He'd actually begun to put pressure on the charge-switch when he stopped. If the gadget worked, the other ship would be disabled. Its drive coil might be irreparably ruined, so its crew couldn't rewind it to serviceability. And it was not probable, but it was possible that the other ship might not be a pirate. It might be an honest trading ship with an inattentive hand on control room watch. Carelessness could happen. '
He shifted his hand. He said into the all-ship microphones, "We'll break out of overdrive first. Get set. Three, two, one, zero!"
He flipped the breakout switch. There was dizziness and momentary nausea and the feeling of a horrible spinning fall. Then stars flashed into being out the viewports and on the vision-screens. The Yarrow made a curious bobbing motion, quaintly like a curtsey of greeting to the universe to which it had returned. There were stars by multiples of millions.
And there was a flaming yellow double sun to starboard, near enough for each of its monster components to have visible disks a third of a degree across. If a double sun could have a planetary system, the Yarrow would have broken out inside it. There was brilliant, glaring, intolerable light which was blistering until the viewports' automatic filters reduced it.
Trent said evenly, "I think we've got company. If that other ship goes on without stopping, its skipper ought to break the man in the control room for inattention to duty. If it doesn't go by…"
The mate said stolidly, "You cut off the drive and the detector too, Cap'n."
Trent nodded.
"Either our overdrive or theirs had to blow some time soon. I cut ours to make it seem to blow. But if I kept the detector on, they'd know it didn't. I'm hoping…"
He reached over and cut the Lawlor drive too. In or out of overdrive, the Lawlor drive propelled the Yarrow on her course. Where this encounter took place, of course, a Lawlor drive alone was just about as useful as a pair of oars.
"We're acting like a derelict, a crippled ship, anyhow. We'll see what the other ship does. Meanwhile I'll charge the gadget."
This time he did press the charge-button, to draw on the Yarrow's power-bank for thousands of kilowatts for minutes in succession, to be discharged at will in a practically instantaneous surge of pure electric energy.
There was a crash and a roaring which was a bellow. The smell of vaporized metal and distilled insulation ran through the ship. The crash was so loud that for seconds afterwards Trent heard nothing. The first sound his recovering ears did hear was McHinny's voice, shrilling profanity at the top of his lungs. Then he heard the air-apparatus running at emergency speed to clear away the stench.
He jerked his head at the mate. The mate vanished. Trent sat tensely at the control board, waiting. With increased return of hearing he noticed rustling, crackling noises which would be microwave radiation from the nearby double sun.
The mate's voice came over the loud-speaker. "Captain, sir, the gadget's blown again. It just ain't any good!"
Trent could hardly have become more tense, but it did seem that his muscles did tauten further. Yet the Yarrow was in no worse situation than it had been when it rescued the crew—and Marian—from the Hecla.
The cracklings and rustling sounds from the double sun were broken into. There was a specifically artificial sound from the space around the Yarrow. It was high-pitched to begin with, and it rose swiftly in pitch until it passed the shrillness of the highest of whistles. It was, of course, a single radar pulse, imitating in the Pleiads the sound-ranging cry of furry flying creatures called bats, on Earth.
"All hands," said Trent evenly. "Get into spacesuits and load all weapons. We've just been hit by a radar pulse. There'd be no reason for anybody but pirates to follow us out of over-drive and try to locate us by radar."
There were stirrings here and there. The mate came back and said, "Your spacesuit, Captain."
Trent got up from the control board and slipped into his space armor. There came another radar pulse. It was louder.
For a long time after that there was something close to silence in the Yarrow. True, the air apparatus whirred and cut off. The temperature control made a new kind of noise. Now it was cutting down the heat-intake from the nearby double sun instead of holding the temperature of the Yarrow so many degrees Kelvin above the chill of empty space. And there were indefinite small sounds which came from the mere presence of living men inside the Yarrow.
There was a third radar pulse. The first had been like a squeaking. This was like a scream.
Then a vision-screen, turned away from the nearby suns, showed the blinkings of minute specks of varicolored lights which were stars. A voice came from the outside communicator, "Privateer Bear of Loren calling. What ship's that?"
Trent had, of course, anticipated the question. But he wanted to ask one of his own. Marian was off-planet somewhere in one of an unjustified number of suddenly foolhardy ships. All of them couldn't hope to escape capture by pirates. But the pirates couldn't hope to capture all of them, either. So the question Trent needed an answer to was, had the Cytheria been taken by this particular ship? If not, absolute recklessness was justified. The Yarrow, ramming, would not injure or endanger Marian in the process. On the other hand, if the Cytheria had been captured and Marian was one of other captives on this ship, then the maddest of recklessness was a necessity. Trent's, most desperate obligation would be to smash the pirate at any cost because Marian was on board.
The ceiling loudspeaker bellowed, "What ship's that? Answer or take what you get for it!"
Trent growled, "This is the Cytheria, bound for Loren. And if you're the Bear you'll go about your business! You've blown our overdrive!"
Sweat stood out on his face as he waited to hear. If this pirate ship had taken the Cytheria, they'd know the Yarrow wasn't the Cytheria. And they'd reveal it.
But the voice from outside the ship, from the pirate, was only almost mocking. "It was the only way we could hail you. You tried to run away. What's your cargo?"
Trent ran off a cargo list at random. It didn't matter. He didn't think of the huge crate loaded aboard the Yarrow on Manaos. He didn't think of it. The vision-screen showed a small glittering which now rapidly took on the shape of a ship. The voice from the ceiling speaker said genially, "We can use some of that. We'll come aboard."
Trent's eyes burned, now. Marian wasn't aboard this ship. Therefore anything that could be done to deceive, to damage, or to destroy this pirate could be done from a simple, honest hatred of everything it stood for. And Marian wasn't involved. However, there seemed nothing to be done.
Trent protested as if angrily. The other ship took form as a polished fish-like shape. He argued feverishly, as if he believed he dealt with the privateer Bear of Loren, owned by the planetary president who happened to be Marian's father. Actually, it was conceivable that it was the Bear. Or the one that had attacked the Hecla was the Bear. But he didn't care. Marian was in danger, and therefore he didn't care whether it was a quasi-level privateer or an unquestionable freebooter. He meant to try to destroy it, legally or illegally, properly or otherwise.
Meanwhile he protested. His argument was that the Yarrow—which he called the Cytheria—was bound for Loren and the cargo she carried was to be delivered to that planet anyhow. As a privateer, insisted Trent, the Bear was bound to respect vessels bound for its home spaceport. It had done enough damage! It has blown out his overdrive. It…