Chapter IV

Ten minutes later he slammed against Asteroid A’s surface, braked a trifle by the bootsole gravitators, and guided by precision calculations and his desperate need to arrive at his destination in time.

He clawed his way upright just as Drake was lifting the girl to the hatch of her radiation-insulated space ship.

Drake saw him at once, and sprang toward him. There was no concealment now. Tinker knew what the cost would be if he lost. There was small chance that Drake would let him live any longer than he thought desirable. It would be easy to imprison him in the space ship and send it rocketing off into outer space forever. The flatbarreled, compact little gun in Drake’s hand made his intentions perfectly plain.

“Drop it!” Tinker yelled; and the moment’s surprise gave him the split-second he needed.

Drake hesitated only a tiny fraction of a breath. But drawing and aiming with space-gauntlets was slow work and before he could get the weapon into firing position Tinker was at his knees, bringing him down. Drake kicked out, swearing violently. The heavy boot caught Tinker in his middle, folding him up. He coughed and gasped and squirmed erect, clutching for the gun.

The slender metal rod wouldn’t kill him. It wasn’t built for that under any circumstances, and the heavy shielding of the space suit would ground most of the charge. But it would stun him at the least, put him out for minutes--and Drake would need only a few seconds to hack a hole in the delicate jointure between neck and shoulders, or the vulnerable spot at the armpits. Then the air in Tinker’s suit would go hissing out into the void, carrying Tinker’s life with it.

Drake kicked at him again, but he juggled the gun and dropped it. Without gravity of its own the weapon spun lazily in the air, hanging and floating slowly like a toy balloon. Drake clutched at it like a madman grabbing at phantom flies, but Tinker was there before him.

He didn’t try to grab the gun, only to knock it away. And he succeeded. It clattered against his helmet and bounced off, up and away--meters high and still going. The chances were good that it was gone forever, beyond B’s tiny gravity. At the least, it was out of reach for either Tinker or Drake for a good long while.

Drake copied Tinker’s tactics and butted the smaller man as Tinker had butted the gun. But Tinker anticipated the move. The moment his partner thudded into him he switched off his gravity. He went flying against the side of the ship and scrambled around the hull, kicking against it until the impact sent him flying back at Drake.

Both men were out of breath by now. But that was all. It was a crazy fight, Tinker thought, throwing himself at the other man again. The space suits were perfect protection against anything they could do to each other barehanded.

If one of them could have gained a moment to find a gun, a knife--even a heavy bar--the odds would have shifted in his favor. But barehanded, they were equal and invulnerable, like two giant herbivorous saurians thumping each other toothlessly over a luscious patch of weed.

They each had weak spots, of course. But they were hard to get to, except manually. The gloves were thin and flexible, by comparison, as they had to be. But both men were aware of that and were careful to keep their hands out of danger. The result was that neither Tinker nor Drake, however desperately they struggled and charged, could inflict decisive punishment. The only outcome, Tinker thought, breathlessly resentful, would be that one of them would drop of a heart attack.

But he was wrong.

Drake’s clumsiness won him the fight. He lunged at Tinker and slipped and wriggled free. But Tinker had caught him by the leg and whirled him around. Drake, panicky, kicked at Tinker’s sensitive hand. And Tinker let go. The instant he did so Drake went flying through the space above the incurious, busy robots, straight against the side of the space ship.

Tinker leaped after him, but he was too late. He struck the side of the ship and bounded away, and before he could right himself Drake was scuttling into the open hatch.

Tinker, abruptly warned, came hurtling back. But by now the hatch was closing.

Tinker leaped back a couple of yards and stared. What was Drake up to? In a moment he found out. The little ship, no more than five yards long, shuddered and bucked once at the touch of an unfamiliar hand on the controls.

And then it rose gently into the void and came at Tinker. Tinker flattened himself against the ground, and the ship missed him by a hair. But it was small and responsive. It stopped and whirled and came at him again. He could see Drake’s looming ugly helmet over the control board, through the forward view plate. He dodged again and stopped down his gravitators. He ran with zigzag, plunging strides.

But the ship swooped toward him, not fast, but with deadly persistence, twisting around the corner of a building after him, picking up speed on the straight-away. He tried to stay close to the building wall, but even as clumsy a pilot as Drake could put that little ship just where he wanted it.

Tinker dodged and ducked a fraction of a second too late, and caught a jolt from the vessel’s underbelly on his shoulder that sent him spinning into the wall. He rolled over, half dazed, to see the ship stop dead, and move back toward him with rapidly increasing speed.

The chances were very good that he would be crushed to death then and there.

There was a space in the building wall beside him. He scrambled through, just in time. The ship’s hull shook the supporting beams behind him.

Tinker stood up and looked around for some object that might serve as a weapon. But it was a hope that quickly died. He could see Siria lying, motionless, yards away beside another building, and the thought occurred to him that it was only a question of time before Drake would get back to her. The fear in his mind became almost unendurable.

There wasn’t much time for thinking. He felt a vibration in his bootsoles and looked up to see the prow of the ship slicing through the roof of the building.

There wasn’t any choice. He dodged behind a group of wiring panels, took a deep breath, and leaped for the girl. He dodged past the headless robots, who paid him no attention at all, and reached her while the ship was still methodically crushing the building he had just left.

Siria was stirring. Tinker dragged her hastily inside another building. He shook her to get her attention, then held a gauntleted finger up before his faceplate in an awkward “ssh” gesture. Miraculously, she understood him. Drake might not have the ship’s radio tuned to the helmet-talk wavelengths. But it was a circumstance he couldn’t count on.

Beneath the buildings was a partial network of tunnels, built mostly to serve as ducts for electric and communications cables which could not be left exposed to the radiation from the reactors and the cosmic rays. They had been enlarged in some parts to serve as storage space, and when Tinker hunted for an entrance he quickly found one. They were safe, at least for the moment.

“We can talk now,” Tinker said reassuringly. “The rock will ground our radio. How do you feel?”

Her voice sounded shaky. “I have a headache--that much I know. He hit me with a wrench.”

Tinker nodded thoughtfully. “It had to be something like that. You’re lucky he didn’t hit harder. But I guess he intended to spare you until he could get the ship safely off the asteroid.”

He could feel the girl shudder. “I’ve been pursued now and then,” she said after a moment, “but nothing like this. It’s a frightening thing, Tinker.”

Tinker said: “I don’t think it was just you, Siria. He’s crazy but--not that crazy. I think he’s in mortal terror of the law. I guess he thought it would be a good idea to take you with him, but judging from the way he’s acting now--” Tinker paused. They could feel the vibrations of Drake’s ship, still systematically destroying the debris of the warehouse. “I’m afraid he’s changed his mind,” Tinker went on grimly. “He’ll probably try to kill us both.”

“But why?” the girl asked.

Tinker explained, “He’s a criminal. He has three years to go on this asteroid before he’s technically free. I guess he can’t wait. You see, he’s never had a chance to get away before, not until you landed in your ship. The ship’s his passport. And consider the wealth here. These isotopes are worth a fortune on the black radioactives market. And your ship is a Company job, with radiation-retarded storage bins--everything he needs.”

The girl was silent for a moment. “Does he have to kill us?”

“I’m afraid so, Siria,” Tinker said gently. “If he leaves us alive, we’ll have the law on him in an hour, and the space patrol would nab him. He needs at least a day’s start. He can’t even destroy the radio on Asteroid B. If it doesn’t send an automatic check signal every ten minutes, the Company will think we’ve blown up and the patrol will be here anyway.”