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his head, and worked his eyebrows to try to get rid of the drops. Presently he slithered clumsily back to the member connecting the port nacelle. He sat on it, lashing himself there as best he could with the life-line. He pressed back on the main body, bracing his feet against the nacelle itself. He drew the two hand-tubes, his own and Dobbin’s. He checked their power settings, and then held them on either side of him, their wide mouths pointing outwards, their butts firmly grounded against the metal casing at his back. Like that, he waited.
    ‘Ticker. Bale out now,’ said the Commander.
    ‘I told you, Skip. I’m not for dying slowly in a space-suit.’ The hulk, and the assembly beyond it, seemed to be rushing towards him now. His spine was prickling, partly with sweat, partly with the knowledge of the explosive just behind it. He found himself becoming more conscious of it, crawlingly aware of the vast tearing power held in a thin shell, waiting for the impact that would release it. The sweat ran out of every pore, soaking his clothes.
    He sat with his head turned to the right, watching the hulk grow bigger and nearer from eyes that stung with salt. ‘Not too soon,’ he told himself. ‘It mustn’t be too soon.’ But it mustn’t be too late, either. He was aware of the Commander’s voice in the phone again, but he took no notice of it. Would one mile distance do? - Or would that not be soon enough? No, it should give him just time enough at the rate he was going. He would make it one mile as near as he could judge. ... He went on watching, both hands clenched on the tube-grips...
    Must be about a couple of miles now....
    He set his teeth, and pulled both triggers right back for a moment. ... The hulk seemed to slide to the left as the missile kicked over more sharply than he had expected. The thing keeled for a moment, like a dancer caught off balance. Then the steering-tubes fired a correcting blast. The nose swung back on to the target, and then beyond it. The tubes on the near-side fired to correct the overswing: at the same moment Ticker pulled both triggers back, and held them there. With the combined blast reinforcing her new back-swing, the missile leapt sideways and swung broadside to her course at the same time. The constellations whirled round Ticker’s head. He looked wildly round for the hulk, and found it back over his left shoulder - and not much more than half a mile away. He prayed that there was not time enough for a correction....
    An air missile, with air to grip, and fins to grip it, might have managed a quick correction; but in space, where every movement is a delicate matter of thrust and counter-thrust, time too is a highly important factor: oscillation cannot be killed at a stroke, lost equilibrium cannot be regained in a moment...
    The angle of diversion needed to get back on course grew more acute every second. Ticker knew suddenly that the thing could not do it. Only the main drive could have exerted enough force to jump it back in time to hit - and experience showed that the main drive liked to be steady in the aim before it fired.
    But the side-tubes tried. Ticker braced himself where he sat while the heavens reeled as the missile spun. Then the hulk rushed past in a blur, fifty yards away...
    ‘Done it, by God! Bloody good show, Ticker!’ said a voice.
    ‘Quiet there!’ snapped the Commander. ‘Ticker, that was magnificent. Now come off it. Bale out quick.’
    Ticker, still held by his line, relaxed, feeling all in. The missile, still swinging from side to side, scudded on with him into space.
    ‘Ticker, do you hear me? Bale out!’ repeated the Commander.
    Ticker said wearily:
    ‘I hear you, Skip. But there won’t be enough power left in these tubes to get me back to you.’
    ‘Never mind. Use what there is as a brake. We’ll fetch you in. But get clear of it now ! ‘
    There was a pause. Ticker’s tired voice said:
    ‘Sorry, Skip. But we don’t know what this