He flipped open his face plate, but shut it at once. This was the compartment punctured by the unexploded torp and most of its air was gone. Men screamed thinly and tore at their throats. Others were struggling into spacesuits. A handful were trying to patch the leaks. As he looked, one of the latter was sucked through the rent into space.
Cursing his twenty pound shoes, he pounded toward the control room, gun in hand. He had to stop Carlos.... Had to.... Had to.... He reeled through the door at last ... and skidded to a stop!
Fritz stood there, straddling the body of his captain. His smoking automatic was holding the rattled sentries at bay.
The gun centered on the newcomer's heart.
"I'm Captain Sage, S.P.," Frank yelled. It was a long chance.
"Right!" Fritz shot a charging sentry through the head. The others turned and fled. "I just stopped Carlos in time. Get over to that radio. Tell 'em we surrender. And then," he added as an afterthought, "go back outside and bring Greta in. The Champ's mass has pulled her back to the hull. Saw her peeking through the blister a minute ago. She looked about ready to burst a bloodvessel with fury."
They found Sadie holding forth in style when they finally managed to jockey the crippled ex-Champ back into its caisson. The girl had broken out cases of traskette and she led the Incors of the lab staff in making the half-hundred S.P. men welcome when they trooped in, grinning like the youngsters they were.
"The harder they fall!" she chortled. "Just hit the big fellows before they get their feet planted, my dad always said."
"But how?... When?..." Frank stared at her blankly.