But it was not easy for Horn to keep his mind either on the engines or on other matters while he worried about Ginny. If the spaceboat she was in got on a course that was even trivially wrong, she'd never land on Carola. If it were landed unskilfully she could be killed. If by mischance it did not land at the beacon, but somewhere else on some other continent, it would be utterly hopeless even to think of finding her. And there might be deadly animals on Carola, or diseases just as deadly.
These worries seemed more important to Horn than the situation on the Theban. With unbelievable riches awaiting them - or so they thought - the crew began to feel that they were already rich. It immediately followed that they felt they would be richer if some fellow crew members were not around to claim shares in the treasure of the Danae. But soon they realized that their fellow members were thinking the same thing. The castaways, of course, would have to be killed when the treasure was taken. Then Horn must be considered. He couldn't be killed or they'd all die in the breakdown of the Theban. But except for him, the fewer others who left Carola to divide the loot of the spaceliner, the more would be left for those who survived.
The Theban became a ship of conspirators, making multiple plots against each other and against Larsen. But all needed to have Horn on their side.
Larsen came down into the engineroom and stood beside him, scowling. Horn made a very fine adjustment to the item he was working on before he looked up. Then he said pleasantly, "I've a feeling that a balance coil's going out before long."
Larsen said harshly, "Did you spread the word about that money on the Danae?"
"Not I," said Horn. "If I had, you'd know it. Only the three of us knew it at first, you and the mate and me."
"Somebody let it out!" rasped Larsen.
"Yes. Perhaps the mate. But I think it was you," said Horn. "Now, about this balance coil - "
"Why would I start it?" demanded Larsen, snarling.
"To start trouble," said Horn matter-of-factly. "To have everybody on the Theban ready to cut everybody else's throat as soon as the money's on board. If nobody knew about it until the money was picked up, they'd start conspiring and might mutiny. Knowing about it ahead of time, they've already started conspiring. But they won't act until they see the money, and then they'll all be at each other's throats instead of combined against you."
Larsen snarled but did not contradict him.
"And," added Horn, "I think you've come to make a deal with me that the two of us will help the others kill each other off, after we have the money, until there is only you and me left to split it."
Larsen growled, "You've got it all figured out, eh?"
"Yes," agreed Horn. "Up to the point where you figure that if the two of us land this ship somewhere, the instant the engines aren't needed any more you shoot me in the back and don't divide with anybody."
Larsen scowled. Horn shrugged and turned back to the engines. Then Larsen's manner changed. It became almost genial. "Look," he said amiably, "I need you and you need me. We let it go at that. I can't risk killing you. You can't risk killing me. Call it a deal, eh? We understand each other?"
Horn said composedly, "You're assuming we'll find the spaceboats on Carola and that you'll get the money from them. But you might not. They may have landed and refuelled and gone on to the next beacon planet. If they have, they may never arrive, but we've no chance of picking them up in space. Why make a bargain about something that may not happen?"
Larsen grinned and turned away without a word. He climbed the companion ladder back to the control room level.
Horn stared after him. Larsen's grin had said that his objection was foolish. And Horn saw instantly why. Every trace of blood left his face and he began to tremble all over. His eyes were flames. These signs, in Horn, were indications of fury of an entirely different sort from red-faced rage. A man whose face flushes with anger may be a nuisance, but he can be coped with. A man who turns white while his eyes burn is more than likely to cause considerable damage before he's through.
Horn turned back to the engines, forcing his hands to steadiness, and laboured painstakingly at the matter in hand. It was seemingly a detail of the overhaul of the Theban's engines, so far as that could be managed while they ran.
The device he worked on was a trivial thing, in a way. It was part of the system by which the absence of rudders in spaceships was made up for. There can be no rudder, because in space there is nothing for a rudder to act on. So a ship in space always travels along a line which runs through the centre of thrust of the drive plates - forward - and the centre of gravity of the ship. When a ship is properly balanced, its centre of gravity is in the ship's axis, and if the ship were hung up somewhere it would hang vertically like a plumb line. But if there is poor storage of cargo, for example, it will hang askew and will travel crabwise, not as it is aimed. A ship taking off after a change in cargo will always be balanced so it will travel straight instead of in some unpredictable curve. And to balance a ship there are pressure coils, balance coils, trim coils, to place the centre of gravity where it ought to be. Without such balancing an astrogator coming out of overdrive can find out where he is, but he can never know where he's going.
Horn was arranging the controls of the Theban's balance coils. He was preparing a booby trap, to take effect if Larsen attempted to sell out Horn and his crew and the Danae's castaways in one triumphant feat of duplicity. Somehow, he believed Larsen had something of the sort in mind.
He finished the job.
Next ship morning the mate came truculently to him.
"The skipper says," he began, "that you don't care to keep on living."
"I hadn't noticed it," said Horn.
"There are some deals going on about you-know-what."
"I know of some deals about if-we-find-the-money," conceded Horn. "They seem pretty silly to me. Because we may not."
He spoke calmly, but he found cold anger surging up inside him. The more he considered, the less hope he could summon. So he was preparing various measures which would avenge what Larsen and his crew had done. But blind fury was always close under the surface in Horn right now. Larsen had grinned at the suggestion that the spaceboats might have refuelled on Carola and gone on from there. And Horn knew the significance of the grin. Among other things, it meant that Ginny had no chance at all of living unless he achieved the impossible very quickly. It was very likely that killing the mate would be one of the necessary steps towards achieving the impossible. Horn found his hand closing spasmodically on a two-foot steel wrench.
"The skipper and me," said the mate ominously, "we've got a deal. If you want in -"
"I don't," said Horn. "I've been offered other deals and I haven't taken them either, because if anything happens to me the engines will conk out in hours. And that will be the death of all of you! So if I get into a deal, I'll make it. And I'm not ready to make it."
"You're lookin' for trouble," rasped the mate.
"Now that you mention it, yes," said Horn. "With you!"
He stood up and moved towards the mate, swinging the two-foot tool. The mate snatched out a blaster - no mere stun pistol. He levelled it. Horn laughed at him, without mirth.
He saw the impact of his laughter. The mate could kill him, but he dared not. He dared not ever try to cripple Horn. Horn couldn't be forced into anything, because nobody could tell whether he'd done anything to the engines or not. It was a complete reversal of the state of things intended when he was shanghaied. Then he'd been classed as a captive who would be used as long as he was needed, and then disposed of. Now his death would be the ultimate disaster for them. But his escape from them would destroy them also.