This World Must Die! | Page 5

near the midpoint of the corridor.
Those in the plane of the control room deck probably led to port and
starboard airlocks, he reasoned, so the others might lead to the torpedo
turrets.

He went to the vertical well and started up the ladder, hearing the
others follow. At the top, he was confronted by a hatch with a red
danger sign. Glancing about, he located the gauges that reported the air
pressure beyond. Normal.
"Make a little room," he said, looking down to Brecken.
The big, ruddy face retreated a few rungs. Phillips could hear the others
scrambling further down. He got his head out of the way before pulling
the switch that opened the hatch. With a subdued humming of electric
motors, the massively constructed door swung down. One after another,
they pulled themselves up into the compartment.
"This must be where they set controls for launching," guessed Phillips,
leaning back against a rack of emergency spacesuits. "That intercom
screen on the bulkhead is probably plugged in to the control room.
Looks as if the torpedoes themselves are stored under that hatch at the
after end."
"How do they kick them off?" asked Brecken.
"Those conveyor belts run them into tubes in the forward bulkhead. A
charge of compressed air blows them out, and then the rockets are
started and controlled by radio."
"You mean we have to point at a target to fire?"
"Oh, no. Once the rockets are going, the torpedo can be maneuvered
and aimed anywhere by remote control."
"I've seen enough," announced Truesdale. "I'm hungry."
At that, they all decided to return to the main deck. Phillips carefully
closed the airtight hatch as they left, then followed the others in search
of the galley.
Later, after a very unsatisfactory meal of packaged concentrates, they
loitered sullenly in the control room once more while Donna studied

the controls. Phillips had finally decided that he could wear the third
spacesuit on the rack if he had to. He was idly examining the tools
supplied with it when his thoughts were interrupted.
Young Truesdale had been monkeying with a range indicator for some
time, but now his sharp outcry drew all eyes to him.
The others immediately gathered to peer over his shoulder. A needle
flickered wildly from one side of the dial to the other.
"Here! Get it balanced," said Phillips, thrusting a powerful arm
between the crowded bodies. As his deft adjustment steadied the needle,
he stepped back and leaned against the bulkhead to study their faces.
Truesdale's was pale.
"It's them!" he panted.
"Well," asked Donna, "what will it be?"
"Whaddya mean?" demanded Brecken, red-faced. "It'll be get dam' well
outa here, that's what it'll be!"
"Let's see you go," invited the girl coolly. "How well do you pilot a
rocket?"
Brecken's jaw dropped. "Wh-wh-what? You crazy? Did you swallow
all that stuff the old man told you?" he sputtered.
"Why not?" asked Donna. "They didn't bring us all the way out here for
nothing. Varret was scared. If it's that dangerous, somebody just has to
do it--and we're here!"
"Not for long," said Brecken in an ugly tone. "Get hot on those controls.
You, Phillips! Run back to that rocket room and see that things work!"
"You try it," suggested the engineer quietly.
He would have preferred to avoid the trouble the girl had been stirring
up, but he did not relish Brecken's tone. A few days off Luna, he

reflected, and already he was getting independent.
"Listen," said Donna, encouraged in her defiance, "when I touch those
controls, we'll go right up and touch noses with them. You'd better have
a torpedo ready!"
She turned to the banks of buttons and switches. Muffled thunder from
the stern jets trembled through the hull as the men staggered.

[Illustration: 3]
Brecken recovered his balance first. With a snarl, he grabbed the girl by
the nape of the neck and shook her roughly. Glimpsing Phillips' cold
sneer, he reached back and seized a heavy metal bar from the spacesuit
rack.
"Now, dammit!" he grated. "You'll do like I tell you! And you get back
there an' see that those tubes recharge okay!"
Phillips felt a hard anger swelling his throat. From the corner of his eye,
he saw Truesdale shrinking back against the bulkhead. He glanced
about desperately for something with which to parry Brecken's bar.
It was the girl who broke the tense silence. With a gasping intake of
breath, she reached up to claw at Brecken's face. Cursing, the man
twisted his head away to protect his eyes. He released his grip on the
girl's neck and swung a clumsy, backhand blow at her head. Donna
stumbled, and collapsed to the deck.
Now or never, Phillips told himself. Without waiting to think, he hurled
himself