Trevor peered into Hollywood's dark and cheerless docking bay.
'Do you have shuttles aboard the Hollywood?' he asked.
'Yes,' replied Aidme in his monotonous voice.
'Are there any fighter vessels, something small and fast and bristling with weapons?'
'There are no weapons aboard the Hollywood.'
'No wonder you were taken captive.' Trevor sighed. His air tasted bad now and he breathed deeper to compensate for the low oxygen content. He forced himself to stay alert. Time was running out. 'Tell me what kind of shuttles there are then?'
'Maintenance craft, small personnel craft, and large transport craft.'
'What are the small personnel craft used for?'
Aidme was silent for a millisecond while he searched for the right expression. 'Exploration, visiting and joyriding.'
'Can they be used in any situation? You know, taken anywhere, down to an inhospitable planet, one that might be intolerably harsh?'
'The vessel has a forcefield and is safe in any environment.'
'Take me to it,' Trevor said immediately.
To his surprise, Aidme pushed him out through the open port and around Hollywood's exterior. They passed another gaping port, then a smaller port, then turned into the next and stopped beside a sleek space shuttle. In a way, it reminded Trevor of the astronaut's Wayfarer, but this shuttle had smaller wings and no visible rockets. Unlike the Wayfarer, it certainly didn't look as if it had been knocked together from old dustbins and beer cans.
The shuttle nestled in a cradle with stairs leading up to a platform in front of the open doorway. Trevor gave the outside a quick glance before he floated in, the surface was glassy and without screws, rivet heads or visible joins.
A narrow gangway stretched across the shuttle's width to another exterior door. Ten small rucksacks hung on the wall, a door on his left led to a room filled with neat lockers, and a double glass door on his right led into a spacious passenger compartment.
Eight recliners furnished the compartment, four on each side, with a broad aisle down the centre leading to a pilot and co-pilot seat at the front.
Trevor struggled to think clearly. All he wanted was to lay back in one of the comfortable looking seats and sleep. 'Is it possible to close the outside doors?'
'Only mechanically,' answered Aidme.
Trevor waited, he knew the answer was incomplete but his mind was like sludge. 'Tell me,' he gasped. 'How?'
'There is an emergency handle under a small hatch in the wall to your right. Wind the handle anti-clockwise, and the doors will close.'
New hope filled Trevor and his mind cleared. He looked at his watch, only ten minutes of stale air left. The handle was small, and the thick, long-fingered spacesuit glove made it difficult to grip. His fingers trembled as he fumbled, but with jerky motions, the handle turned.
The door was thin and flexible, more like a roller blind, and moving in jerks and starts it slid down from the ceiling. After ten minutes winding it was still half open and his fingers ached so bad he had to rest. A new surge of dizziness made him close his eyes, but he fought to hold them open, he knew if he fell asleep now he would never wake.
'Must have nimble fingers, these Hollywood aliens,' he slurred. 'Long and bony with suction cups on the ends…' I'm drifting, he thought. Snap out of it.
Ignoring the pain in his fingers and lungs Trevor turned the handle. 'What are you going to do when the door is closed?' he asked himself, then answered: 'It'll keep the noise and draught out…'
'No! Don't sleep…' he shouted.
'Keep turning…
Wake up!'
Ten minutes later, the doors closed with a barely audible click.
'Now,' gasped Trevor, almost blinded by black bubbles floating inside his eyes, 'I need pressure and oxygen. Don't give me any half answers this time or in less than two minutes you'll be by yourself again.'
Aidme pushed Trevor into the locker room and floated up against a long narrow wall cupboard. 'In here is a yellow lever. Rotate it a quarter turn until it points to the symbol like an upside down G.'
With strength he didn't possess, Trevor opened the cupboard and found the yellow lever. He grasped and twisted; it didn't move. He tried the other direction and felt it shift, but his eyes were closed so he couldn't see an upside down G. And even if he could see, the light on his spacesuit had practically extinguished. Guessing he had moved the handle a quarter of a turn he asked weakly: 'Is that it?'
'Yes.'
'How long?'
'Fifteen seconds, fourteen seconds, thirteen seconds…'
Trevor fumbled with his helmet. His oxygen-starved brain couldn't remember how the latches worked. 'Gently,' he said. 'Don't go to pieces now… Oh yes, pull here, twist there.'
'… three seconds, two seconds, one second. The atmosphere is now safe.'
The helmet flew off and Trevor sucked air like a pearl diver rising to the surface. He sucked in another lungful of air, followed by another, and another, until he started laughing, and crying, and choking.
