ple as that. I want your cargo. And I'm going to
get it. Now let's be sensible. You know you don't have a chance."

"Maybe I've learned a few tricks."

The other snarled impatiently. "Okay, bright boy. I've had enough of
this horseplay. I'm gonna let you see just the way things are.... Notice
anything odd? Any peculiar noises aboard the Fleury?"

* * * * *

Brad cocked his head toward the stern. The complaining clanks and
groans and off-beat thumpings maintained their steady rhythm. There were
some new noises.

"I been listening to it get louder for the past three hours," Altman
hinted.

Then Brad's ears picked it up--an erratic, excited
_clackety-clack-clackety-clack_. He gasped.

Altman laughed. "That counter's setting up quite a sing-song, ain't it?
I sorta think that pile might go _boom_ in a few hours. But I'm hoping I
can get your cargo aboard before then. You can come too if you want."

Brad swung swiftly and lurched for the passageway aft.

"Wish I was there to help you with the cad rod insertions," the laughing
voice raced after him.

The dial on the forward side of the shielded bulkhead read
Oh-Oh-point-Oh-Two-Four. He applied the figure to the adjacent graph and
learned he could remain in the engine compartment for one minute and
fourteen seconds, with a safety factor of ten per cent. In that period
of time, he rationalized, he ought to be able to insert a sufficient
number of cadmium control rods to bring the pile under control.

The counter clicked gratingly overhead as he undogged the hatch, swung
it open and lunged into the steam-tormented acrid compartment.

He broke open the first locker and jerked the remaining three cad rods
from their racks. Coughing and waving smoke from in front of his face,
he swung open the door of the first reserve compartment.

It was empty!

The second reserve compartment was empty too, as were the two emergency
compartments. Only three cadmium rods when he needed at least three
dozen!

In a rapid dash around the pile block, he inserted the rods at spaced
intervals in their slots. At least they would mean a few hours' grace.
As he slid the last rod in he cursed himself and swore that if he ever
commanded another ship he would not leave it unmanned at the
dock--specifically if there was somebody like Altman berthed anywhere at
the same spaceport.

The ruptured hypertube jacket, he wondered suddenly, not losing his
count of sec