“They’re going fast. We’ll be in trouble pretty soon,” Tom said, checking the storage dials.
“Then use the wasps as much as you can. And the forward tubes have a couple of loads of scrap.” As he talked, Ben was watching the movement of the Earth ship. This craft was not maneuvering clumsily like the other two. The pilot seemed to know his ship’s capabilities. More important, his thinking was uncomfortably in line with Ben’s, for he was anticipating every move Ben made. The two ships were circling the outpost asteroid now, with Ben trying desperately to get the great rock between him and the cruiser, while the Earth ship was equally determined not to let the Spacer craft out of its sights.
Ben worked the controls frantically as move was matched by counter-move. At every opportunity the cruiser was firing; sooner or later, Ben knew, a shell would get past the wasps, or the S-80’s supply of defensive weapons would be exhausted. He ducked the ship down close to the asteroid surface, watched as a warhead from the cruiser was caught by the magnetic bulk of the rock, deflected out of its homing course to detonate harmlessly on the surface.
It gave Ben an idea. For all of its pilot’s skill, the Earth ship was bigger, its reaction time slower than the little S-80. Ben fired his forward jets, moving his ship out in a great arc away from the asteroid. As he anticipated, the Earth ship moved out on his tail, following him doggedly as if waiting for the kill that was certain to come. Away from the rock, the Earth ship accelerated, moving in swiftly. Then, with side jets roaring, Ben cut his arc short and dropped the S-80’s nose back down to skim the surface of the asteroid.
This move took the cruiser by surprise. The Earth ship had been following him move for move; once again it followed suit. Intent on its prey, the pilot had momentarily forgotten the asteroid itself and cut his ship’s arc too short as he curved in to follow the Spacer. The cruiser’s pilot saw his error too late.
Without the deft maneuverability of the Spacer craft, the Earth ship crashed broadside into the jagged rock surface of the asteroid, turned a great end-over-end flip and crashed down again, crumbling its main power jets. Ponderously the ship began to ricochet; grappling plates shot out toward the surface of the rock and the wounded vessel crunched down once again, raising a shower of dust and rock fragments in a halo around it.
Ben crowed in triumph, moving his little ship back for a better view. As he balanced the ship’s power at a distance of eight hundred yards, the Barrons crowded around him at the view screen.
“Got his tubes,” Ben said. “That’s why he grappled. He knew he’d be a helpless cripple off the surface.”
“You don’t think he can move?” Joyce asked.
“I think he would if he could. He knows we’ve still got fire power. If he could be running for it, he would be.” Ben stared in silence at the wreck below. “That was quite a trap,” he said finally. “They must have knocked out the outpost early in the game, and then just sucked in every Spacer ship that came along.”
“Well, it was a trap that didn’t work,” Tom said shakily. “He’s not going to chase you, and the other two ships are done for. You might as well get out of here before he calls for help.” Ben scratched his jaw and continued to stare at the view screen. “Somebody must have survived the crash in order to throw out the grapplers.”
“Okay, why not let them alone?” Tom said. “They’re not going to hurt another Spacer ship. You could smash them to pieces with one shell, but what’s the use? That ship isn’t going to ambush anybody again.”
Ben shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking of firing on them,” he said. “I just don’t like leaving them.
Seems to me you Earthmen once had a law of the woods, back when you had forests full of game. The law said that when you wound an animal, you go in after him.” He sat down at the controls, and began easing the ship down toward the wreckage of the Earth ship.
Tom and Joyce exchanged glances. “You’ve got room enough for a few survivors on this ship,” Joyce said. “They won’t give you any trouble.”
“I hope not.” Ben altered his course a little, peering at the view screen. He beamed a recognition signal, but there was no answer from the wrecked ship. He dropped lower, to within two hundred yards, and then began settling the S-80 gently down toward the battered hull.
He was within fifty yards of the surface when Tom let out a cry, and Ben saw the blunt muzzles of two missile tubes near the front of the wounded ship swivel upward. Ben’s hand shot out to the braking controls, reversing direction as the missile tubes coughed flame and two shells snaked up toward the Spacer ship like deadly arrows. The reverse slammed them against the control panel; frantically Ben triggered defensive shells from the rear tubes, but he knew as he did so that it was too late. Even if they stopped the cruiser’s shells before contact, they would take the full force of the concussion wave.
“Down!” he shouted. “Fast!” Leaping to his feet he caught Joyce Barron by the shoulders and hurled her to the deck beneath the acceleration cots. Tom dove for the deck on the other side of the cabin, arms covering his head. Ben hesitated just long enough to throw off the ship’s main power switch and then himself turned to hit the deck.
But his last move had taken a split second too long. Even as he turned he heard the deafening crash of the detonation. The rear bulkhead of the cabin bulged inward like a metal bubble and burst along its seams; something struck him a blow on the head as he fell forward to the deck. In that last second he saw an orange inferno behind the split bulkhead, felt himself picked up and hurled backward by the concussion wave and dumped in a heap against the control panel. There was pain and searing heat and blinding light as he lost consciousness.
But the greatest pain of all in that instant was the bitter realization that he had allowed himself to be trapped again.
7. Derelict
SOMEWHERE far in the distance a hammer was pounding on steel, a steady, nerve-shattering din that seemed to have been going on for hours. Slowly, fighting every inch of the way, Ben Trefon dragged himself up into consciousness, wishing desperately that the pounding would cease. Presently he blinked his eyes open, staring around him at the sheet-draped cubicle and fighting down an almost overwhelming wave of helplessness and confusion. It was then that he realized that the pounding was not in the distance at all. It was going on right inside his own head.
Shakily he gripped the edge of the cot and tried to sit up. The pounding in his head picked up speed, and a searing pain shot through his chest and right shoulder. Now he became aware of bulky gauze bandages half covering him. He sank back with a groan, trying to orient himself.
Vaguely he remembered being awake a few times before, for a few moments. Little fragments of clouded memory flooded his mind. Once he had awakened in darkness to hear the muffled throbbing of engines somewhere below him, a throbbing edged with a high-pitched, uneasy whine. Another time there had been light and movement, with the sound of hushed voices, and the feeling of cool moist packs bathing his forehead. Again, a memory of the sharp bite of a needle in his arm, the glitter of an intravenous bottle on a stand above his head, and a soft feminine voice that had sounded incredibly sweet in its reassurance. And through it all, like a red haze, there was the continuing impression of pain and aching in his shoulder and chest and the inability—or unwillingness—to move.
Now alarm flared in his mind. How long had he been unconscious? Where was he, and what was happening? There was a vivid memory of the crippled Earth ship firing upon him as he tried to move to its assistance, waiting until he was in point-blank range. There was the fearful realization that the little S-80