Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns by Harry Harrison Read Free Book Online Page B

hummed behind us and closed.
    “Positions for takeoff, please. Three minutes to go.”
    Our acceleration couches were waiting. Strapping in took but a moment. Angelina seized my hand and squeezed it happily.I smiled hypocritically and the spacer trembled as the engines rumbled to life.
    Mechanistria here we come . . .
    As soon as the acceleration ceased I unbuckled and headed—purely by reflex—towards the newly installed bar.
    “Hitting the sauce early are we . . . ?” the chill voice of my beloved sounded in my ear. I turned towards her, discarded my glass and nodded grimly.
    “You’re right, of course. I have been feeling sorry for myself and I apologize. To work! You’ll let me know when it’s time for the cocktail hour.”
    “I will. And now I’m going to find Pinky! I’m sure that takeoff terrified her.”
    “I’m off to the bridge.”
    We parted. I climbed the stairs. Pining for that lost drink. Admit it, Jim. You’re glugging the booze down because, truthfully, you’re as useful as a fifth wheel on this trip. With a fine captain, a stout engineer—and a fully automated spacer—you’re out of a job.
    I went onto the bridge and Kirpal waved a cheerful greeting.
    “The money for the overhaul was well spent. We are aligning now for our course and all systems are go—”
    His enthusiastic report was interrupted by a crackling eructation from the wall speaker.
    “Stramm here. We’re having a little problem . . .”
    “Boss diGriz is on the way!” I said into the mike, as I waved Kirpal back into his seat.
    “You’re needed here. I’ll find out what’s happening and report back.”
    “You’re the boss, Boss.” He sat back down.
    I whistled as I headed for the engine room, drink and depression forgotten as I got my teeth into the bit.
    I found Stramm staring gloomily at a large illuminated gauge set among the other readouts. He tapped it and sighed heavily.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Trouble.” In a voice heavy with gloom.
    “Tell.”
    He did. In far too great technical detail. Like all engineers with a captive audience.
    “As you know this ship is a bit of an antique. It has no levitation field for takeoff and landing.”
    “But we took off!”
    “With great effort. When is the last time you used an acceleration couch?”
    “In the military . . .”
    “Right. All modern civilian ships use acceleration neutralizers.”
    “But we did take off . . .”
    “We did. But we are going to have a bit of trouble landing.”
    “Explain!”
    He tapped the gauge again.
    “Reads full. It’s not. I began to think about how I found that swine Rifuti down here. I began to wonder if he had been up to any more sabotage as well. Then I checked this reaction mass tank for the atomic thrust jets. We had to use some of the mass for takeoff, but this gauge read full. That couldn’t be right. So I used the override and reset—like this.”
    The needle quivered and jumped to one extreme and back to the other. Then slowly moved a short distance up the dial and stopped.
    “Meaning?”
    “Rifuti dumped most of the tank. We had enough mass left for takeoff and a bit left over. But there is not enough for deceleration when we have to land.”
    “Trapped in space! Doomed to roam the stars forever . . . !”
    “Not quite. But we’ll have to scout about and find a solar orbiting satellite station where we can take on more reaction mass.”
    “What is that?”
    “Water.”
    Put the old thinking cap on Jim.
    “Don’t we have more water aboard?”
    “We do. But not a lot. We can keep drinking—or use it to land.”
    “Not much of a choice,”
    I chewed my lip—always a helpful cudgel for thought. But all I did was hurt my lip. Think, Jim!
    “Is water the only reaction mass that we can use?”
    “No, but it’s the easiest to handle in bulk. Throw any mass away fast enough and you get a reactive force.”
    Newton’s first law: you learned it in school. But what else besides water could we use