Nobby.’
There was a brief silence, then:
‘That’s funny,’ Ticker murmured.
‘What’s funny?’ demanded the Commander.
‘Just a minute, Skip.’
‘What is it, Ticker?’
‘The lines have tightened, Skipper. A minute ago, we and the odd bits were all in a clump, with the missile acting daft alongside. Now it’s steadied up, seems to be pulling away. Hell, this is confusing - you aren’t where you ought to be, either. The - oh, I get it. The thing’s turning; swinging us round after it....I’m letting old Dobbin go now...’
There was a pause. ‘He’s drifting off on a different line, away from me. The thing must be making a wide turn, I think. Difficult to tell just what it is doing; it’s giving lots of little bursts as it steadies up. I don’t care much for this, Skipper. All the towed bits, including me, have swung together in a jumble.’
‘Better cast off now, and shove yourself clear.’
‘Just a minute, Skip. I want to see - ‘ His voice tailed away. ‘Yes, yes, she is. She’s pulling, pulling steadily round....‘
Ticker was hanging out at the end of his life-line, watching the constellations wheel slowly, and twisting slowly himself, which made it the more confusing.
The random element introduced into the missile by the conflict of purpose had been sorted out. It was coordinated again, and its change of direction was steady, smooth, and purposeful. It was, in fact, back on the job. Its radar had searched for, and found, the target it had missed in its temporary derangement, and was bringing it round to bear once more. Somewhere inside the fat metal droplet there were relays ready to go in once it was steady in the aim; a brief burst on the main tubes would send it back to the attack....
‘My God!’ exclaimed Ticker, and began to haul himself hand over hand along his safety-line, shoving aside the trailing flotsam of assembly items as he went, and making for the missile itself.
‘What’s that about? Haven’t you cast off yet?’ inquired the Commander.
Ticker did not reply. He had come close to the missile, swung a little out from it by the continuing turn, but able to reach it. Presently he could touch it, and brought round a leg to kick himself clear of the steering-tubes. He pulled himself forward on the length of line remaining, and caught hold of the member which joined one of the nacelles to the main body. It was round all three of these members that the lines had tangled as the missile had swept past the assembly, and he tied his safety-line short to a loop in the tangle that looked as if it would hold.
‘What the devil are you doing, Ticker?’ asked the Commander.
‘I’m aboard the missile, Skipper,’ Ticker told him.
‘For heaven’s sake! - you mean you’re on the damned thing? Look, I told you to cast off. Do I have to make it an order?’
‘I hope you won’t, Skipper, because I rather think that if you did, and if I obeyed it, I’d very likely have nowhere to go.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, it looks to me as if this thing is in the process of getting round to have another go at you.’
‘Is it, by hell! You sure of that, Ticker?’
‘ ‘Fraid so. Don’t see what else it can be doing. It’s certainly making a steady arc, and if that’s its game, this seems to be as good a place as any.’
‘Wouldn’t be my choice. What do you mean?’
‘Well, if I’d stayed where I was I’d be fried when it fires its main tubes. And if I cast off now and it does go for you, I stand to die slowly in a space-suit. Not nice, at all. Whereas this way I get a free ride home. If it misses you, I can roll off: if it doesn’t, well, it’ll be the same for all of us....‘
‘That’s a lot more logical than agreeable. What’s it doing now?’
‘Still coming round. You lie to port as we go. About twenty degrees more to swing yet. You should be able to observe easily.’
‘We’ve got you on the radar, all right, but we can’t bring the
There was a brief silence, then:
‘That’s funny,’ Ticker murmured.
‘What’s funny?’ demanded the Commander.
‘Just a minute, Skip.’
‘What is it, Ticker?’
‘The lines have tightened, Skipper. A minute ago, we and the odd bits were all in a clump, with the missile acting daft alongside. Now it’s steadied up, seems to be pulling away. Hell, this is confusing - you aren’t where you ought to be, either. The - oh, I get it. The thing’s turning; swinging us round after it....I’m letting old Dobbin go now...’
There was a pause. ‘He’s drifting off on a different line, away from me. The thing must be making a wide turn, I think. Difficult to tell just what it is doing; it’s giving lots of little bursts as it steadies up. I don’t care much for this, Skipper. All the towed bits, including me, have swung together in a jumble.’
‘Better cast off now, and shove yourself clear.’
‘Just a minute, Skip. I want to see - ‘ His voice tailed away. ‘Yes, yes, she is. She’s pulling, pulling steadily round....‘
Ticker was hanging out at the end of his life-line, watching the constellations wheel slowly, and twisting slowly himself, which made it the more confusing.
The random element introduced into the missile by the conflict of purpose had been sorted out. It was coordinated again, and its change of direction was steady, smooth, and purposeful. It was, in fact, back on the job. Its radar had searched for, and found, the target it had missed in its temporary derangement, and was bringing it round to bear once more. Somewhere inside the fat metal droplet there were relays ready to go in once it was steady in the aim; a brief burst on the main tubes would send it back to the attack....
‘My God!’ exclaimed Ticker, and began to haul himself hand over hand along his safety-line, shoving aside the trailing flotsam of assembly items as he went, and making for the missile itself.
‘What’s that about? Haven’t you cast off yet?’ inquired the Commander.
Ticker did not reply. He had come close to the missile, swung a little out from it by the continuing turn, but able to reach it. Presently he could touch it, and brought round a leg to kick himself clear of the steering-tubes. He pulled himself forward on the length of line remaining, and caught hold of the member which joined one of the nacelles to the main body. It was round all three of these members that the lines had tangled as the missile had swept past the assembly, and he tied his safety-line short to a loop in the tangle that looked as if it would hold.
‘What the devil are you doing, Ticker?’ asked the Commander.
‘I’m aboard the missile, Skipper,’ Ticker told him.
‘For heaven’s sake! - you mean you’re on the damned thing? Look, I told you to cast off. Do I have to make it an order?’
‘I hope you won’t, Skipper, because I rather think that if you did, and if I obeyed it, I’d very likely have nowhere to go.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, it looks to me as if this thing is in the process of getting round to have another go at you.’
‘Is it, by hell! You sure of that, Ticker?’
‘ ‘Fraid so. Don’t see what else it can be doing. It’s certainly making a steady arc, and if that’s its game, this seems to be as good a place as any.’
‘Wouldn’t be my choice. What do you mean?’
‘Well, if I’d stayed where I was I’d be fried when it fires its main tubes. And if I cast off now and it does go for you, I stand to die slowly in a space-suit. Not nice, at all. Whereas this way I get a free ride home. If it misses you, I can roll off: if it doesn’t, well, it’ll be the same for all of us....‘
‘That’s a lot more logical than agreeable. What’s it doing now?’
‘Still coming round. You lie to port as we go. About twenty degrees more to swing yet. You should be able to observe easily.’
‘We’ve got you on the radar, all right, but we can’t bring the
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