“You still don’t understand. Keep quiet and let me explain. We are going to take several of the bombs such as you used on the Galileo and blow up the room containing your guided missiles. It’s a shame, for I see it’s one of the rooms built by the original inhabitants. Then we are going to blow up the Wotan.”
“The Wotan? Why?” Von Hartwick was suddenly very alert.
“To make sure it never flies back to earth. We can’t operate it; I must make sure that no one else does. For then we intend to blow up the Thor.”
“The Thor? You can’t blow up the Thor!”
“Oh, yes, we can — the same way you blew up the Galileo. But I can’t chance the possibility of survivors grabbing the Wotan — so she must go first. And that has a strong bearing on why you must die at once. After we blast the Wotan we are going back to our own base- you didn’t know about that, did you ? -but it is only one room. No place for prisoners. I had intended, as I said, to keep you in the jeep rocket, but the need to blast the Thor changes that. We’ll have to keep a pilot in it all times, until the Thor lands. And that leaves no place for you. Sorry,” he finished, and smiled.
“Anything wrong with it?” he added.
Von Hartwick was beginning to show the strain. “You may succeed-”
“Oh, we will!”
“But if you do, you are still dead men. A quick death for me, but a long and slow and lingering death for you. If you blast the Thor, you lose your own last chance. Think of it,” he went on, “starving or suffocating or dying with cold. I’ll make a pact with you. Turn me loose now and I’ll give you my parole. When the Thor arrives, I’ll intercede with the captain on your behalf. I’ll-”
Cargraves cut him off with a gesture. “The word of a Nazi! You wouldn’t intercede for your own grandmother! You haven’t gotten it through your thick head yet that we hold all the aces. After we kill you and take care of your friends, we shall sit tidy and cozy and warm, with plenty of food and air, until we are picked up. We won’t even be lonesome; we were just finishing our earth sender when you picked up one of our local signals. We’ll-”
“You lie!” shouted von Hartwick. “No one will pick you up. Yours was the only ship. I know, I know. We had full reports.”
“Was the only ship.” Cargraves smiled sweetly. “But under a quaint old democratic law which you wouldn’t understand, the plans and drawings and notes for my ship were being studied eagerly the minute we took off. We’ll be able to take our pick of ships before long. I hate to disappoint you but we are going to live. I am afraid I must disappoint you on another score. Your death will not be as clean and pleasant as you had hoped.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I am not going to get this ship all bloodied up again by shooting you. I’m going to-”
“Wait. A dying man is entitled to a last request. Leave me in the Wotan. Let me die with my ship!”
Cargraves laughed full in his face. “Lovely, von Nitwit. Perfectly lovely. And have you take off in her. Not likely!”
“I am no pilot — believe me!”
“Oh, I do believe. I would not think of doubting a dying man’s last words. But I won’t risk a mistake. Ross!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Take this thing and throw it out on the face of the moon.”
“Dee-lighted!”
“And that’s all.” Cargraves had been squatting down; he got up and brushed the crumbs from his hands. “I shan’t even have you untied so that you can die in a comfortable position. You are too handy at grabbing guns. You’ll just have to flop around as you are. It probably won’t take long,” he went on conversationally. “They say it’s about like drowning. In seven or eight minutes you won’t know a thing. Unless your heart ruptures through your lungs and finishes you a little sooner.”