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He pulled on it hard, and felt the boat move. The anchor was in solidly this time. Rick turned and started back to the catwalk, rain lashing his back. Sudden instinct made him whirl around in time to see something huge and black rushing at him out of the storm. Rain blurred his vision. He had a swift impression of a black figure, shaped like a diamond, coming at him.
There remained just minor finishing to be done on his pioneering ship but he did not have the strength to do the work. Climbing the catwalk of the ship, soldering, testing now, with his opportunity before him, he could not attain his goal. He made several feeble attempts to finish the job, and on the last of them fell from his crude rigging and fractured his hip.
Rick got to his feet and gave Jan a hand up. He went down the catwalk to the cabin while she went up the ladder to the top deck. The bow was in the closet. Rick checked the string, then strung the bow and selected two arrows. He went out on deck and stopped at Scotty's side. "Looks like a good place. Cruise slow and easy and be ready to maneuver. If there's a ray there, I want it." "Okay.
I'll heave the anchor over and the wind pressure on the boat can set it. But keep the motors turning over in case it doesn't hold." "Got it," Scotty agreed. Rick stepped out of the cockpit onto the catwalk. The cabin top was just chest-high, and he could hold on by grabbing the safety rails that ran along the sides of the large sun deck.
Maybe the fist fight up on the Platform had been seen, or maybe not. The man on the catwalk was hardly more than a speck, and it occurred to Joe that there must be other watchers' posts high up on the outer shell where men could search the sunlit desert outside for signs of danger. But he turned and looked yearningly back at the monstrous thing under the mist of scaffolding.
In the lock he quickly donned one of the emergency spacesuits that hung there, gathered up his bundle again, and stepped out on the catwalk of the inner part of the rim, under the brilliant night sky at the moment, but turning towards its "sunrise." He opened his plastic package. "Major Elbertson," he said, turning on the Security radio, "you now have five minutes to surrender."
The place is crawling with cops now." "Go to Third Level Down and get up on the catwalk on the right," Bish said. "I'll be along to pick you up." "Roger. We'll be looking for you." The car stopped at Second Level Down. I punched a button and sent it down another level. Joe Kivelson, who was dabbing at his cheek with a piece of handkerchief tissue, wanted to know what was up.
It was raw and cold, with flying wreaths of damp mist shutting out the view, and we were glad of a comforting tiffin, swallowed somewhat hurriedly, under a forlorn and stunted specimen of a blue pine. Then on along a rough and slippery catwalk that made us wonder if the baggage ponies would achieve a safe arrival at Rampur.
No matter what happens, they're to wait right here until they're needed, right here!" He looked harassedly around him. The Security man nodded and moved casually away. This was close timing. Something made Joe look up. He saw the catwalk gallery nearly overhead. The expected guard was there. Haney, though, was with him. There was nothing else in sight. Not yet. But Haney was on the job.
Al Devis had been with us when we crashed the door out of the meeting room, but he'd fallen by the way. We had a couple of flashlights, so, after sending the car down to Bottom Level, we picked our way up the zigzag iron stairs to the catwalk, under the seventy-foot ceiling, and sat down in the dark. Joe Kivelson was fretting about what would happen to the rest of his men.
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