good God, where are we going?” Gross said. “Where—where’s he taking us?”
The Pilot obtained contact. “This is Dwight, on ship,” he said. “We’re entering the defense zone at high velocity. Don’t fire on us.”
“Turn back,” the impersonal voice came through the speaker. “You’re not allowed in the defense zone.”
“We can’t. We’ve lost control.”
“Lost control?”
“This is an experimental ship.”
Gross took the radio. “This is Commander Gross, Security. We’re being carried into outer space. There’s nothing we can do. Is there any way that we can be removed from this ship?”
A hesitation. “We have some fast pursuit ships that could pick you up if you wanted to jump. The chances are good they’d find you. Do you have space flares?”
“We do,” the Pilot said. “Let’s try it.”
“Abandon ship?” Kramer said. “If we leave now we’ll never see it again.”
“What else can we do? We’re gaining speed all the time. Do you propose that we stay here?”
“No.” Kramer shook his head. “Damn it, there ought to be a better solution.”
“Could you contact him?” Winter asked. “The Old Man? Try to reason with him?”
“It’s worth a chance,” Gross said. “Try it.”
“All right.” Kramer took the microphone. He paused a moment. “Listen! Can you hear me? This is Phil Kramer. Can you hear me, Professor. Can you hear me? I want you to release the controls.”
There was silence.
“This is Kramer, Professor. Can you hear me? Do you remember who I am? Do you understand who this is?”
Above the control panel the wall speaker made a sound, a sputtering static. They looked up.
“Can you hear me, Professor. This is Philip Kramer. I want you to give the ship back to us. If you can hear me, release the controls! Let go, Professor. Let go!”
Static. A rushing sound, like the wind. They gazed at each other. There was silence for a moment.
“It’s a waste of time,” Gross said.
“No—listen!”
The sputter came again. Then, mixed with the sputter, almost lost in it, a voice came, toneless, without inflection, a mechanical, lifeless voice from the metal speaker in the wall, above their heads.
“… Is it you, Philip? I can’t make you out. Darkness…. Who’s there? With you….”
“It’s me, Kramer.” His fingers tightened against the microphone handle. “You must release the controls, Professor. We have to get back to Terra. You must.”
Silence. Then the faint, faltering voice came again, a little stronger than before. “Kramer. Everything so strange. I was right, though. Consciousness result of thinking. Necessary result. Cognito ergo sum. Retain conceptual ability. Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Professor—”
“I altered the wiring. Control. I was fairly certain…. I wonder if I can do it. Try….”
Suddenly the air-conditioning snapped into operation. It snapped abruptly off again. Down the corridor a door slammed. Something thudded. The men stood listening. Sounds came from all sides of them, switches shutting, opening. The lights blinked off; they were in darkness. The lights came back on, and at the same time the heating coils dimmed and faded.
“Good God!” Winter said.
Water poured down on them, the emergency fire-fighting system. There was a screaming rush of air. One of the escape hatches had slid back, and the air was roaring frantically out into space.
The hatch banged closed. The ship subsided into silence. The heating coils glowed into life. As suddenly as it had begun the weird exhibition ceased.
“I can do—everything,” the dry, toneless voice came from the wall speaker. “It is all controlled. Kramer, I wish to talk to you. I’ve been—been thinking. I haven’t seen you in many years. A lot to discuss. You’ve changed, boy. We have much to discuss. Your wife—”
The Pilot grabbed Kramer’s arm. “There’s a ship standing off our bow. Look.”
They ran to the port. A slender pale craft was moving along with them, keeping pace with them. It was signal-blinking.
“A Terran pursuit ship,” the Pilot said. “Let’s jump. They’ll pick us up. Suits—”
He ran to a supply cupboard and turned the handle. The door opened and he pulled the suits out onto the floor.
“Hurry,” Gross said. A panic seized them. They dressed frantically, pulling the heavy garments over them. Winter staggered to the escape hatch and stood by it, waiting for the others. They joined him, one by one.
“Let’s go!” Gross said. “Open the hatch.”
Winter tugged at the hatch. “Help me.”
They grabbed hold, tugging together. Nothing happened. The hatch refused to budge.
“Get a crowbar,” the Pilot said.
“Hasn’t anyone got a blaster?” Gross looked frantically around. “Damn it, blast it open!”
“Pull,” Kramer grated. “Pull together.”
“Are you at the hatch?” the toneless voice came, drifting and eddying through the corridors of the ship. They looked up, staring around them. “I sense something nearby, outside. A ship? You are leaving, all of you? Kramer, you are leaving, too? Very unfortunate. I had hoped we could talk. Perhaps at some other time you might be induced to remain.”
“Open the hatch!” Kramer said, staring up at the impersonal walls of the ship. “For God’s sake, open it!”
There was silence, an endless pause. Then, very slowly, the hatch slid back. The air screamed out, rushing past them into space.
One by one they leaped, one after the other, propelled away by the repulsive material of the suits. A few minutes later they were being hauled aboard the pursuit ship. As the last one of them was lifted through the port, their own ship pointed itself suddenly upward and shot off at tremendous speed. It disappeared.
Kramer removed his helmet, gasping. Two sailors held onto him and began to wrap him in blankets. Gross sipped a mug of coffee, shivering.
“It’s gone,” Kramer murmured.
“I’ll have an alarm sent out,” Gross said.
“What’s happened to your ship?” a sailor asked curiously. “It
