eld caught hold
unexpectedly and he toppled to the deck rolling to the port bulkhead.
His hurt shoulder rammed into metal and new pain knifed into existence
as the heavy helmet clattered down and crashed against his head. The
blow almost stunned him. But it left him with enough awareness to wish
it _had_ knocked him insensible--permanently insensible.

The scope showed more cargo had spilled out in the last lurch. The Queen
started over toward the crates, but coasted past, turned and came back
to take post spatially alongside the disabled craft. Already the other
ship's outline was beginning to blur as the Fleury slipped away from her
hyperspatially--down the arc.

Brad straddle-stepped on the deck and bulkhead to the control column and
broke out his pack of cigarettes. Suddenly his feet left the deck. The
port gray coil had gone out, he realized grimly, the current having
dropped below the minimum requirements. For a moment he became concerned
over weightlessness. Then he cut in the heel magna-grips of his suit and
clanged onto the floor. At least, he wasn't confronted with a
topsy-turvy ship any longer. He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and
half-centered his attention on the scope. Two more crates had left the
Fleury's holds. With the grav fields out on the ship, they did not take
up orbit. They just floated away, at an almost imperceptible speed. But
the Queen was still apparently not interested in picking them up. There
would be plenty of time to do that; right now she must stick close to
the Fleury spatially, Brad realized, so her instruments would indicate
the moment the spillthrough to normal space occurred, so her crew could
get to work.

As though hypnotized in inconsequential thought, he watched the crates
slowly draw away. Almost incredibly expensive cargo. Cargo that Altman
would surely not allow to go unrecovered. Even as booty, the crated
equipment would bring every bit of what it was worth. But Altman would
see that they were delivered--every one of them. A contract with West
Cluster meant a good deal more than the face value of the one shipment
of inter-calc banks.

Brad started and his face became alive with expression as a sudden
realization drove home. It was followed almost immediately by a second
jarring consideration. He tossed away the half-consumed cigarette.

It wasn't more than fifteen minutes later when he stood before the mike
again.

"Altman," he called out.

Silence.

"Altman