Vectors by Charles Sheffield

Mattin always thought a lot faster than I did. By the time I began he was halfway there, and my lack of experience in free fall slowed me down. When I approached he had already crowded into the compartment, then turned with his back braced against its rear. As I floated nearer, instead of squeezing to the wall to let me in too he lifted his feet up and gave me a great kick in the chest. It reversed me and I started to spin back along the length of the hull, unable to make contact with anything solid.
    One of the things they don't bother to tell you before you go into space is how slowly things can happen. I floated along the hull towards the Mattin Link transfer area, but I did it incredibly slowly. I was quite active, spinning end over end, shouting and screaming and waving my arms and legs, but none of that affected my forward motion at all. When my body had turned to face Mattin again, I saw that the door of the shielded compartment was firmly closed. I didn't imagine Mattin would open it voluntarily to see how I was doing until after the power unit had done its worst. I tried to get a look at the digital countdown display to see how long it would be before the Link transfer took place, but I couldn't see it from the angle I had.
    When I finally collided with the bulkhead at the far end, I had no idea how much time I had left. Subjectively, I had spent the better part of my adult life drifting down that steel hull. Actually it was probably a minute at most. I held the bulkhead and did a quick review of my options. In a few seconds I would be a big pink pancake or a long pink sausage if I didn't get out of the Link transfer area. Or I could be fried purple when the power unit blew. Or—a long shot—I could get back to the shielded area in time, open the door somehow, and squeeze in with that swine Mattin.
    I set my legs against the bulkhead and took off with a mighty spring for the other end of the hull. I had been on the way for a second or less when three things happened. First, everything flashed a mother-of-pearl pink. Then I received a tremendous bang on the head. Finally I was given an even bigger smash on my chest and ears. Then I passed out and had a little peace.
    Things were not much better when I came to again. The pain in the head and chest were still there, and I had aching eyeballs—I didn't know that was possible. But at least I seemed to be in a bed and I didn't feel either pancake or sausage shaped. My ears didn't feel right but I could hear faint voices somewhere near me.
    "I think he's recovering consciousness. Get one of the doctors in here."
    I forced my sticky eyes open and tried to sit up.
    "Don't try and move, Mr. Carver." I turned to face the speaker by my bedside, a man in the uniform of the Space Rescue Service. "You've had a very tough time and you're lucky to be alive. You somehow suffered explosive decompression from atmospheric pressure to three pounds per square inch, and you almost cracked your skull ramming it into a steel wall. It looked as though you'd jumped straight at it head first. You're lucky that the emergency life support signal tripped on and alerted us. Just lie there and rest."
    I lay back and closed my eyes. Unbelievably, the Mattin Link had worked. I must have transferred with all the force of my jump from the bulkhead intact and run straight into another one on the ship I'd linked in to. Why hadn't that idiot Mattin thought to make sure that the two ships were at equal air pressure well in advance of the transfer?
    My thoughts turned again to Mattin. That cowardly, cold-hearted monster! Leaving me outside while he sat safe and snug in the radiation-shielded compartment. My anger slowly grew and finally gave me the strength to sit up again and open my eyes.
    "Where's Gerald Mattin?" I asked. My voice came out squeaky and hoarse. "He was on the other ship."
    I looked around the room for Mattin. I badly wanted to give him a piece of my mind. The three men in the room with me