Slingshot | Page 5

idea." Johnson was not usually very witty, but this was
one he couldn't resist.
"Never mind, Guns. A patch that big wouldn't be safe to hold air."
* * * * *
They were about eighty thousand miles out. He set course for Earth at
about five and a half mps, which Johnson calculated to bring them in
on the station on the "going away" side of its orbit, and settled back for
the tedious two hours of free wheeling. For ten or fifteen minutes, the
interphone crackled with the gregariousness born of recent peril, and
gradually the ship fell silent as each man returned to his own private
thoughts.
Paul was wondering about the men on the other ship--whether any of
them were still alive. Eighty thousand miles to fall. That was a little
beyond the capacity of an emergency rocket--about 2 G's for sixty
seconds--even if they had them. What a way to go home! He wondered
what he'd do if it happened to him. Would he wait out his time, or just
unlock his helmet.
Guns' drawl broke into his reverie. "Say, cap'n, Ah've been readin' in
this magazine about a trick they used to use, called skip bombin'.

They'd hang a bomb on the bottom of one of these airplanes, and fly
along the ground, right at what they wanted to hit. Then they'd let the
bomb go and get out of there, and the bomb would sail right on into the
target. You s'pose we could fix this buggy up with an A bomb or an H
bomb we could let go a few hundred miles out? Stick a proximity fuse
on it, and a time fuse, too, in case we missed. Just sittin' half a mile
apart and tradin' shots like we did on that last mission is kinda hard on
mah nerves, and it's startin' to happen too often."
"Nice work if we could get it. I'm not crazy about those broadside
battles myself. You'd think they'd have found something better than
these thirty caliber popguns by now, but the odds say we've got to
throw as many different chunks of iron as we can, to have a chance of
hitting anything, and even then it's twenty to one against us. You
wouldn't have one chance in a thousand of scoring a hit with a bomb at
that distance, even if they didn't spot it and take off. What you'd need
would be a rocket that could chase them, with the bomb for a head.
And there's no way we could carry that size rocket, or fire it if we could.
Some day these crates will come with men's rooms, and we'll have a
place to carry something like that."
"How big would a rocket like that be?"
"Five, six feet, by maybe a foot. Weigh at least three hundred pounds."
It was five minutes before Guns spoke again. "Ah been thinkin', cap'n.
With a little redecoratin', Ah think Ah could get a rocket that size in
here with me. We could weld a rail to one of the gun mounts that would
hold it up to five or six G's. Then after we got away from station, Ah
could take it outside and mount it on the rail."
"Forget it, lad. If they ever caught us pulling a trick like that, they'd
have us on hydroponic duty for the next five years. They just don't want
us playing around with bombs, till the experts get all the angles figured
out, and build ships to handle them. And besides, who do you think will
rig a bomb like that, without anybody finding out? And where do you
think we'd get a bomb in the first place? They don't leave those things
lying around. Kovacs watches them like a mother hen. I think he counts

them twice a day."
"Sorry, cap'n. Ah just figured if you could get hold of a bomb, Ah
know a few of the boys who could rig the thing up for us and keep their
mouths shut."
"Well, forget about it. It's not a bad idea, but we haven't any bomb."
"Right, cap'n."
* * * * *
But it was Paul who couldn't forget about it. All the rest of the way
back to station, he kept seeing visions of a panel sliding aside in the
nose of a sleek and gleaming ship, while a small rocket pushed its
deadly snout forward, and then streaked off at tremendous acceleration.
Interrogation was brief. The mission had turned up nothing new. Their
kill made eight against seven for Doc Miller's crew, and they made sure
Miller and the boys heard about it. They were lightheaded with the
elation that followed a successful mission, swapping insults with the
rest of the squadron, and