It grew, and became recognizable as a small ship of not more than six-man capacity. There was now little question of its being out of control—it was dropping toward the planet at an odd angle, and its jets were dead. The question was whether there would be sufficient thrust available to divert it from the planet's atmosphere. Unless power were applied within the next hour, Archer surmised, no reasonable amount of acceleration would do the trick.
Archer grinned. The same thing applied to this ship. How would the scientists react to the choice of jettisoning some of their heavy equipment and specimens or burdening their own frames with artificial avoirdupois to the point of black-out?
The final jockeying to match velocities was a delicate and nerve-wracking task, since overshooting even once would have meant considerable loss of time. There was a tense moment as they slid abreast of the smaller ship and Archer applied the last few pounds of thrust. It was precisely enough, and the two ships floated relatively motionless, though somewhat askew. The smaller ship showed no external signs of damage, yet no light showed through any of the visible portholes.
An extending rod, blackly silhouetted against the looming planet, stretched slowly across the field and touched the smaller ship's hull. Another moved out, farther away, and then a third, forming a magnetically clinging tripod which locked the two ships together.
The buzzer sounded intermittently and a blue light flashed on Archer's left. He flipped a key, and Captain Rogan's face appeared on the video plate.
"Will, get into your suit and come to the lock. Berry will take the controls. You're to go over with Stokely and see what can be done. And—better bring your gun, just in case."
It was a notion that had already occurred to Archer, and he toyed with it further while donning his pressure-suit. People occasionally go berserk in space—its awesome immensity affects some minds that way—and a few had been fairly successful in liquidating their fellows wholesale. Among those ships which had simply disappeared forever into the void, there were probably a few such cases. Yes, it was entirely possible that there might be one living occupant of the other ship—a madman.
Stokely, the burly, pink-haired chief engineer, was dressed for space, except for his head-globe, when Archer arrived at the lock. So were two others: Evans, a soft-spoken, sharp-faced member of the crew, and a tall and graying individual whom Will recognized as Dr. Hubert Grimwood, one of the more eminent of the scientists aboard. A sizable medical kit was slung from the doctor's middle.
"I must admit, Captain," he was saying apologetically, "that while I do have a medical degree, I have never practised except—ah—incidentally."