He dropped it in his pocket, looked at Chip.
“Maybe it was a good thought, at that. Which way to the Captain’s cabin?”
* * * *
“This is it,” Chip said softly. “You want me to keep an eye on who comes down the passage?”
Retief nodded, opened the door and stepped into the cabin. The captain looked up from his desk, then jumped up.
“What do you think you’re doing, busting in here?”
“I hear you’re planning a course change, Captain.”
“You’ve got damn big ears.”
“I think we’d better call in at Jorgensen’s.”
“You do, huh?” the captain sat down. “I’m in command of this vessel,” he said. “I’m changing course for Alabaster.”
“I wouldn’t find it convenient to go to Alabaster,” Retief said. “So just hold your course for Jorgensen’s.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Your use of the word ‘bloody’ is interesting, Captain. Don’t try to change course.”
The captain reached for the mike on his desk, pressed the key.
“Power Section, this is the captain,” he said. Retief reached across the desk, gripped the captain’s wrist.
“Tell the mate to hold his present course,” he said softly.
“Let go my hand, buster,” the captain snarled. Eyes on Retief’s, he eased a drawer open with his left hand, reached in. Retief kneed the drawer. The captain yelped and dropped the mike.
“You busted it, you—”
“And one to go,” Retief said. “Tell him.”
“I’m an officer of the Merchant Service!”
“You’re a cheapjack who’s sold his bridge to a pack of back-alley hoods.”
“You can’t put it over, hick.”
“Tell him.”
The captain groaned and picked up the mike. “Captain to Power Section,” he said. “Hold your present course until you hear from me.” He dropped the mike and looked up at Retief.
“It’s eighteen hours yet before we pick up Jorgensen Control. You going to sit here and bend my arm the whole time?”
Retief released the captain’s wrist and turned to the door.
“Chip, I’m locking the door. You circulate around, let me know what’s going on. Bring me a pot of coffee every so often. I’m sitting up with a sick friend.”
“Right, Mister. Keep an eye on that jasper; he’s slippery.”
“What are you going to do?” the captain demanded.
Retief settled himself in a chair.
“Instead of strangling you, as you deserve,” he said, “I’m going to stay here and help you hold your course for Jorgensen’s Worlds.”
The captain looked at Retief. He laughed, a short bark.
“Then I’ll just stretch out and have a little nap, farmer. If you feel like dozing off sometime during the next eighteen hours, don’t mind me.”
Retief took out the needler and put it on the desk before him.
“If anything happens that I don’t like,” he said, “I’ll wake you up. With this.”
* * * *
“Why don’t you let me spell you, Mister?” Chip said. “Four hours to go yet. You’re gonna hafta be on yer toes to handle the landing.”
“I’ll be all right, Chip. You get some sleep.”
“Nope. Many’s the time I stood four, five watches runnin’, back when I was yer age. I’ll make another round.”
Retief stood up, stretched his legs, paced the floor, stared at the repeater instruments on the wall. Things had gone quietly so far, but the landing would be another matter. The captain’s absence from the bridge during the highly complex maneuvering would be difficult to explain….
The desk speaker crackled.
“Captain, Officer of the Watch here. Ain’t it about time you was getting up here with the orbit figures?”
Retief nudged the captain. He awoke with a start, sat up.
“Whazzat?” He looked wild-eyed at Retief.
“Watch officer wants orbit figures,” Retief said, nodding toward the speaker.
The captain rubbed his eyes, shook his head, picked up the mike. Retief released the safety on the needler with an audible click.
“Watch Officer, I’ll…ah…get some figures for you right away. I’m…ah…busy right now.”
“What the hell you talking about, busy?” the speaker blared. “You ain’t got them figures ready, you’ll have a hell of a hot time getting ’em up in the next three minutes. You forgot your approach pattern or something?”
“I guess I overlooked it,” the Captain said, looking sideways at Retief. “I’ve been busy.”
“One for your side,” Retief said. He reached for the captain.
“I’ll make a deal,” the captain squalled. “Your life for—”
Retief took aim and slammed a hard right to the captain’s jaw. He slumped to the floor.
Retief glanced around the room, yanked wires loose from a motile lamp, trussed the man’s hands and feet, stuffed his mouth with paper and taped it.
Chip tapped at the door. Retief opened it and the chef stepped inside, looking at the man on the floor.
“The jasper tried somethin’, huh? Figured he would. What we goin’ to do now?”
“The captain forgot to set up an approach, Chip. He outfoxed me.”
“If we overrun our approach pattern,” Chip said, “we can’t make orbit at Jorgensen’s on automatic. And a manual approach—”
“That’s out. But there’s another possibility.”
Chip blinked. “Only one thing you could mean, Mister. But cuttin’ out in a lifeboat in deep space is no picnic.”
“They’re on the port side, aft, right?”
Chip nodded. “Hot damn,” he said. “Who’s got the ’tater salad?”
“We’d better tuck the skipper away out of sight.”
“In the locker.”
The two men carried the limp body to a deep storage chest, dumped it in, closed the lid.
“He won’t suffercate. Lid’s a lousy fit.”
Retief opened the door went into the corridor, Chip behind him.
“Shouldn’t oughta be nobody around now,” the chef said. “Everybody’s mannin’ approach stations.”
* * * *
At the D deck companionway, Retief stopped suddenly.
“Listen.”
Chip cocked his head. “I don’t hear nothin’,” he whispered.
“Sounds like a sentry posted on the lifeboat deck,” Retief said softly.
“Let’s take him, Mister.”
“I’ll go down. Stand by, Chip.”
Retief