Captain Laplace woke instantly at the first gentle tapping, like a distant woodpecker, of the attitude
control jets. For a moment he wondered if he was dreaming: no, the ship was definitely turning in space.
Perhaps it was getting too hot on one side and the thermal control system was making some minor
adjustments. That did happen occasionally, and was a black mark for the officer on duty, who should have
noticed that the temperature envelope was being approached.
He reached for the intercom button to call - who was it? - Mr Chang on the bridge. His hand never
completed the movement.
After days of weightlessness, even a tenth of a gravity is a shock. To the Captain it seemed like minutes, though it must have
been only a few seconds, before he could unbuckle his restraining harness
and struggle out of his bunk. This time, he found the button and jabbed it viciously. There was no reply.
He tried to ignore the thuds and bumps of inadequately secured objects that had been taken unawares
by the onset of gravity. Things seemed to go on falling for a long time, but presently the only abnormal
sound was the muffled, far-off scream of the drive at full blast.
He tore open the curtain of the cabin's little window, and looked out at the stars. He knew roughly
where the ship's axis should have been pointing; even if he could only judge it to within thirty or forty
degrees, that would allow him to distinguish between the two possible alternatives.
Galaxy could be vectored either to gain, or to lose, orbital velocity. It was losing it - and therefore
preparing to fall towards Europa.
There was an insistent banging on the door, and the Captain realized that little more than a minute
could really have passed. Second Officer Floyd and two other crew members were crowded in the narrow
passageway.
'The bridge is locked, Sir,' Floyd reported breathlessly. 'We can't get in - and Chang doesn't answer.
We don't know what's happened.'
'I'm afraid I do,' Captain Laplace answered, climbing into his shorts. 'Some madman was bound to try
it sooner or later. We've been hijacked, and I know where. But I'm damned if I know why.'
He glanced at his watch, and did a quick mental calculation.
'At this thrust level, we'll have deorbited within fifteen minutes - make it ten for safety. Any way we
can cut the drive without endangering the ship?'
Second Officer Yu, Engineering, looked very unhappy, but volunteered a reluctant reply.
'We could pull the circuit breakers in the pump motor lines, and cut off the propellant supply.'
'Can we get at them?'
'Yes - they're on Deck Three.'
'Then let's go.'
'Er - then the independent backup system would take over. For safety, that's behind a sealed bulkhead
on Deck Five - we'd have to get a cutter - no, it couldn't be done in time.'
Captain Laplace had been afraid of that. The men of genius who had designed Galaxy had tried to
protect the ship from all plausible accidents. There was no way they could have safeguarded it against
human malevolence.
'Any alternatives?'
'Not in the time available, I'm afraid.'
'Then let's get to the bridge and see if we can talk to Chang - and whoever is with him.'
And who could that be? he wondered. He refused to believe that it could be one of his regular crew.
That left - of course, there was the answer! He could see it all. Monomaniac researcher tries to prove
theory - experiments frustrated - decides that the quest for knowledge takes precedence over everything
else.
It was uncomfortably like one of those cheap 'mad scientist' melodramas, but it fitted the facts
perfectly. He wondered if Dr Anderson had decided that this was the only road to a Nobel Prize. That theory was swiftly
demolished when the breathless and dishevelled geologist arrived gasping:
'For God's sake, Captain - what's happening? We're under full thrust! Are we going up - or down?'
'Down,' answered Captain Laplace. 'In about ten minutes, we'll be in an orbit that will hit Europa. I can
only hope that whoever's at the controls knows what he's doing.'
Now they were at the bridge, facing the closed door. Not a sound came from the far side.
Laplate rapped as loudly as he possibly could without bruising his knuckles.
'This is the Captain! Let us in!'
He felt rather foolish at giving an order which would certainly be ignored, but he hoped for at least
some reaction. To his surprise, he got one.
The external speaker hissed into life, and a voice said: 'Don't attempt anything foolish, Captain. I have
a gun, and Mr Chang is obeying my orders.'
'Who was that?' whispered one of the officers. 'It sounds like a woman!'
'You're right,' said the Captain grimly. That certainly cut down the alternatives, but didn't help matters
in any way.
'What do you hope to do? You know you can't possibly get away with it!' he shouted, trying to sound
masterful rather than plaintive.
'We're landing on Europa. And if you want to take off again, don't try to stop me.'
'Her room's completely clean,' Second Officer Chris Floyd reported thirty minutes later, when the thrust
had been cut to zero and Galaxy was falling along the ellipse which would soon graze the atmosphere of
Europa. They were now committed; although it would now be possible to immobilize the engines, it would
be suicide to do so. They would be needed again to make a landing - although that could be merely a
more protracted form of suicide.
'Rosie McCullen! Who would have believed it! Do you suppose she's on drugs?'
'No,' said Floyd. 'This has been very carefully planned. She must have a radio hidden somewhere in the
ship. We should search for it.'
'You sound like a damned cop.'
'That will do, gentlemen,' said the Captain. Tempers were getting frayed, largely through sheer
frustration and the total failure to establish any further contact with the barricaded bridge. He glanced at
his watch.
'Less than two hours before we enter atmosphere - what there is of it. I'll be in my cabin - it's just
possible they may try to call me there. Mr Yu, please stand by the bridge and report any developments at
once.'
He had never felt so helpless in his life, but there were times when doing nothing was the only thing to
do. As he left the officers' wardroom, he heard someone say wistfully: 'I could do with a bulb of coffee.
Rosie made the best I've ever tasted.'
Yes, thought the Captain grimly, she's certainly efficient. Whatever job she tackles, she'll do it
thoroughly.
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