"Computer," I said, "can the mute detect our power build-up?"
"Unknown."
"Can we read power levels on board their ship?"
"Negative. We can detect external radiation only, and I can draw inferences from mass and maneuvering characteristics. But they would be estimates whose only real use would be to provide absolute minimum values."
"Then they can’t read ours?"
"Unknown. We lack data on their technology."
"Alex, what are you getting at?"
"I’m not sure. But I’d prefer they think we’re helpless."
"What’s the difference?" asked Chase. "Their screens are up. They’re assuming we’re dangerous."
"Computer, what can you tell us about enemy capabilities?"
"Corsarius was struck by an enhanced laser of extremely narrow concentration. The energy required to produce the effect we witnessed, at their extreme range, implies power which exceeds ours by a multiple of at least six point five. Analysis of ECM and physical structure suggests the generation of a quasi-magnetic energy field for defensive, and perhaps offensive, purposes. Probably an amplified version of our own shields. We would be wise to assume considerable difficulty in penetrating defensive systems.
"Propulsion appears to be standard. Armstrong symmetries are detectable in radiation pattern, as is a magnetic track of the type one would expect for a linear drive system—"
And so on.
For several hours, we continued to widen our lead over the mutes. But they were accelerating at a much higher rate than we were. And eventually, Chase informed me quietly that they had exceeded our speed, and were now beginning to close.
Its blue-green lights grew brighter on the screens. And, as it drew near, it began to slow down, presumably to match our course and speed.
We were both chilled by the precision of the long-range laser shot which had destroyed the engines, and neither of us held any illusions about the outcome should we be forced to fight.
Nevertheless, we concentrated on our own weapons. We had nukes and accelerated particle beams and proton rams, and half a dozen other devices I’d never heard of. The most promising (which is to say the easiest to aim and fire) seemed to be a weapon that Chase referred to as the scattershot: a wide-band energy beam consisting of gantner photons, hot electrons, and a kind of "particle soup." Its effect, according to the computers, was to destabilize matter at short range. "But you have to get in close," the computer warned. "And you have to knock out the defensive systems first. It won’t give you any penetration at all of the shields."
"How do we do that?" asked Chase.
The computer replied with a complex strategy requiring quick maneuvering and operators at three of the weapons consoles.
"One console," I said. "We can only man one. Or two if we dispense with the pilot."
"Why don’t we just give them the ship?" said Chase. I could see fear in her eyes, and I doubt that I was doing a good job hiding my own emotions. "That’s what they want, and it’s our best chance to get away from here with our heads."
"I don’t think," I said, "that we should surrender the Corsarius. Under any conditions. Anyhow, you saw what they did to the Centaur. I don’t think we have any choice but to fight. Or run, if we can."
"It’s suicide," she said.
I couldn’t argue with that. Still, we had a hell of a ship. And they wanted it very badly. That might give us an advantage of sorts. "Computer, if the alien’s shield was down, what would be the logical target for the scattershot?"
"I would recommend," it said, "either the bridge or the power plant. I will inform you if I am able to locate them."
Chase looked out the viewport at the mute, whose shadow now filled the sky. "We might as well throw rocks," she said.
We shut down what was left of our magnetics, and coasted now at a constant speed. The alien settled into a parallel orbit, about a kilometer to starboard. Chase watched them a while, and then shook her head hopelessly. "They can’t see the capsule," she said. "How about if we put a timer on one of the nukes, blow the ship to hell, and get out? We might still be able to make it back to the planet."
"You’d spend the rest of your life there if you did," I said.
"First things first." She hunched her shoulders, and turned back to the screen. "I wonder what they’re waiting for."
"My guess is they’re trying to figure a way to get us out of here without damaging the ship. Maybe they’re waiting for the destroyer to come back. Where is it, by the way?"
"Still headed out of town. I’d say another standard day and a half before they can even turn around. Anyway, what would they need a destroyer for?"
She looked through a viewport at the giant ship floating off our beam.
"Their shields are still up?"
"Yes. This would be a good time for an idea." Her face clouded. "I just had an uncomfortable thought. Can they read our minds from there?"
"I don’t think so. They have to be reasonably close. A few meters, judging by my experience with them. And by the way, if they do get inside your head, you’ll know it."
"Unpleasant sons of bitches, aren’t they?" She tapped the keyboard. "Energy levels have finally stopped rising. I think we’re about as combat ready as we’re going to get. If any of this stuff still works."
"Assume everything’s fine. That’s what we’ll need to survive, so assume it. If there’s a problem somewhere, knowing about it in advance won’t help us any."
"So what do we do now?"
"Wait," I said. "Keep the scattershot primed. If we get a chance to use it, we’re going to shoot, and run like hell."
"Limp like hell," she corrected.
"Benedict."
The sound spilled out of the ship’s commsystem. "It’s coming from the mute," said Chase.
"Don’t acknowledge," I said.
"Alex." The voice was warm, understanding, reasonable. And familiar. "Alex, are you all right? I’ve been worried about life support over there. Is there anything we can do?"
It was S’Kalian. Defender of the peace. Idealist. Friend. "I’m sorry about the loss of the Centaur. The destroyer was only supposed to prevent anyone’s boarding the artifact."
"Stay on the trigger," I told Chase.
"What do I aim at?"
"Pick your target," I said.
"Preferably toward the center," said the computer. "Without specific knowledge, the most probable location of the power plant would be a centralized position within the configuration."
S’Kalian again: "Alex?"
Chase nodded. "Locked in. Now’s your chance to ask him to take down the screens."
"Alex, you can hear me. We have an opportunity to settle this peacefully. There need be no bloodshed."
I opened a channel. His image appeared on one of the auxiliary monitors. He looked solicitous, compassionate. "You can’t have the Corsarius, S’Kalian."
"We already have it. Fortunately for both our people, we have it."
"Why?" I asked. "Why is it so valuable to you?"
"Surely by now you have guessed, Alex." His tone dropped an octave. "Sim’s secrets will be safe with us. We are not an aggressive species. Your people have nothing to fear."
"That’s easy to say."
"We don’t have your bloody history, Alex. War is not a normal condition of life among us. We do not kill our own kind, nor would we have killed yours if it could have been avoided. We still live today with the memory of that terrible war."