"Murray Leinster - Space Platform" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leinster Murray)

up and pulled a string he knew how to reach. It probably loosed a slipknot. The grenade rolled down to a
new position, and now when the wheel goes down the pin will be pulled. You can figure things out from
that."
It was an excellent sabotage device. If a ship blew up from a placed bomb two weeks after overhaul, it
would not be guessed that the bomb had been fitted into place and arranged for activation so long before.
A man who merely reached in and pulled a string so the bomb was made ready for firing would never be
suspected. There might be dozens of planes in action right now, carrying their own destruction with them.
The pilot spoke into his microphone.
"Probably . .." He listened. "Very well, sir."
He turned away and nodded to the co-pilot, now sav-
.',cly staring at the hole left when the floorplate came up.
1
he ship flew in wide, sweeping circles, the rims of which
;irely touched the farthermost corner of the airport down
dow.
"We've authority to jump," he said briefly. "You know 'here the chutes are. But there is a chance I can
belly-ind without the grenade blowing. I'm going to try that."
The co-pilot shook his head.
"I'll get him a chute." He indicated Joe, and added furi-usly, "But if you ride her down, so do I! Ask if we
.hould dump cargo before we land."
The pilot lifted his microphone again. He spoke. He listened.
"Okay to dump stuff to lighten ship."
"You won't dump my crates!" snapped Joe. "And I'm staying to see you don't! If you can ride this ship
down, so can I!"
The co-pilot got up and scowled at him.
"Anything I can move out, goes. Will you help?"
Joe followed him through the door into the cargo-compartment.
The space there was considerable, it was also bitterly cold. The crates from the Kenmore plant were the
heaviest items of cargo, but there were others. The copilot made his way to the rear and pulled a lever.
Great, curved doors opened at the tail-end of the cargo-space. There was instantly such a bellowing of
motors as made all speech impossible. The co-pilot pulled out a sheaf of colored paper slips and checked
one with the nearest moveable parcel. He painstakingly made a checkmark and began to push the box
toward the doors.
It was not a conspicuously sane operation. So near the ground, the plane tended to wobble. The air was
distinctly bumpy. To push a massive box out a doorway so it would tumble down a thousand feet to desert
sands, was not very safe. But Joe helped. They got the box to the door and shoved it out. It went spilling
down. The co-pilot hung on to the doorframe and watched it land. He chose another box. He checked it
off. And another. With Joe's help
he got them out the door and dropping dizzily. The plane soared on in circles. The desert as seen through the
clamshell doors reeled away astern and then seemed to tilt, and reeled away again. Joe and the co-pilot labored
furiously. But the co-pilot checked each item before he jettisoned it. Presently he came to a bale and waved Joe
aside. He shouted a reason, but Joe cold not hear it. They pushed and dragged other cargo items.
It was a deliberate way to dump cargo to destruction. A metal bound box. Over the edge of the cargo space
floor. A piece of machinery, visible through the slats of its crate. A box marked, "Instruments. Fragile." Each
one checked off on a colored paper slip. A small dynamo. This item. That. A crate marked "Stationery." It
would be printed forms for timekeepers and such.
It should have been. It wasn't.
It dropped out. The plane bellowed on. And suddenly there was a burst of bluewhite flame halfway down to the
desert. It had exploded. Perhaps a time-detonator had arrived at the instant for self destruction at just this
moment. Perhaps the loss of weight in falling had set off a detonator.