The bubbles in his eyes and the popping in his ears eased, and he saw the yellow lever pointing to an upside down G, and Aidme floating patiently at his side. 'Thank you, Aidme. Why can't you talk to me like that all the time, without me having to spell out every single question?'
'I cannot base my responses on presumption. Words alone are inadequate. Telepathic communication between us is difficult but improving.'
Still panting, Trevor nodded and chuckled. 'Well, never mind that for now–I'm alive! They nearly had me. Those damned insects nearly got the better of me. But I'm alive. Do you hear me? I'm alive. And now I'm really pissed off…'
He sniffed the air. 'Ah! This is so sweet. I almost feel drunk–must be a slightly higher oxygen content than Earth's. But we're not out of trouble yet. Does this shuttle also run on water?'
'Yes.'
'Does it matter if the water's a bit polluted?'
'Impurities are filtered and ejected.'
For the first time, Trevor noticed the compact technical room where they floated. It reminded him of the kitchen area on a passenger aeroplane with neat cupboards and a few trivial instruments. 'Okay. Where do I fill water?'
'There is a generator unit under the floor.'
'Under here?' asked Trevor, pointing to a hatch in the floor.
'Yes.'
The hatch opened without effort and beneath was a generator like the one they took to the Cloud. He unscrewed the filling cap, swore at the Mantis, spat into the tank and replaced the cap.
'Is that enough?'
'The generator is now operational. Life support will operate for approximately four years and three months with the present load.'
'Is this shuttle capable of producing gravity?'
'Yes. Energy will then be exhausted after approximately four weeks.'
'Turn it on. And some heating, and turn some lights on so we can see properly in here.'
Their surroundings immediately glowed in soft light, and warm air touched Trevor's cheeks, driving away the steam from his breath. A faint vibration filled the air and gravity pulled him gently to the floor.
'The Mantis must have noticed us.' Trevor sat up and undid the fastenings on his spacesuit. 'They'll come to investigate and blow us to scrambled eggs like they did with the Wayfarer. Can you sense them coming?'
Aidme remained silent for a moment. He was confused by Trevor's obscure question. 'I sense no vehicles approaching.' Then, after searching Trevor's mind for further clues, 'There is no electromagnetic disturbance transmitted from this module.'
Trevor shook off the last spacesuit piece and danced a little jig. His lungs ached and his chest was bruised, but life was suddenly a party.
'Oh! This is wonderful,' he said. 'Wonderful. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to relieve myself.'
Standing astride the generator, he opened his fly and pissed into the generator's tank. 'That's better. Must be at least half a litre there. How long will that last?'
Aidme probed Trevor's mind, qualifying his cryptic question. 'The vessel can be fully operational under maximum load for a period of approximately four years and three months.'
'Well, let me know when it's getting low. Now let's see if we can fly this thing.'
Trevor made himself comfortable in the pilot's seat and examined the controls. A joystick for each hand, the same as in the Cloud. He relaxed into the well-upholstered seat and marvelled at how well the contours suited him. 'I don't know anything about you Hollywood aliens,' he said aloud, 'but you are my friends and I love and respect you.'
Unable to move a muscle, Trevor closed his eyes and fell asleep. He dreamt of Russell's predicament, which made him stir and look at his watch. 'Twenty minutes,' he groaned. 'Feels like I need twenty hours.' He blinked, rubbed his eyes and stretched. He'd have to save respite for later. 'It's okay,' he said to Aidme. 'I won't touch anything, but it's time for action–you're in control. Please take us out.'
They rose away from the clamps and drifted through the open port into space beyond. The Mantis' sphere and battleship were hidden from view behind Hollywood's bulk, but something else caught Trevor's eye–a small object spinning and tumbling amongst the other space rubble. 'Can you get a picture of that on a screen somehow,' he asked, 'and magnify it so I can see it properly?'
Integrated as he was into Trevor's mind, Aidme understood exactly which object he meant. The view through the broad front screen flickered and changed. Stretched from one side of the screen to the other, was an enlarged image of the vanished atom bomb.
'Ha ha!' A grin full of mischief creased Trevor's lips. 'Isn't that a pretty sight. Tell me, Mr Aidme…is it still operational?'
'Yes.'
'Oh goody!'
Trevor rubbed his hands together. An idea was forming. The Mantis must have transported the atom bomb without bothering to give it a second look. In their arrogance, they had disregarded the atom bomb as nothing worse than a wooden club.
'Tell me something else. Can you detonate the bomb?'
'Yes.'
His mischievous grin grew wider. Even wooden clubs had their use.