BLOW THE MAN DOWN
BY CHARLES L. FONTENAY
Hijacking the By Jove! was
quite elementary. Hijacking
the crew was something else.
And therein lay Captain Vebrug's
margin for error....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
When Captain Albrekt Vebrug of the Flanjo intelligence service tookover the Mars-Titan freighter By Jove!, it was no such terrestrialfoolishness as mercy that prevented him from liquidating the ship'sthree-man crew.
Sure in his own wolfish strength, his attitude was that threepeace-loving merchant spacemen could do much to contribute to hispersonal comfort, if kept under iron control. Besides, with adequatebrain-washing to eliminate loyalty to the Solar Council, theirtechnical skills could make them quite valuable to the somewhatundermanned Flanjo base on Rhea.
On the other hand, his concern for the others aboard the ship was soslight that he would not, on his own, have warned them of the impendingacceleration, which could have injured or killed them.
He made his move at 10 minutes before zero hour. As a paying passengerfrom Mars City to Titan, he had the run of the ship, and had beenlounging in the control room for half an hour. Migl, the engineer,was on duty and was sorting the blast-pattern tapes, a job Qoqol hadstarted during his shift.
Albrekt simply took a heat gun from the rack, stuck it in Migl's backand ordered him to leave the control room. Migl took it as a joke, atfirst.
"It's no joke," Albrekt assured him, nudging him with the weapon. "Getbelow, if you don't want to get burned."
Puzzlement written all over his swarthy face, Migl unstrapped himselffrom the captain's chair and pushed himself across the room. Albrektslid into the chair, buckled himself in and pulled two rolls ofmagnetic tape from the breast pocket of his coveralls. He found theroll marked "No. 1," stuck the other in the rack beside him andinserted the end of his tape in the automatic pilot.
Migl paused at the top of the gangway.
"You're not going to blast?" demanded Migl in amazement.
"I am," retorted Albrekt, holding the heat gun steady.
"Por Dios, Carrel's not strapped in!" exclaimed the engineer. "You'llbreak every bone in his body if you don't give him warning!"
Albrekt glanced at his watch.
"You have five minutes to warn him and strap yourself in," he said. "Ican't be bothered."
Migl vanished down the hatch and Albrekt flicked the switch that closedand locked it. A moment later the intercom system erupted with Migl'sfrantic voice from below:
"General alarm! Prepare for emergency acceleration! General alarm!Hurry, Carrel!"
Albrekt smiled grimly.
The second hand swept around the face of the chronometer, boosting thereluctant minute hand forward in jerks. At exactly 1300 hours, Albrektpushed the firing button.
The tape chattered through the automatic pilot. Apparently, the makersof the tape had planned on a fast-get-away: the pressure must haveapproached 5-G, pinning Albrekt painfully back against the cushionedreclining chair.
He was able to move his eyes to watch the outside screens. The othereleven ships of the convoy, coasting in formation in their orbit,dwindled behind them and swung gradually to one side.
In a few moments, everything cut off, and weightlessness returned.Red lights