Alien from Arcturus by Gordon R. Dickson

Author:Gordon R. Dickson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Josh Biggs would never have recognized his sleek yacht before the day was out. The recognizable items such as his luxury furnishings and some of the paneled partitions were no longer in the ship, but instead were flung in a disordered pile off in one far corner of the funnel spot; and the places they had occupied were stripped down to bare, gleaming metal.

This part of the work, indeed, progressed much more rapidly than had been expected because of an extra pair of hands which Sorrel had not taken into account. These were the slim-fingered appendages of Peep. The Atakit met them at the entrance of the Betsy as they left the station ready to begin work, and was apprised of the plans over Sorrel’s protest.

“Listen—” said the Underground man, dragging Mal off to one side after the beans had already been spilled. “What’re you doing? He’s an Alien!”

“Look!” said Mal shortly, pulling his arm loose from the other’s grasp. “If it hadn’t been for him, we’d have been in the Company’s hands twenty times over.” And he told Sorrel of how they had met Peep.

“Well—” Sorrel was saying doubtfully, when Peep trotted into the main lounge where they were standing.

“May I be of use, young friends?” he beamed.

“Why, thanks, Peep,” said Mal, turning away from Sorrel. “You can. That partition back of the bar will have to come out.”

Peep obligingly trotted over to the partition, grasped the edge of it firmly and pulled. There was a screech of tearing metal and a five-by-ten-foot section of tungsten alloy dyed and burled to resemble knotty pine, ripped loose in his hands.

“Just toss it outside, Peep,” said Mal.

Sorrel turned white.

“St. Ignatius, be my friend—” he murmured and tottered out, making a large circle about Peep on his way to the door of the lounge.

The furnishings and the partitions came out. The rugs and the floor coverings were rolled up and set aside. Where the main lounge, the library, and the bar had been, now stretched one long room of bare metal walls and floor, with power leads spouting untidily here and there, like so many cable-headed clumps of mechanical bouquets.

“Fine,” said Mal, beaming at the room. The overhead lights had been turned up to a maximum; and under them the room seemed to shimmer in a white bath of reflected light. “Lots of elbow room, that’s what’s necessary.”

“What next?” inquired Sorrel, coming up behind him.

“Well,” said Mal. “I’ll want a work bench for the power tools there.” He pointed to the forward corner of the room where the bar had formerly stood. “And a series of racks for power-pack lifters and hoists at the other end. Cutters should be spotted about the room. As for the other items—the auto lathe and the portable chucks should be ceiling anchored and the testing equipment can be on flotation packs. Of course we’ll need a direct response meter-load generator, gallimeter, wave-impulse recordometer; and I don’t quite know what we’ll do with the tension box, but I’ll find a place for it.

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