The Quillian Sector

"God knows." Egulus was somber. "We lost a lot of metal by vaporization as we came down. Half the thickness, and maybe more." He remembered the streaming incandescence which had accompanied them during their desperate journey through the atmosphere. Glowing gases born of disrupted molecules, the metal of the hull converted to light and heat by the friction of their descent. "But it'll hold."

A conviction Dumarest didn't share. He examined the screens and the thing they revealed, following lines, guessing as to size and mass. The ship, engulfed, would be small in comparison. The thing could lift it and slam it down until it broke. Or it could wait, maintaining the pressure of its grip until the hull yielded.

"We could seal the various compartments," said Gale Andrei. "But no, we have no way of telling which will go first."

"We could."-Dilys broke off, then appealed to the one man she felt confident had the answer which could save their lives. "Earl-what should we do?"

Dumarest made no comment, looking at the ulterior of the vessel, moving from the control room to the greater spaciousness of the salon. Space ships were not built to operate as submarines. Strength of hull was not as important in the void as it would have been at great depths, but the fabric itself was strong to endure the strains and stresses of electronic storms and the warping effect of the Erhaft field. Strength, which meant weight. Struts and stanchions fitted on a geometric pattern so as to make the entire vessel an integrated unit. The immediate danger wasn't in crushing, but in the weakened hull plates yielding to admit the rush of water. A flood which would drown them like rats in a trap.

"Earl?"

"We can wait," he said. "Hope that the thing will tire and leave us before it manages to crack us open. But that's a gamble I prefer not to take."

"Why not?"

"Sound." Dumarest looked at Bochner, wondering why he had asked the question. Surely a hunter would know? "We move and hit things and talk. Vibrations transmitted through the fabric to the hull where that thing can sense them. It must know we aren't inanimate and, if it follows the usual pattern, it will be unwilling to give up its search for food."

"True." Bochner nodded. "What then?"

"We can try to sneak out and hope it won't follow us because we're so relatively small. You recommend that?"

"No. A thing that size will have attendant predators; scavengers living on its discards. They'd take care of us if the big beast didn't."

Gale Andrei said bitterly, "So that's it. We can't wait and we can't leave. Brilliant!"

"And defeatist." Bochner didnt look at her as he spoke. "There is an alternative."

"What?"

"We lighten the ship," said Dumarest. "We cut free and dump everything we can. The more we feed through the locks the greater our buoyancy will be. Once that thing out there releases its grip, we'll shoot up to the surface like a bubble."

"Simple," she said bitterly. "You make it sound all so damned simple. But how are you going to make that thing out there let us go?"

The air stank of burning, of hot metal which had vented acrid vapors and coated the ulterior of the ship with noxious patinas. Bright stubs showed where lastorches had burned away installations, their energy adding to the trapped heat so that a coating of moisture dewed the hull. An omen Dumarest chose to ignore.

He stood in the control room, now such by courtesy only, the chairs gone, the instruments, the delicate components which had cost high but which had been discarded as so much unwanted scrap. Only the screens remained alive, and the communication link to the engine room.

"Now?" Egulus eased the collar of his uniform. His hands were burned, sore, grimed, as was his face and hair, but despite the heat, he clung to the symbols of his rank. He was a captain and intended to remain one. "Earl?"

"A moment." Dumarest spoke into the intercom. "Dilys, have Bochner vent the last of the material through port four." He waited then, "Good. It's still clear. Now have Allain's body out in the final load and stand by for release."

The final load and a hell of a way to treat the dead, thought Egulus. To use them as bait. As a diversion. As a bribe to the thing out there which still held them fast. The dancer and historian didn't matter-those who hugged dirt belong to it, but Allain had spent too many years in space to be denied the clean expanse of the universe for his final resting place.

Well-such things happened. "You think it will work?"

"On its own? Probably not." Dumarest didn't take his eyes from the screen. "I noticed a reaction when we dumped out the stores. A tentacle went to investigate. It didn't return to take up its old position. I think we've confused it a little, but not enough to frighten it."

"Can such a thing feel fear?"