twisting and turning among the chaotic shadows cast by the lights
pouring in through the hole above. Progress was slow; they had
difficulty finding level surfaces to move on, since the ship
appeared to be lying on its side. But foot by foot, the lines
continued to snake spor~dically down into the darkness. Eventually
the sergeants stopped before the noseward bulkhead of the
compartment. The screens outside showed their way barred by a door
leading through to whatever lay forward; it was made of a
steely-gray metal and looked solid. It was also about ten feet high
by four wide. A long conference produced the decision that there
was no alternative but for them to return to where the hole had
been cut to collect drills, torches, and all the other gadgetry
needed to go through the whole drilling, purging, argon-filling,
and cutting routine all over again. From the look of the door, it
could be a long job. Mills, Stanislow, and Peters went back to the
control room, collected the remainder of their party, and went to
the surface installations for lunch. They returned three hours
later.
Behind the bulkhead was another machinery compartment, as
confusing as the first but larger. This one had many doors leading
from it-all closed. The two sergeants selected one at random in the
ceiling above their heads, and while they were cutting through it,
others descended into the first and second compartments to position
rollers for minimizing the drag of their trailing cables, which was
beginning to slow them down appreciably. When the door was cut, a
second team relieved the first.
They used another ladder to climb up through the door and found
themselves standing on what was supposed to be the wall of a long
corridor running toward the nose of the ship. A succession of
closed doors, beneath their feet and over their heads, passed
across the screens outside. Over two hundred feet of cabling had
disappeared into the original entry point.
“We’re just passing the fifth bulkhead since entering the
corridor,” the commentary on the audio channel informed the
observers. “The walls are smooth, and appear to be metallic, but
covered with a plastic material. It’s coming away in most places.
The floor up one side is black and looks rubbery. There are lots of
doors in both walls, all big like the first one. Some have. . .”
“Just a second, Joe,” the voice of the speaker’s companion broke
in. “Swing the big light down here – . . by your feet. See, the
door you’re standing on slides to the side. It’s not closed all the
way.”
The screens showed a pair of standard-issue heavy-duty UNSA boots,
standing on a metal panel in the middle of a pooi of light. The
boots shuffled to one side to reveal a black gap, about twelve
inches wide, running down one side of the panel. They then stepped
off the panel and onto the surrounding area as their owner
evidently inspected the situation.
“You’re right,” Joe’s voice announced at last. “Let’s see if it’ll
budge.”
There then followed a jumbled sequence of arms, legs, walls,
ceilings, lightness, and darkness as TV cameras and lamps exchanged
hands and were waved about. When a stable picture resulted, it
showed two heavily clad arms braced across the gap.
Eventually:
“No dice. Stuck solid.”
“How about the jack?”
“Yeah, maybe. Pass it down, willya?”
A long dialogue followed during which the jack was maneu
vered into place and expanded. It slipped off. Muttered curses.
Another try. And then:
“It’s moving! Come on, baby . . – let’s have a bit more light I
think it’ll go easy now. . – See if you can get a foot against
it.. .”
On the monitors the gray slab graunched gradually out of the
picture. A black, bottomless pit fell away beneath.
“The door is about two-thirds open,” a breathless voice resumed.
“It’s gummed up there and won’t go any further. We’re gonna have a
quick looksee around from up here, then we’ll have to come back to
get another ladder. Can somebody have one ready at the door that
leads up into this corridor?”
The camera closed in on the pitch-black oblong. A few seconds later