Half an hour later, Major Thornton stood on the hull of the Shudos, surrounded by the sixty men of the boarding party. "Anybody see anything through those windows?" he asked.
Several of the men had peered through the direct-vision ports, playing spotlight beams through them.
"Nothing alive," said a sergeant, a remark which was followed by a chorus of agreement.
"Pretty much of a mess in there," said another sergeant. "That fifty gees mashed everything to the floor. Why'd anyone want to use acceleration like that?"
"Let's go in and find out," said Major Thornton.
The outer door to the air lock was closed, but not locked. It swung open easily to disclose the room between the outer and inner doors. Ten men went in with the major, the others stayed outside with orders to cut through the hull if anything went wrong.
"If he's still alive," the major said, "we don't want to kill him by blowing the air. Sergeant, start the airlock cycle."
There was barely room for ten men in the air lock. It had been built big enough for the full crew to use it at one time, but it was only just big enough.
When the inner door opened, they went in cautiously. They spread out and searched cautiously. The caution was unnecessary, as it turned out. There wasn't a living thing aboard.