through the emergency hatchway the alien had just vacated.
But the elevator was locked and could be activated only at the expense of notifying those on the bridge that it was in use. If he slipped back there and keyed it himself, certainly Doolittle or Boiler would be on station. And if they saw the elevator suddenly thrown into use, they would want to know what Pinback was doing fussing around in a section of the ship he had no business visiting.
If he remembered correctly, use of the elevator would even key a warning light in their living quarters. Only when it was working on automatic was the signal silent. And no sound issued from the shaft now.
He didn't think he could concoct an excuse that would fool Doolittle. Eventually he would end up confessing that he had let the alien escape. Then he would be in terrible shape. Doolittle wouldn't trust him with anything , and Boiler would never stop snickering.
All right, so he wouldn't use the elevator. He would get the alien back without anyone knowing, and without anyone's help. He stuck his head into the shaft, looked across, then down. It would help it he weren't so afraid of heights. He could drift in a starsuit for hours without being troubled, but he got dizzy atop a ladder.
Not that it was so terribly far from here to the bottom of the shaft. The Dark Star wasn't that big. If he slipped and fell while trying to cross, why, he might only break an arm or maybe both legs. In addition to being painful, that would be even worse than asking for Doolittle's or Boiler's help—but he was going to get across.
With what? There was nothing like an emergency ladder going down the shaft. The elevator was equipped with too many fail-safes—there was no need for a ladder. And there was no other way to the rear of the ship except across this shaft.
It had been designed this way, on the off chance that if any crewmember went berserk and tried to kick himself out the emergency airlock, or fool with the vital communications/life-support instrumentation, he would have to use the elevator—thus activating those tell-tales in the bridge and living quarters that now bedeviled Pinback.
No one could use the elevator without some other member of the crew knowing about it. But Pinback would fool them—somehow.
Moving back into the service chamber, he hunted around with the light. Eventually he found a heavy metal canister which he was sure the wiry but light alien wouldn't be able to move. He rolled it over until it blocked the small hatchway.
Then he hurried back up to the crafts room. It was empty. Doolittle's wooden-jar organ sat alone, silent, behind a thin partition. The pottery wheels, the glass works, the metal etching and macrame sections, the instructional film viewers—all were deserted. That meant Doolittle and Boiler were either forward in the control room or, more likely, relaxing in their living quarters. Good. It didn't matter to Pinback whether they were taking sunlamp treatments or a bath—as long as they were out of his way.
A short search, and he found what he was looking for—a good long solid board, designed for carving and therapeutic woodwork, now to be put to a purely practical use. He hurried down the corridor with it.
The canister was still in place, with no sign that the alien had tired to force it. That meant it was still on the other side.
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
But the elevator was locked and could be activated only at the expense of notifying those on the bridge that it was in use. If he slipped back there and keyed it himself, certainly Doolittle or Boiler would be on station. And if they saw the elevator suddenly thrown into use, they would want to know what Pinback was doing fussing around in a section of the ship he had no business visiting.
If he remembered correctly, use of the elevator would even key a warning light in their living quarters. Only when it was working on automatic was the signal silent. And no sound issued from the shaft now.
He didn't think he could concoct an excuse that would fool Doolittle. Eventually he would end up confessing that he had let the alien escape. Then he would be in terrible shape. Doolittle wouldn't trust him with anything , and Boiler would never stop snickering.
All right, so he wouldn't use the elevator. He would get the alien back without anyone knowing, and without anyone's help. He stuck his head into the shaft, looked across, then down. It would help it he weren't so afraid of heights. He could drift in a starsuit for hours without being troubled, but he got dizzy atop a ladder.
Not that it was so terribly far from here to the bottom of the shaft. The Dark Star wasn't that big. If he slipped and fell while trying to cross, why, he might only break an arm or maybe both legs. In addition to being painful, that would be even worse than asking for Doolittle's or Boiler's help—but he was going to get across.
With what? There was nothing like an emergency ladder going down the shaft. The elevator was equipped with too many fail-safes—there was no need for a ladder. And there was no other way to the rear of the ship except across this shaft.
It had been designed this way, on the off chance that if any crewmember went berserk and tried to kick himself out the emergency airlock, or fool with the vital communications/life-support instrumentation, he would have to use the elevator—thus activating those tell-tales in the bridge and living quarters that now bedeviled Pinback.
No one could use the elevator without some other member of the crew knowing about it. But Pinback would fool them—somehow.
Moving back into the service chamber, he hunted around with the light. Eventually he found a heavy metal canister which he was sure the wiry but light alien wouldn't be able to move. He rolled it over until it blocked the small hatchway.
Then he hurried back up to the crafts room. It was empty. Doolittle's wooden-jar organ sat alone, silent, behind a thin partition. The pottery wheels, the glass works, the metal etching and macrame sections, the instructional film viewers—all were deserted. That meant Doolittle and Boiler were either forward in the control room or, more likely, relaxing in their living quarters. Good. It didn't matter to Pinback whether they were taking sunlamp treatments or a bath—as long as they were out of his way.
A short search, and he found what he was looking for—a good long solid board, designed for carving and therapeutic woodwork, now to be put to a purely practical use. He hurried down the corridor with it.
The canister was still in place, with no sign that the alien had tired to force it. That meant it was still on the other side.
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
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