across the longest way. It was angular and craggy, as though a giant had torn off the top of a mountain and tossed it out into space. Its sunside glimmered gray-brown, and it was turning visibly, shadows shifting and changing.
He pushed downward toward the asteroid as he left the air-lock, flexing his leg muscles against the ship's hull. The crags floated up slowly toward himself. When his hands touched ground, his inertia forced the rest of his body on downward, tumbling him in slowest motion until he could grasp a projection and bring himself to a halt.