Then scarlet spat from the remaining ship, scoring Hemo’s vessel.
Pandemonium broke loose, shrills and screeches as two dozen Khalians all gave the alarm at once.
“Be still!” Hemo howled. “Batteries, fire at will! Keep him away! Damage control, what news?”
“Tail gone,” the damage control officer snapped. “All leads and tubes blocked, and atmosphere is contained, but the rocket drive is gone.”
“He cannot maneuver,” Throb moaned.
On the screen Hemo’s face composed itself into a mask of determination. “We will die, then–but we will take our enemy with us if we can. Batteries, at the slightest chance–fire!”
“He will not give them that chance,” Serum breathed.
And it seemed the Merchantman would not. He fishtailed slowly about the disabled pirate in a long arc, always moving, never predictable, but taking his time, choosing the most vulnerable spot for his next, and final, bite. Even as he did, he spat torpedoes, compelling Hemo’s cannoneers to use up energy licking at them with their Iasers–and the Merchantman’s own cannon streaked out, heating the weakened screens white-hot, breaking through to score Hemo’s ship, to nibble at its hide.
“Can you not help him, Globin?” Throb demanded.
But Globin stood as though in a trance, eyes gazing far away, mind working. He knew that even though they could not receive the Merchant’s signals, there was every chance that he could hear them. After all, it was the Merchants who had given the Khalia their communications apparatus–and might already have broken Globin’s new transmission mode and deciphered his new code. They might be listening to every word the pirates said. He had to tell Hemo what to do, but in such a way that the Merchant would not understand ...
“Hemo,” Globin snapped, “jump! Half-degree cube!”
There was silence for a second; then Hemo shrilled, “Navigation! Jump! Half a degree, cubed!”
Globin stared at the screen, holding his breath, while Throb demanded, “What does he mean?”
Then the Merchantman spat its full charge, a column of red–but where it lanced, there was nothing but empty space. Hemo was gone.
“He cannot jump into hyperspace!” Throb realized what had happened. “Not for such a short distance! It is so hazardous as to be fatal!”
But Hemo’s ship had already appeared at the edge of the screen, behind the Merchantman but in range. “Fire all!” Hemo screamed, and ruby light lanced out, seemingly from every inch of the pirate’s hull, the yellow streaks of torpedoes among them. The Merchant turned ruddy, then orange, as his screens overloaded. Two feeble beams reached out toward the pirate, but winked out as, inside the yellow bubble, the Merchantman began to turn, to bring a broadside to bear on the pirate, but the globe of overloaded shield was growing lighter and lighter, hotter and hotter, almost white . . .
White, pure white, expanding, fountaining, an incredible skyrocket, silent in the endless night.
Then it faded, and Hemo’s ship alone drifted in the screen.
Its crew cheered. They howled. They sang.
Hemo screamed with triumph, as loudly as any of them. Then he spun to the screen, eyes alight, caroling, “Thank you, Globin! I never thought to say it to you–but, thank you! My rockets were disabled, but not my FTL drive! I jumped half a degree toward the Merchantman, and half a degree to the side, half a degree up–half a degree, cubed! I might have died, but I was doomed if I did not! Yet I lived, we all lived–and he is deadl You are truly one of us, truly of the captain’s men! You are a noble pirate indeed!”
“Not so noble as yourself,” Globin returned, eyes aglow. “Your valor humbles me, Hemo. We cannot lose you. Endure, till we have sent a man to bring you home!”
“I shall endure! For my captain is avenged!”
“Yes, we have drunk of revenge.” Throb’s paw was firm on Globin’s shoulder. “Is the taste sweet, Globin my friend? Does it satisfy your thirst?”
“It is a beginning,” Globin answered.