False Cargo by L. Ron Hubbard

Author:L. Ron Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure
Publisher: Galaxy Press
Published: 2012-05-31T00:00:00+00:00

O’Brien clamped his mammoth paw over her wrist and jerked her close to him.

“Now, you’re talking, see? You going to be good to me?”

Dazedly, staring up at his face with disbelief, trembling with both anger and fear, she shook her head in the negative.

O’Brien reached out with the clasp knife. The blade bit into the rope. There was a sharp crack. Dayton screamed.

Turning with agonizing slowness, falling with rocket speed, he came through the fifty feet of space. The scream ended as his body crunched into the deck.

A small trickle of blood ran from Dayton’s crushed face.

Dorothy Shannon backed away, sobbing, groping for support.

“Now,” said O’Brien, very businesslike. “We’ll string up Mister Shannon and see to it that you give me your word.”

“My God, no!” she wailed.

Mike Shannon’s usually swarthy face was the color of wood ashes. His lips were tight together and his eyes were filled with white fires.

A sailor, looking at Dayton’s quiet body, backed away, one foot at a time. He was less than a yard from Brent. And in that sailor’s pocket were a clasp knife and a revolver.

Two men grabbed Mike’s shoulders. Another line was passed under Mike’s armpits. Another man heaved a belaying pin through the air and over the crosstree. O’Brien watched with a delighted grin.

Dorothy Shannon’s mouth was slightly open, as though she were suffocating.

Brent looked at O’Brien, and then at Carter. Neither was watching him. Experimentally, Brent hitched closer to the knife and the revolver.

They were passing the line to the rail, securing it. Three men laid hold eagerly and began to pull. Mike was jerked five feet off the deck.

Brent’s face was very calm. His long, tapering fingers caressed the gun butt. He tightened his hold, pulled and rolled away.

The revolver barked. The rope which held Mike was neatly cut in two. At ten feet, Brent couldn’t miss. Mike slumped to the planks.

Brent opened the knife and slashed the ropes which held his feet. Then, with an expert throw, he sent the knife quivering into the deck a foot from Mike’s face. Mike’s hand was about the hilt. The sharp blade was biting into Mike’s bonds.

O’Brien roared and started to charge Brent. Then O’Brien saw the black tunnel, saw that it centered his thick chest. He stopped.

Brent felt in back of him and located his pipe, which he clamped between white teeth. “Now, if you gentlemen will please—”

A belaying pin soared out of nowhere and caught Brent on the jaw. Another brass pin struck him in the back. Mike Shannon was on his feet, swinging a block and tackle. A skull cracked and a man went down.

Brent dizzily tried to rise. He saw O’Brien rushing at him. Somehow he couldn’t lift the gun. He saw the knife in O’Brien’s hand.

A small foot came into play. O’Brien tripped and sprawled on his face. Dorothy Shannon snatched Brent’s collar and towed him toward the fo’c’s’le.

Wielding the lethal block and tackle, Mike fought a swift and complete rear-guard action.

The fo’c’s’le door slammed behind them.

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