“You’re crazy. Our pilots aren’t bloodthirsty monsters.” Tom looked at the view screen. “As far as I know, nobody at home even knew for sure that I was aboard your ship when you pulled away from the raid. And I haven’t had any contact with anyone but you since.” Ben looked at the sandy-haired Earthman, and came to a decision. “Maybe not,” he said. “But there’s one way to be sure.” He signaled Petro’s ship. “I’m going down,” he told the older Spacer. “Pull your ship back, well back, and cover me.”
He waited while Petro’s crippled ship drifted back away from him, then took the controls of the S-80
and nosed down toward the gaping hole of the outpost entry lock. The asteroid loomed larger in the view screen as Ben edged his ship closer; the SOS signal came through stronger by the moment.
And then, with his ship less than a thousand yards from the lock, the SOS stopped as abruptly as it had begun. A moment later Ben heard a cry from Petro as three cruiser-size Earth ships slid out from behind the asteroid, one on either side of him and one below.
He had walked straight into an ambush.
In the next few seconds Bern Trefon followed his reflexes with a swiftness he could never have copied by reason. He recognized the trap instantly; he was in a crossfire between the ships, with one avenue of escape cut off by the bulk of the asteroid. Landing, he knew, would be suicide. With a snarl he wrenched at the controls, twisting the little ship out of its smooth landing arc. Rockets flared from the belly of one of the Earth ships, and another turned a barrage of homing missiles out toward Petro’s crippled cruiser.
“Run for it, Petro!” Ben shouted. “It’s a trap!” In the same breath he turned to bring the nearest Earth ship into his hairline sights and fired three of his air-to-air missiles. Then without hesitation he fired his rear jets, nosing the S-80 down to follow the shells straight for the Earth ship’s hull. Somewhere near the ship he saw two bright flares as his defensive missiles detonated the Earth ship’s first barrage; moments later he was at close range with the hulking craft, firing off a swarm of wasps, the close-combat weapon that moved so swiftly and in such numbers that big defensive missiles could not stop them readily.
Two of the wasps struck the hull of the Earth ship, leaving a great gaping hole. Then two more struck, and then three more as Ben’s ship jerked with the recoil. Suddenly something in the Earth ship exploded.
Great billows of flame poured out of the ship as it began rolling end-over-end away from him.
“One down,” Ben grated. “That leaves two to go.”
He was swinging his ship around when another flare of light caught his eye, off in the distance where Petro’s ship had been waiting. Frantically Ben signaled. There was no answer. Two more fireballs exploded from the crippled cruiser, major missile strikes, and the Spacer ship opened at the seams in dreadful slow motion. Fragments of hull flew out in all directions, only to be sucked back into the vortex of the fireball.
Numbly, Ben knew that Petro was gone, and the two remaining Earth ships were turning to converge their fire on him. “Strap down!” he shouted to the Barrons as he braced himself and seized the controls.
Joyce went reeling back to the cots as Ben turned the ship in toward the flank of the closest Earth ship.
But Tom Barron grabbed a shock bar and leaped into the weapon-control seat beside Ben.
“Get away from those guns,” Ben snarled.
“Shut up and move this tub,” Tom shot back at him. “Get it out of the crossfire. I’ll handle these things.”
Ben hesitated only an instant. Then he turned his full attention to the controls. The Earth ships were moving apart, trying to keep him in crossfire, and just as stubbornly he was moving out on the flank of the nearest one. If he could get one of the ships between him and the other, he would have only one ship to fight; homing missiles had no minds, and could not distinguish a friendly ship from a foe. The big Earth ship he was flanking seemed to recognize his intent. It started a lumbering turn, moving in toward its sister ship and holding its fire as it maneuvered. But the S-80 was lighter and faster. As the second ship emptied its missile tubes in a broadside barrage, Ben changed his plan. Swiftly, almost recklessly, he reversed direction, hurling himself and Tom up against the control panel as the null-grav units screamed in protest, and then dropped the S-80’s nose sharply down between the two Earth ships.
Tom had been waiting for an opening. Now, with his hair-line sights centered on the most distant Earth ship, he began triggering the forward shells. Ben edged the ship in toward the other, staying in a direct line between the two. A moment later a dozen wasps moved out from their tubes at the rear, wavered at the confusion of target signals, and turned sharply on the nearer Earth ship. A shell full of scrap metal burst from the Earth ship’s tubes, scattering a wall of debris between them, and the S-80’s wasps began detonating like fire-crackers, out of contact range.
Tom reached for the switch to launch another barrage of wasps, but Ben stopped him.
“Hold onto those,” he said. “Concentrate your fire on the farthest one.”
“But you’re getting too close to this one.”
“I know what I’m doing. Get set to let the other one have a barrage.” The S-80 was close to the first Earth ship now, and closing in fast. But it was approaching on a side away from the missile tubes. Twice the great cruiser fired homing missiles, but the Spacer ship was too close, and the shells moved harmlessly out into space, finally homing on fragments of debris. Tom Barron was staring at the view screen now as the cruiser loomed up alarmingly. “Ben! You’re going to ram him!”
“Not quite.” Poised for the right instant, Ben slammed down the null-grav switches when the ship was just a few feet from the cruiser. Grappling plates shot out on cables from the S-80’s hull and clanged down on the hull of the Earth ship. “Get that other one, now! He can’t fire on us without blowing his pal here to pieces.”
Tom worked the weapon controls in a kind of frenzy, firing wasps one at a time to break through the cruiser’s defenses. The Earth ship saw its predicament: it couldn’t fire back, and soon the wasps would exhaust its defensive missiles. For a moment the cruiser lay immobile and vulnerable; then as Tom fired three waves of heavy warhead missiles it seemed to gather its wits and tried to scurry clumsily out of the way of the oncoming shells. But it was too late. With defensive shells exhausted, two of the S-80’s missiles took the ship broadside. There was a mighty orange flare in the center of the ship; it seemed to split down the middle, the fragments breaking into still smaller fragments as the cruiser disintegrated.
“Good boy,” Ben said. “That evens the odds a little. Now let’s see what we can do with our friends here.”
He released the grappling plates. With a burst of side jets the Spacer craft jumped away from the cruiser’s hull. The Earth ship was waiting; with the S-80 so close she was helpless to attack, but the instant the Spacer ship cast off the cruiser moved around with amazing agility.
“They’re centering on us,” Tom cried out. “You’d better move this thing.”
“Hold on.” Ben hit the forward power, trying to slip in behind the asteroid for cover. But the Earth ship was already moving to block the maneuver. Missiles broke free from half a dozen forward tubes and sped toward the Spacer craft, keeping Tom busy launching counter missiles. Once again Ben tried to move so that the asteroid lay between him and the enemy, but the Earth ship was too nimble.
Ben glanced at Tom nervously. “How are our shells holding up?”