After a while McDonough said, in a remote, emotiemless voice: “That’s enough. I think I can get through there now, as soon as it cools.”
“Suppose there’s no passage between the tail and the nose?”
Martinson said. “More likely there’s a firewall, and we’d never be able to cut through that.”
“Probably,” McDonough agreed. “We couldn’t run the torch near the fuel tanks, anyhow, that’s for sure.”
“Then what good”
“If these people think anything like we do, there’s bound to be some kind of escape mechanismsomething that blows the pilot’s capsule free of the ship. I ought to be able to reach it.”
“And fire it in here?” Persons said. “You’ll smash the cabin against the tunnel roof. That’ll kill the pilot for sure.”
“Not if I disarm it. If I can get the charge out of it, all firing it will do is open the locking devices; then we can take the windshield off and get in. I’ll pass the charge out back to you; handle it gently. Let me have your flashlight, Marty, mine’s almost dead.”
Silently, Martinson handed him the light. He hesitated a moment, listening to the water dripping in the background.
Then, with a deep breath, he said, “Well. Here goes nothin’.”
He clambered into the narrow opening.
The jungle of pipes, wires and pumps before him was utterly unfamiliar in detail, but familiar in principle. Human beings, given the job of setting up a rocket motor, set it up in this general way. McDonough probed with the light beam, looking for a passage large enough for him to wiggle through.
There didn’t seem to be any such passage, but he squirmed his way forward regardless, forcing himself into any opening that presented itself, no matter how small and contorted it seemed. The feeling of entrapment was terrible. If he were to wind up in a cul-de-sac, he would never be able to worm himself backwards out of this jungle of piping …