A door.

Unlatched.

He televiewed it with quivering fingers. It had the broken stub of a key in it.

He viewed the whole mammoth door. It was open when the plane rolled down on that side, then was closed by the rushing air and gravity when the plane rolled back.

Every twenty seconds.

He suddenly regretted the tenderheartedness that had caused him to refuse a companion on this voyage. It would be dangerous, but hanging from a dangling wire ladder, it would be possible to drop down and into that door. No, it would require a pilot to run the plane and somebody going into that drone who knew enough to paralyze it if possible. And he had no pilots, and Glencannon couldn't be spared.

Open, closed, open, closed.

Size? He looked at the door. He compared his own ship's span and depth. This ship could fly into that door! Top and bottom a very narrow squeeze. Plenty to spare on the sides.

Yikes! Fly this ship sideways at three hundred two miles per hour? And then in?

Well, it was standard battle tactics to fly sideways with these teleportation motor drives. There was no wing support area needed such as birds used. When you shut off these motors, the ship didn't glide anywhere. It just dropped like a stone. It was leveled with small teleportation balance motors, not fins.

Yes, in theory one could fly sideways and then dart forward and in.

But the timing! Ouch. That rolling drone was moving the opening up and down about thirty feet each roll.

He'd try it.

But that slamming door had to be taken off first. The way it swung, it barred the available opening.

Jonnie decided he would first try to shoot the hinges off. He dropped the battle plane back, setting the firing controls to “Needle Width,” “Flame,” and “Single Shot.”

He lined up the plane and sights, fingers dancing on the console, one foot extended to the floor firing button– always hard to reach in a plane built for nine– or ten-foot-tall Psychlos. Even Ker had trouble with floor controls.

Line up, door open, hinge exposed.

Stamp!

A needle of hot flame hit the hinge. It didn't sever. The door began to swing shut again.

His local command channel burst into life. “What the crap are you doing?” cried Nup, alarmed.

“I don't have a copilot, Your Executiveship. I have to shoot the door open to change the controls and destination.”

“Oh.” Then, as Jonnie was lining up for the next try, “You be careful of company property, Snit! Willful damage is a vaporizing offense.”

“Yes, Your Executiveship." Jonnie fired the next try.

The hinge glowed briefly. The door hid it from view again. The door didn't sag. Maybe the hinge was binding. Jonnie looked at the infrared target scope. Yes, there were two hinges, one up, one lower.

He lined up on the lower hinge. Door open, hinge in scope. Stamp! Flash!

The door still didn't fall off.

Maybe if he alternated his shots, upper hinge, lower hinge, one then the other.

He drew off a bit to flex his fingers. The other scopes showed ice and sea endlessly below him. Nothing else in the sky.

Back to it. Upper. Stamp! Flash! Lower. Stamp! Flash! Over and over. But a shot possible only every forty seconds.

This was time-consuming! Well, he wasn't too pressed for time. Not yet anyway. Stamp! Flash! Wait. Stamp! Flash! Wait.

Those hinges would get cherry red but they didn't sever.

Getting nowhere, Jonnie drew off. Then, with a bright inspiration, he took a position above the drone and slightly to the other side so he could fire into the back of the door as it rolled open. He changed his gun setting to “Broad,” “No Flame,” and “Continuous.”

He sighted carefully. The next time the door swung open he stamped on the firing button and sent a string of flashes against the inside of the door. It swung open. He shifted his plane over to the side gradually as he fired.

Despite reverse roll the door was forced open and then, despite a three-hundred-two-mile-an-hour rush of air, suddenly sprang back under the hammering and lay against the hull. Wide open!

Jonnie stopped firing.

The door stayed open. Wide open, pinned back to the hull.

He examined the hinges by throwing the sight to tele. They were a bit twisted, probably from the shots. It was the hinges that precariously held the door open. Would it close again? Maybe. It was vibrating from wind force.

Watchfully, Jonnie drew off. His fingers raced on the console as he sought to correct for flying sideways. He got the sequence of combinations that did it. He inched the plane exactly opposite the yawning doorway.

Up went the doorway, down went the doorway. Yikes, this had to be timed!

He thought he had better just sit there and study it for a bit. He turned on the plane's lights to get direct visual. You couldn't do this on instruments alone.

The black pit lit up. He could see inside.

Yes, there was an area just inside the door. A flat platform. Probably needed for loading canisters. Ow! Canisters were stacked just in front of that platform. Would they explode if hit in an overshoot?

He calculated the distance and combination on the console. Then, with a sudden inspiration, he braced his foot against the magnetic grip setting lever. The jar of any impact would cause his foot, jolted, to set the magnetic skids.

He took a deep breath. He looked around him to be sure there were no loose objects. He moved the belted revolver they had issued him so its holster wouldn't punch him in the stomach if he jackknifed forward. The lanyard from the revolver was around his neck. He pulled it a bit to the side so it wouldn't catch on the control console if he pitched forward, for if it did, it could choke him. He laid a soft map case on the upper part of the console in case his head hit with the sudden stop.

Jonnie took another deep breath. He adjusted his air mask.

He watched the door. His fingers dancing on the console to get in the exact position, he zeroed in on the doorway. Count, count, count. How far would the doorway move up after he started forward?

He spread four fingers of his right hand across the huge keyboard to the four buttons that would start him. He spread four fingers of his left hand across the buttons that would stop him.

Up, up, up. Right hand ready. Punch!

The battle plane stabbed into the open door.

Crunch, down with the fingers of his left hand. Stop.

Crash!

He had not quite cleared the top of the door and a wide peel of metal screeched away.

His foot was jolted on the grip lever and the grips went on.

Jonnie's head slammed against the map case.

Lights flashed in his skull.

Blackness.

During all this time, Zzt had been fluctuating between hope and suspicion.

The antics of that plane puzzled him. He knew he had no friends. Who would want to rescue him? He couldn't think of anybody. Char had been his shaftmate, and Char had vanished and was undoubtedly dead, for who would miss a chance to go home? And Char had not shown up at the firing. Terl. Probably Terl had killed him. So it was not Char. Who else was there? Nobody. So who was interested in rescuing him? It was a highly suspicious circumstance.

That dimwit Nup had apparently landed on top of the drone to keep from going down into the ice below-and it was ice; one could feel the Arctic in this awful chill. Ice felt a certain way in the atmosphere. Terrible planet.

One couldn't blame Nup for that. Common enough tactic for one plane to land on another when shot up or out of fuel, and get carried to safety. So it wasn't any real credit to Nup to think of it. But the crazy fool had landed off-center, and it was making the drone crab but mainly roll. And that roll was making Zzt sick at his stomach.