Another flick of his mental trigger and he knew the exactvelocity he would require. His hand swept over the studs, his right foottramped down, hard, upon the firing lever; and, even as the quiveringflitter shot forward under eight Tellurian gravities of acceleration, heknew to the thousandth of a second how long he would have to hold thatacceleration to attain that velocity. While not really long--inseconds--it was much too long for comfort. It took him much closer tothe vortex than he wanted to be; in fact, it took him right out over thecrater itself.
But he stuck to the calculated course, and at the precisely correctinstant he cut his drive and released his largest bomb. Then, so rapidlythat it was one blur of speed, he again kicked on his eight G's of driveand started to whirl around as only a speedster or a flitter can whirl.Practically unconscious from the terrific resultant of the linear andangular accelerations, he ejected the two smaller bombs. He did not careparticularly where they lit, just so they didn't light in the crater ornear the observatory, and he had already made certain of that. Then,without waiting even to finish the whirl or to straighten her out inlevel flight, Cloud's still-flying hand darted toward the switch whoseclosing would energize the Bergenholm and make the flitter inertialess.
Too late. Hell was out for noon, with the little speedster still inert.Cloud had moved fast, too; trained mind and trained body had beenworking at top speed and in perfect coordination. There just simplyhadn't been enough time. If he could have got what he wanted, ten fullseconds, or even nine, he could have made it, but....
* * * * *
In spite of what happened, Cloud defended his action, then andthereafter. Damnitall, he _had_ to take the eight-point-three secondreading! Another tenth of a second and his bomb wouldn't have fitted--hedidn't have the five percent leeway he wanted, remember. And no, hecouldn't wait for another match, either. His screens were leaking likesieves, and if he had waited for another chance they would have pickedhim up fried to a greasy cinder in his own lard!
The bomb sped truly and struck the target in direct central impact,exactly as scheduled. It penetrated perfectly. The neocarballoy casinglasted just long enough--that frightful charge of duodec exploded, ifnot exactly at the center of the vortex, at least near enough to thecenter to do the work. In other words, Cloud's figuring had beenclose--very close. But the time had been altogether too short.
The flitter was not even out of the crater when the bomb went off. Andnot only the bomb. For Cloud's vague forebodings were materialized, andmore; the staggeringly immense energy of the vortex merged with that ofthe detonating duodec to form an utterly incomprehensible whole.
In part the hellish flood of boiling lava in that devil's cauldron wasbeaten downward into a bowl by the sheer, stupendous force of the blow;in part it was hurled abroad in masses, in gouts and streamers. And theraging wind of the explosion's front seized the fragments and tore andworried them to bits, hurling them still faster along their paths ofviolence. And air, so densely compressed as to be to all intents andpurposes a solid, smote the walls of the crater. Smote them so that theycrumbled, crushed outward through the hard-packed ground, broke up intojaggedly irregular blocks which hurtled, screamingly, away through theatmosphere.
Also the concussion wave, or the explosion front, or flying fragments,or something, struck the two loose bombs, so that they too exploded andadded their contribution to the already stupendous concentration offorce. They were not close enough to the flitter to wreck it ofthemselves, but they were close enough so that they didn't do her--orher pilot--a bit of good.
The first terrific wave buffeted the flyer while Cloud's right hand wasin the air, shooting across the panel to turn on the Berg. The impactjerked the arm downward and sidewise, both bones of the forearm snappingas it struck the ledge. The second one, an instant later, broke his leftleg. Then the debris began to arrive.
Chunks of solid or semi-molten rock slammed against the hull, knockingoff wings and control-surfaces. Gobs of viscous slag slapped itliquidly, freezing into and clogging up jets and orifices. The littleship was hurled hither and yon, in the grip of forces she could no moreresist than can the floating leaf resist the waters of a cataract. AndCloud's brain was as addled as an egg by the vicious concussions whichwere hitting him from so many different directions and so nearly all atonce. Nevertheless, with his one arm and his one leg and the few cellsof his brain that were still at work, the physicist was still in thefight.
