Star Winds

They stared back at him, their faces displaying a frightened gauntness. He spoke to them in a gruff, mumbling voice, stumbling over his words.

“This is the end, you’re thinking, and maybe you’re right. But don’t give up yet. There’s still a chance for us, and we’re going to take it.”

He swallowed. “So now we’ll do a spot of real space sailing. You’ll work on the side windlasses, fore and aft, in groups of three. All you have to do is watch for my signals, and obey them, no matter what happens. Those of you I trust are armed, and if you see anyone desert his post or ignore a command, cut him down without delay.”

“You can depend on it,” Bruge rumbled.

“One more thing—use double safety lines. If things go right we’ll be tossed about a bit. And whatever happens, stick to where you are.”

One of the pressed men spoke up nervously. “Just what is going to happen, Captain?”

“You’ll see.”

Zhorga climbed to the quarterdeck from where he would direct the operation, and watched as the twelve, willing or not, went to their posts and readied themselves. His desperate gambit was about to begin.

***

In the swirling world of the vortex, maneuvering a sail-ship was not the type of proposition it would have been anywhere else. For practical purposes, in fact, it was virtually impossible. At present the ship swept on smoothly; the vortex was a well-ordered system and its in-turning stream scrupulously obeyed the pattern of forces that had given rise to it. But should she seek to escape the voracious whirlpool she would find the effort futile, and similarly, should she for some reason turn to head deeper into it she would soon encounter the sliding ridges, ripples and minor eddies that the progressive turns of the spiral produced as they surged against one another at different rates of travel. These turbulences would turn the ship back onto her former course: thus she was doomed to run the gamut, to spiral round and round, ever faster, on an ever-narrowing circuit, to destruction.

Within these strictly defined limits, however, there was room for a degree of mobility. At present the sails were lashed to their yards, even the minute area they presented being enough to keep the ship implacably in the power of the vortex. Zhorga gave the signal to unfurl a small mast on the starboard side, and as this was done the ship swung round and moved at a portward angle to the current.

Four stunsails were sufficient to steer the galleon. The Wandering Queen swayed, tossed in the tumultuous stream, as Zhorga guided her toward the swarm. The glints brightened; for all his tension, he breathed a sigh of relief. The eggs were within range!

Half an hour later he suddenly found himself surrounded by the egg swarm. The eggs drifted and hurtled by, some bouncing off the hull and deck. He replaced his helmet in case one should rupture the air balloon, and continued to peer anxiously to see if any of them would react to the ship’s presence.

Not all were absolutely sterile. Some burst into abortive life, sprouting insignificant creatures that lashed about themselves feebly before expiring. Then, when Zhorga had almost given up hope, there came what he had been waiting for.

Instinctively he threw his arm before his face. A writhing patch of nebulosity had blossomed into existence. In little more than a minute it had expanded and solidified into a full-grown monster—and, like its earlier brother, this monster moved toward the ship, sensing her, reaching toward the only mode of life it knew: to attack and destroy.

And Zhorga unhesitatingly gave the order for his men to steer the galleon straight for the heart of the lashing beast!

Even the best of them recoiled with horror when it was realized what was required of them. But only one broke and ran, loping with ten-foot strides back along the shed toward the airshed. Zhorga saw Clabert raise his pistol. A puff of smoke from the flintlock followed. The runner’s body jerked suddenly, and rammed against the airshed, then to go rolling across the deck and lie motionless.

Now the others hurried to obey Zhorga’s order, though whether they understood the purpose behind it was questionable. The ship turned toward the monster, which as it neared seemed to fill the sky. Zhorga clung to the lashed-down wheel to steady himself as the ship gathered speed. For hideous moments the frantic tentacles seemed to enclose her—but they were made to reach out for a fleeing prey, not to snatch at something coming in close. Miraculously, it seemed, she had slipped swiftly between them—and then she crashed into the web-like body!

The concussion was less shattering than Zhorga had feared. The monster yielded and vibrated. The Wandering Queen was like a great cumbersome insect caught in that web, and the beast seemed not to know that it could, if it chose, use its massive tentacles to pluck her out.