ueen a little while to get a bearing on him along
four co-ordinates. It would be a reprieve of several' hours--even the
Fleet ships couldn't do it in less time than that without a signal to
home in on.

He had no idea what the skipper of the Queen would do next. But at the
moment he wasn't interested. The sharp pains were gone. But they had
been replaced by an uncontrollable, reactive nausea. He unclamped his
safety harness and stumbled to the jettison bin, holding a hand over his
mouth. He made it just in time.

Then he dropped onto the bunk, exhausted.

* * * * *

The reprieve gained by his elusive tactics must have been a long one.
When Brad awoke he felt fresher than he had at any time since the engine
compartment eruption. He had no way of knowing how long he had slept;
the secondary bus bar off which the ship's clocks operated had gone up
in the initial blast when a section of the plate from the ruptured tube
jacket had smashed through the junction box.

Evenly spaced _swooshing_ sounds were emitting from the speaker. That,
he realized, was what had awakened him. Someone was blowing into a mike
to see if it was alive.

"SS Fleury, SS Fleury, SS Fleury," the sounds were suddenly exchanged
for words--Altman's.

Brad swung his legs out of the bunk and stood swaying, rubbing a hand
over his chafed, bearded face.

The elongated blip was back on the radar screen--clear, close.

"Answer, Conally," the receiver barked.

Brad strode to the panel and looked out the direct-view port He had
slept longer than he had at first suspected. The stellar trellis had
shortened considerably. They were back in the neighborhood of fifteen
degrees.

"Distress Regulation Four-Oh-Eight-Two," the speaker droned, "says that
if a disabled ship don't answer by radio or visually within fifteen
minutes after being called steadily, standby craft is to board it and
may take immediate possession."

"What do you want, Altman?" Brad said resignedly into the mike.

Altman hissed irritably. "Conally, there's no sense in playing
hide-'n-seek with the little power you've got left. Get off that damned
piece of junk and come aboard."

"Go to hell."

"Listen! I'm tired of wasting time! If you don't...."

"I'll sign a release and shoot it over to you. That's all you need to
clear you of rescue and standby responsibility. I'll keep my distress
signal off until you get out of range."

"Uh-uh. It ain't as sim