The conversation lagged as Ben corrected course and then broke radio silence to check with Petro.
The periodic recognition signal beamed ahead toward Outpost 5 still failed to raise a response, even though the two ships were now approaching rendezvous point very rapidly.
“Any sign of life?” Petro asked in the earphones.
“Not a peep. I wonder what’s wrong?”
“They’re probably afraid to break silence until we’re close enough for a tight beam to hit us without hitting a dozen Earth ships too.”
“But we’re already close enough for that,” Ben protested.
“Well, keep trying. And don’t get nervous. The boys on 5 know what’s up there better than we do. If they think a signal will draw a wolf pack, they may make us home in without a signal.” Ben kept trying, but he couldn’t hide his growing apprehension. With the ship now decelerating again, he watched the dials turn as the distance to contact point diminished. Tom and Joyce watched the radar screen over his shoulder. A half hour passed, and then another, with no answer to Ben’s signal.
Then the radar screen picked up a response, the faintest suggestion of a blip where Outpost 5 should be located. Excitedly, Ben activated the tracking screen, superimposed the calculated orbit of Outpost 5
on the same screen, and saw that they coincided exactly. He tapped the signal button to Petro’s ship.
“We’re there,” he said. “I should have a sighting in a minute.”
“Well, hang onto it,” Petro said. “I just had another generator go. I haven’t even got radar.”
“Then stick close. I’ll guide you in.”
After the hours of tension, the contact was an almost unbelievable relief. Jubilantly Ben tightened down his signal arc and beamed his recognition signal toward the outpost. After the long hours of going it alone, here was a safe haven, a port in this storm of space invaders, a place to rest and contact other Spacers and make plans to fight back the foe that was threatening their very existence. Until now Ben had not realized how much alone and helpless he had felt since his first look at the ruined House of Trefon. Now at least he would have an effective way to fight back.
Suddenly the outpost asteroid appeared in the telescope, growing from a flicker of light to a distinct disk as they approached. But once again Ben saw the ship’s guard screens flaring as bits of rubble and debris floating in space were contacted. The rubble thickened, and some of the larger fragments became visible as they drew nearer the asteroid.
Outpost 5 had not escaped attack, after all. There had been a battle here, probably only a few hours before, judging from the density of the debris. Ben strained for an answering signal from the outpost but still there was no response. Something stirred in his mind as he stared at the asteroid. He could make out some of the surface detail now. The outpost had an empty, abandoned look about it. There were no surrounding Spacer ships, no signs of life. He beamed his signal again, waiting uneasily for an answer. By now there should have been a response; the powerful transmitters on the outpost could not have been destroyed completely, and his ship was close enough for clear recognition.
After a moment’s hesitation Ben rapped out the Spacer’s distress signal, an imperative demand for response. For a long moment there was silence. Then, feebly, a response came back on a tight beam.
But it was not an identification signal. It was an SOS, repeated over and over as though being transmitted by tape in a feeble stream from the outpost radios.
Ben signaled Petro. “Are you getting that?” he asked.
“Yes,” Petro said. “They’re in trouble.”
“I can’t get an ID from them.’’
“That’s an automatic response,” Petro replied. “And look at that rock! They must have taken a pounding.”
It was true. As they moved closer Ben could see the pockmarks and craters in the surface of the rock, telltale evidence of a terrific bombardment. Now Ben could see that the asteroid was listing and wobbling slightly as it moved in its orbit. The entrance locks to the great interior drydocks were gaping open and one of the locks was half blocked off with heaps of rubble.
Ben signaled Petro again. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Do you see any ships?”
“Not a one. But they may be inside.”
“But there ought to be dozens here by now.”
Petro grunted. “Let’s move in closer,” he said.
The Barrons were at the control panel now, staring at the image of destruction in the view screen.
Cautiously Ben inched the little S-80 closer, searching the surface of the rock for signs of life. The SOS
continued coming in, weakly but steadily.
“What are you waiting for?” Tom Barron asked. “Aren’t you going to land?” It was exactly the question Ben had been debating. It seemed the obvious thing to do, but a sharp edge of apprehension was holding him back. He looked up at Tom suddenly. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Would you?”
“I’d certainly answer an SOS.”
Ben grunted, studying the view screen again. It would be easy enough. A few deft maneuvers would bring the S-80 into alignment with the main entry lock. Then the standard grappling maneuvers would draw the little ship down with practically no impact onto the conveyor belt leading into the heart of the hollowed-out asteroid. A crew of Spacers ought to be on the alert to help grapple the ship and draw it in, closing down the pressure locks behind it. A simple matter, landing a ship on an outpost asteroid.
But Ben didn’t start the maneuvers. Instead, he ran down the signal lights on the control panel, checking out his missile tubes and launching apparatus to see that they were operating.
“What’s the matter?” Tom Barron asked.
“I don’t like this,” Ben said. “It’s just too quiet down there.”
“But it’s obviously been attacked,” Tom protested “There could be men dying down there.”
“I know.” For a moment Ben thought of the phantom ship that could not be seen, moving in with subtle menace to study his ship and course and then moving away again like a wraith. “Why are you so eager?” he asked Tom Barron suddenly. “What makes you so sure there’s anybody in there at all? Why the rush to go down there?”
Tom look chagrined. “I just thought you might be able to help, if—if somebody’s been hurt.” Suspicion crystallized in Ben’s mind. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you already know what’s happened down there. Spies have been known to carry homing devices, hidden on their bodies. Maybe you’ve been in contact somehow with that ship we couldn’t see.”
“I never heard of that ship before,” Tom cried angrily. “Use your head! Would I be calling in a ship that might blow us all to flinders? Including my sister and me?”
“Maybe you’re just looking for a rescue,” Ben countered. “Or maybe you figure it would be worth getting blown up just to put a Spacer ship out of commission. Maybe your own military would figure that was a worthwhile sacrifice, if they could wipe out a Spacer ship.”