probably be right behind the hatch to the
left there, boss."

Brad sprang forward.

But Altman turned suddenly in his direction and pointed a gun at Brad's
stomach. It checked the attack. Brad backed away hopelessly.

"Okay," Altman jerked his head in the confines of the helmet, "go to
work."

The crewman from the Queen stepped into the control cabin and walked
toward the passageway aft while Altman held the gun on Brad.

"Think you can do it quick enough?" Altman asked the crewman.
"Radiation, you know."

The crewman thrust the wide-mouthed gun above his shoulder where Altman
could see it. "It'll just take one shot with this."

He disappeared down the passageway.

"Hell, captain," the voice sounded a minute later. "It's dead. He musta
used up all his reserve juice in that last surge upward."

"Okay," Altman smiled--a weird, distorted smile as seen through the
thick, rounded helmet. "Come on back." He looked at Brad. "So you can't
pull away from the trough any longer? That's tough."

Brad wanted to say, Okay, Altman, I'll go aboard the Queen with you. But
he didn't. He realized the plea would have been futile anyway as he
watched the crewman rejoin Altman and heard the latter say: "Just think,
Conally, you could have come aboard. I would have let you a while back.
But you've made this thing too tough and gave my boys the chance to
convince me we might have slipped up somewhere and you might be able to
prove your side of the story."

The pair retreated to the air lock. Brad stood motionless, staring, not
breathing.

"The pile'll hold," the crewman announced, "for another four hours, just
about."

"Fine!" Altman exclaimed. "This junk'll slip through within an hour.
That'll give us another three hours, at least, to get this stiff aboard
the Queen and transfer cargo before she blows. Then we can mop up on
whatever crates we've...."

But the air lock closed and the rest of his words were cut off.

* * * * *

If he could only get cleaned up before it came. If he could only enjoy
the luxury of a bath, a shave, clean clothes. Brad laughed at the last
item, wondering how clothes could be expected to remain clean if they
were on someone making the spillthrough transition at coasting speed.

The Fleury lurched as the Queen cut loose and blasted away. Brad had
watched the pressure gauge climb back to normal and was removing his
helmet at the time. The ship's one-sided gravity fi