The Outward Urge Read Online Free PDF Page A

closer, until it was whirling madly past, between them and the hulk.
    Ticker did not see what happened next. There was a sudden violent shock which banged his head against the inside of his helmet, and turned everything into dancing lights. For a few seconds he was dazed. Then it came to him that he was no longer holding on to the framework of the assembly. He groped, and found nothing. With an effort, he opened his eyes and forced them into focus. The first thing they showed him was the hulk and the half-built space-station dwindling rapidly in the distance.
    Ticker kicked wildly, and managed to turn himself round, but it took him several moments to grasp what had happened. He found that he was floating in space in company with a collection of minor parts of the assembly and two other space-suited men, while, close by, the missile, now encumbered with a tangle of lines, was still firing its steering tubes while it cavorted and spun in an imbecilic fashion. By degrees he perceived that the missile had in its passage managed to entangle itself in a dozen or more tethers and safety-lines, and torn them away, together with whatever happened to be attached to them.
    He closed his eyes for a moment. His head throbbed. He fancied that it was bleeding on the right side. He hoped the cut was small; if there was much blood it might float around loose in his helmet and get into his eyes. Suddenly the Commander’s voice in the phone said:
    ‘Quiet everyone.’ It paused, and went on: ‘Hullo, hullo there! Calling you three with the missile. Are you all right? Are you all right?’
    Ticker ran his tongue over his lips, and swallowed.
    ‘Hullo, Skipper. Ticker here. I’m all right, Skip.’
    ‘You don’t sound so all right, Ticker.’
    ‘Bit muzzy. Knocked my head on my helmet. Better in a minute.’
    ‘What about the other two?’ A groggy voice broke in:
    ‘Nobby here, Skipper. I’m all right, too - I think. Been sick as a dog - not funny at all. Don’t know about the other. Who is it?’
    ‘Must be Dobbin. Hullo there, Dobbin! Are you all right?’
    There was no reply.
    ‘It was a hell of a jerk, Skipper,’ said the groggy voice.
    ‘How’s your air?’
    Ticker looked at the dials.
    ‘Normal supply, and reserve intact,’ he said.
    ‘My reserve isn’t registering. Fractured, maybe, but I’ve got nearly four hours,’ said Nobby.
    ‘Better cut loose, and make your way back by hand tubes,’ said the Commander. ‘You right away, Nobby. Ticker, you’ve got more air. Can you reach Dobbin? If you can, link him on to you, and bring him back with you. Think you can?’
    ‘Shouldn’t be difficult, I think.’
    ‘Look, Skip - ‘ Nobby began.
    ‘That’s an order, Nobby,’ the Commander told him briefly.
    Kicking himself over, Ticker was able to see one of the space-suited figures fumbling at its belt. Presently the safety-line floated free, though the figure still kept along in company. It drew the pistol-like hand-tube from the holster, and held it in front with both hands, kicking a little as it manoeuvred to get the hulk dead behind it in the tube’s mirror-sights. Then the tube flared, and the figure holding it dropped away, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. ‘Be seeing you, Ticker,’ said its voice. ‘Bacon and eggs?’
    ‘Done both sides, mind,’ Ticker told him.
    He drew his own tube. When he had the second space-suited figure in the mirror, he gave the briefest possible touch on the trigger to set himself drifting towards it. A few moments later he reported:
    ‘I’m afraid old Dobbin’s through, Skip. It was quick, though. Bloody great rip in the left leg of his suit. Damn bad luck. Shall I bring him back?’
    The Commander hesitated a moment.
    ‘No, Ticker,’ he decided. ‘It’d just mean an additional hazard for you. Dobbin wouldn’t want that. No, cast off his line and let him go, poor chap. Take his reserve air bottle, though - and his tube, too. It’ll help you to catch up on