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Updated: June 17, 2025
A momentary risk, then, as he opened the lock. In the control room, he knew, a signal light would blink on a panel as the lock was opened. Tom moved as quickly as he could, hoping that in the excitement of the new visitors, the signal would go unnoticed ... or if spotted, that the spotter would assume it was only a crewman making a final trip across to the Ranger ship.
Alan agreed. He scanned the board, looking down the rows for the list of cargo crew. Sure enough, there was his name: Donnell, Alan, chalked in under the big double C. As an Unspecialized Crewman he was shifted from post to post, filling in wherever he was needed. "I figure it'll take four hours to get the whole batch crated," Kelleher said. "You can take some time off now, if you want to.
The Terran blocked with a shoulder to meet the Rover's knees, threw him back. Then Ross landed on top of the fighting crewman, trying to pin the fellow to earth and avoid that recklessly slashing blade. "Loketh! Vistur!" Ross shouted as he struggled. More of the Rovers appeared from between the buildings, bearing down on the limp aliens and the two fighting men.
"Felines of Terra, in fact a great many other of our native mammals, have a similar affinity for this." Mura produced a small flask and Tau opened it, passing it to Captain Jellico and so from hand to hand about the room. Each crewman sniffed at the strong aroma. It was a heavier scent than that given off by the crushed catnip Dane was not sure he liked it.
He flinched, tried to jerk away from that hold, only to discover that he was the other's prisoner. And looking down at his captor in apprehension, he was aware even then of the different quality of this man. The patron wore the tunic of a crewman, lighter patches where the ship's badges should have been to show that he was not engaged.
I'll write it off to profit and loss. What's your name, spacer, and what brings you to York City?" "I'm Alan Donnell, of the starship Valhalla. I'm an Unspecialized Crewman. I came over from the Enclave to look for my brother." Hawkes' lean face assumed an expression of deep interest. "He's a starman too?" "He was." "Was?" "He jumped ship last time we were here. That was nine years ago Earthtime.
"Yeah," Feldman answered. "Once." "Good. Thought that space crewman was just lying drunk at first. Come along, Doc." "Why?" It didn't matter, but if they wanted him to move on, they'd have to push a little harder. The light swung up to show the other. He was the shade of old leather with a bleached patch of sandy hair and the deepest gray eyes Feldman had ever seen.
In the time he had been away as a crewman of the Lancet, the seasons had changed, and the port of Philadelphia lay under the steaming summer sun. As Dal stepped off the shuttle ship to join the hurrying crowds in the great space-port, it seemed almost as though he were coming home.
For hours it seemed to him that he had been wandering through a tomb, moving through the corridors of a dead ship, the lone surviving crewman. There was some contact with the other world, of course, the world of the spaceship outside ... each compartment had its metal grill, and he passed many of them. But there were like doors that only he knew existed.
"These little guys," said a crewman to Baird, admiringly, "they got something. They can handle a ship! I bet they could almost make that ship of theirs play checkers!" "Close to it," agreed Baird. He realized something. He pulled the communicator from his pocket. "Diane! Contact the skipper. He wanted observations. Here's one.
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