"Lead on," Brim said; motioning Barbousse to follow. "If we end up lost, we can at least blame you while we burn up in the star. It'll be a lot more satisfaction that way."
"Not to worry, Wilf Ansor," the Bear said, starting out between the huge pallets at a rolling gate. "Science has proved that a person can survive almost anything-except death, of course."
"Are you comforted?" Brim asked, turning to Barbousse in the near darkness behind him.
"Absolutely, Lieutenant Ursis," Barbousse said with a grin. "Everything comforts me."
"See?" Ursis growled.
"Hmmpf...."
After passing their third building-sized crate, they came to the starboard bulkhead: a solid wall of seamless hullmetal nearly fifty irals high. Ursis consulted the HoloCards for a moment. "To the right," he said presently. "Make sure I don't miss the lift."
"How about that red sign ahead, beggin the gentlemen's pardon?" Barbousse piped up.
"It's little more than a glow."
"1 see it now...." Brim said, squinting at the red light ahead. "What does it say?"
"'Crew Lift,' in Vergonian," Ursis translated presently. "And as dim as it appears to be, I am reasonably certain that the ship's emergency power supply is beginning to dissipate."
He began to move along the wall even faster, rolling from side to side in the surprisingly agile manner of Bears in a hurry. "We shall have to reach the bridge directly," he said,
"before the ship closes itself down to protect its logic systems. Undoing that sort of situation takes a whole crew-and more metacycles than remain to our use."
At last, they arrived at the dim red light and the heavy-looking hatch it marked. Ursis immediately turned four stout levers to C'OTT ("Open" in Vergonian, Brim surmised), then tugged on the latch mechanism-nearly pulling himself from his feet. The door remained firmly in place.
"What's the matter?" Brim asked.
"I don't know," Ursis grunted, testing the levers and pulling on the latch mechanism again.
Still the panel remained in place. "By the rancid, garbage-clotted beard of Voot himself," he swore sharply, "I think the xaxtdamned thing is locked!"
He tugged once more, then shook his head. "Perhaps I am doing something wrong. You should check my work, Wilf Ansor."
Brim took the Bear's place before the hatch. He first inspected the levers-each one was loose and in an open position-then he placed both hands on the latch mechanism and pulled. The latch moved freely, but the door remained immovable, still clearly secured.
"Sweet thraggling Universe," he said through clenched teeth. "Now what?"
"May I have a try at it?" Barbousse asked.
"Absolutely," Brim said in a disgusted voice. "We might as well all have a go."
"Thank you, sir," Barbousse said, stepping before the batch. "If the Lieutenants will stand back a few paces..." he added presently, and unslung a heavy blast truncheon from his back. "I think this will take care of the inner lock."
"Where'd you get that?" Brim asked with arched eyebrows.
"Oh, I picked it up on m' way to the launch," Barbousse said, aiming the powerful weapon at the latch mechanism. "I stowed it in the cabin-thought it might come in handy, like." Then he turned his head to one side. "Watch the eyes, now," he warned. Instantly the hold was bathed in a fulgurating green brilliance and the whole latch side of the door dissolved in a shower of sparks and molten metal that splashed harmlessly off their battle suits but incinerated the Imperial comet at Brim's left breast. "There," Barbousse said presently, kicking the glowing remains of the door aside with his boot.
"You surely have a way with locks," Brim commented in an awed voice.
"Clearly, precision work," Ursis added.
"Thank you, Lieutenants," the big rating said, slinging the truncheon over his back and leading the way into a small alcove with a circular door at the far side. Beside the door was a vertical row of seven sensors labeled with Vergonian symbols. "I suppose this lighted one is where we are," he said, pointing to the bottom sensor.
Ursis frowned and silently peered at each symbol in turn, beginning from the top. "Yes,"
he said momentarily, "and the top one reads 'Control Bridge,' roughly translated."
Barbousse mashed toe top button....
It took what seemed like a year for the car to finally arrive-and a great deal longer than that for it to spiral its way to the top. But at last-nearly thirty-five cycles after Brim landed the launch-the three Defiants stood on Providentiol's bridge. Not much time remained at all.
Brim had only begun work at the Helmsman's console when Barbousse once more interrupted his concentration.
"Um, I hate to bother you gentlemen," the big rating began hesitantly.
Brim turned in his recliner, Barbousse never interrupted unless he had something galaxy-shaking to say. "What?"' he asked with a grin.
"Well, sir," Barbousse said, holding three of the HoloCards in his hand like a talisman.
"Beggin' the Lieutenants' pardons, but-as I mentioned before-m' calculations say that we have somethin' less than a metacycle before we've got to be underway." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Um, otherwise, at the rate we're fallin', those two crazy triple-phisotron Drive units-the 'Grandofflers'-won't be able to push this rustbucket out of the gravity sphere anymore. Those popping n' creaking noises you hear every once in a while are the hull plates beginnin' to work from the stress."
"Voof," Ursis exclaimed, "I too have heard those noises." He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his great muzzle. "It gives us something less than twenty cycles after a failure on this ship to fly away in the launch before it too is no longer able to escape the star. We must indeed hurry." Immediately, he returned to his instruments.
"Thanks, friend," Brim said, throwing the big rating a quick salute.
Barbousse reddened through his visor. "Wasn't nothin', Lieutenant," he mumbled.
"Garbage," Brim said with a grin, turning back to his console, where he quickly lost himself studying the archaic flight instruments. He devoutly thanked the Universe that starship controls all pretty much operated the same sort of steering mechanisms. First he located the autopilot master switch-it was off, which accounted for the ship's perilously low altitude. Before he switched it on, however, he had to establish the settings it would be expected to hold. Rapidly, he reset the roll, pitch, and yaw controls at neutral, then forced the artificial horizon to realign itself with the galactic disk. Turning to the left console, he mentally calculated a spherical course to permit the ship's escape with a minimum expenditure of energy, then registered the parameters-by thumbwheels!-in the heading window. At last-after an especially bothersome groan from the ship's hull-he located all four trim wheels and noted their relative positions. Clearly, they had been set by the crew to offset latent gyroscopic torque generated by the hulking Grandoffler Drives-why anybody had ever built such contraptions!... Then, settling back in the recliner, he checked the entire array of instruments and nodded to himself. He was about to inform Ursis that the helm was ready for flight when Barbousse's deep voice again broke the silence of the bridge. But this time there was an edge to the man's voice that he'd never heard before.
"I think there's somethin' wrong with m' bloody eyes," Barbousse gasped. "Sweet thraggling Universe. It's all wobbly outside...."
Brim looked up to see me big rating staring out the starboard Hyperscreens with a positively awestruck look on his face. "What's the matter?..." he began, but stopped in midsentence when at the same time Ursis half rose from his console and began peering out the Hyperscreen, too-also with an amazed look on his face.
"My vision is likewise wobbly," the Bear exclaimed presently, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. "What is that out there?"