"Tommy," he called into the mike. "Find anything yet?"
"We-e-ll, something," the audio-phone drawled after a moment: "I'm coming up."
"What is it, Tom?" he asked when the engineer's round face appeared at the head of the engine room companionway.
Farley dropped his voice and his customary smile was gone. "I found the stern rocket-tube ignition jammed so it's firing continuously," he said; "and the others are all dead: won't fire at all. That's why she doesn't swing to the controls?"
"Can't you fix it? Lord, man, we're headed out into the belt of planetoids. We'll be wrecked."
"Nothing I can do, Blaine, without shutting down the atomic engines. Then we'd freeze to death and run out of oxygen. These ships ought to have a spare engine just to take care of the heating and air conditioning. I always said so."
"What happened to the ignition system?"
Tom Farley looked over his shoulder apprehensively. "Dirty work, Blaine," he whispered. "I'm sure of it. Tool marks on the breech of the stern tube. And there's one of those guards I don't like the looks of."
"Nonsense. The k-metal people know their men; they picked these three especially for the job."
"Who else could do it? There's only the five of us on board."