"Do it—do it." The mental command aimed at the Moon mimic hit Logan's brain like a hot iron. Its hairy little arm shot past him, grabbed the ignition jumper wire as it had watched Snyder grab air, and jerked it loose. As the engines died and the blue emergency lights faded on, Snyder laughed and the mimic screeched, jumping about, waving its prize and dragging the frayed leash the killer had broken.
Logan hit the auxiliary switch. They were within the Moon's gravitational pull and he had no choice. He was exhausted and felt like crying. Lord, was there no end to it? Would the lunatic never stop? Hadn't he paid enough for his own relapse?
The startled face of the radaronics operator flashed on the screen again. "Prepare for crash," Logan shouted at him, then cut the power to conserve fuel.
Through the steering port he could see the soiled craters of the Moon leaping up at him and the Patrol spacer began to whine and vibrate as it hit the three pound air pressure. He sweat over the auxiliary controls, nursing the fuel in short bursts, breaking the rate of fall, juggling the angle. They were west of the Mountains of Caucasus and directly above a narrow strip of plains. Within a thousand feet he hit the jet activator and held it. A single explosive roar sounded; died. There was nothing more he could do. He closed his eyes and began to pray.
The Patrol spacer hit and dug a furrow across the plain for three miles, eight inches of the finest steel fighting lava rock and meteor metal. The base of the Alps range was within leaping distance when the battered hull shivered to a halt. The deck was twisted and friction smoke filled the air.
Logan got up. His legs didn't want to hold him, but he got up anyhow. There was blood on his face and more oozing from his thigh. He heard the high whine of escaping air, moved to a stern locker and pulled out two pressure suits. His arms and legs were like lead. He wanted to lie down on the floor, say to-hell-with-everything—maybe die.
Edward Snyder was quiet but alive and conscious. A trickle of blood ran from his nose and dripped from the second chin. The monkey-like mimic moaned up and down the scale.
"Put this on," Logan whispered. He tossed one of the suits on the bunk. Enough air had escaped to hamper breathing and affect his voice.
"I'm chained," Snyder snarled. "For God's sake, why don't you kill me?"
For a moment Logan stared at him, then swayed and caught himself on the bulkhead. He had reached the end and he knew it. He lifted the blaster toward his captive.