By sheer force of will and nerve he forced his left hand across thegyrating key-bank to the Bergenholm switch. He snapped it, and in theinstant of its closing a vast, calm peace descended, blanket-like. For,fortunately, the Berg still worked; the flitter and all her contents andappurtenances were inertialess. Nothing material could buffet her orhurt her now; she would waft effortlessly away from a feather's lightestpossible touch.
Cloud wanted to faint then, but he didn't--quite. Instead, foggily, hetried to look back at the crater. Nine-tenths of his visiplates were outof commission, but he finally got a view. Good--it was out. He wasn'tsurprised; he had been quite confident that it would be. It wasn'tscattered around, either. It _couldn't_ be, for his only possibility ofsmearing the shot was on the upper side, not the lower.
* * * * *
His next effort was to locate the secondary observatory, where he had toland, and in that too he was successful. He had enough intelligence leftto realize that, with practically all of his jets clogged and his wingsand tail shot off, he couldn't land his little vessel inert. Thereforehe would have to land her free.
And by dint of light and extremely unorthodox use of what jets he hadleft in usable shape he did land her free, almost within the limits ofthe observatory's field; and having landed, he inerted her.
But, as has been intimated, his brain was not working so well; he hadheld his ship inertialess quite a few seconds longer than he thought,and he did not even think of the buffetings she had taken. As a resultof these things, however, her intrinsic velocity did not match, anywherenear exactly, that of the ground upon which she lay. Thus, when Cloudcut his Bergenholm, restoring thereby to the flitter the absolutevelocity and inertia she had had before going free, there resulted adistinctly anti-climactic crash.
There was a last terrific bump as the motionless vessel collided withthe equally motionless ground; and "Storm" Cloud, vortex blaster, wentout like the proverbial light.
Help came, of course; and on the double. The pilot was unconscious andthe flitter's door could not be opened from the outside, but those werenot insuperable obstacles. A plate, already loose, was sheared away; thepilot was carefully lifted out of his prison and rushed to Base Hospitalin the "meat-can" already in attendance.
And later, in a private office of that hospital, the gray-clad Chief ofthe Atomic Research Laboratory sat and waited--but not patiently.
"How is he, Lacy?" he demanded, as the Surgeon-General entered the room."He's going to live, isn't he?"
"Oh, yes, Phil--definitely yes," Lacy replied, briskly. "He has a goodskeleton, very good indeed. The burns are superficial and will yieldquite readily to treatment. The deeper, delayed effects of the radiationto which he was exposed can be neutralized entirely effectively. Thus hewill not need even a Phillips's treatment for the replacement of damagedparts, except possibly for a few torn muscles and so on."
"But he was smashed up pretty badly, wasn't he? I know that he had abroken arm and a broken leg, at least."
"Simple fractures only--entirely negligible." Lacy waved aside with anairy gesture such small ills as broken bones. "He'll be out in a fewweeks."
"How soon can I see him?" the Lensman-physicist asked. "There are someimportant things to take up with him, and I've got a personal messagefor him that I must give him as soon as possible."
Lacy pursued his lips. Then:
"You may see him now," he decided. "He is conscious, and strong enough.Not too long, though, Phil--fifteen minutes at most."
"QX, and thanks," and a nurse led
the visiting Lensman to Cloud'sbedside.
"Hi, Stupe!" he boomed, cheerfully. "'Stupe' being short for stupendous,not 'stupid'."
"Hi, Chief. Glad to see somebody. Sit down."
"You're the most-wanted man in the Galaxy," the visitor informed theinvalid, "not excepting even Kimball Kinnison. Look at this spool oftape, and it's only the first one. I brought it along for you to read atyour leisure. As soon as any planet finds out that we've got asure-enough vortex-blower-outer, an expert who can really call hisshots--and the news travels mighty fast--that planet sends in adouble-urgent, Class A-Prime demand for first call upon your services.
"Sirius IV got in first by a whisker, it seems, but Aldebaran II was soclose a second that it was