I had just stepped out of the shower when Forty-niner’s voice came through the overhead speaker:
«A vessel is in the vicinity, sir.»
That surprised me. Out here you didn’t expect company.
«Another ship? Where?» Somebody to talk to, I thought. Another human being. Somebody to swap jokes with and share gripes.
«A very weak radar reflection, sir. The vessel is not emitting a beacon or telemetry data. Radar puts its distance at fourteen million kilometers.»
«Track?» I asked as I toweled myself.
«Drifting along the ecliptic, sir, in the same direction as the main Belt asteroids.»
«No thrust?»
«No discernable exhaust plume, sir.»
«You’re sure it a ship? Not an uncharted ’roid?»
«Radar reflection shows it is definitely a vessel, not an asteroid, sir.»
I padded to my compartment and pulled on a fresh set of coveralls, thinking, No beacon. Drifting. Maybe it’s a ship in trouble. Damaged.
«No tracking beacon from her?» I called to Forty-niner.
«No telemetry signals, either, sir. No emissions of any kind.»
As I ducked through the hatch into the bridge, Forty-niner called out, «It has emitted a plasma plume, sir. It is maneuvering.»
Damned if his voice didn’t sound excited. I knew it was just my own excitement: Forty-niner didn’t have any emotions. Still …
I slid into the command chair and called up a magnified view of the radar image. And the screen immediately broke into hash.
«Aw, rats!» I yelled. «What a time for the radar to conk out!»
«Radar is functioning normally, sir,» Forty-niner said calmly.
«You call this normal?» I rapped my knuckles on the static-streaked display screen.
«Radar is functioning normally, sir. A jamming signal is causing the problem.»
«Jamming?» My voice must have jumped two octaves.
«Communications, radar, telemetry, and tracking beacon are all being interfered with, sir, by a powerful jamming signal.»
Jamming. And the vessel out there was running silent, no tracking beacon or telemetry emissions.
A freebooter! All of a sudden I wished I’d studied that tactical manual.
Almost automatically I called up the comm system. «This is Humphries Space Systems waterbot JRK49N,» I said, trying to keep my voice firm. Maybe it was a corporate vessel, or one of the mercenaries. «I repeat, waterbot JRK49N.»
No response.
«Their jamming blocks your message, sir.»
I sat there in the command chair staring at the display screens. Broken jagged lines scrolled down all the comm screens, hissing at me like snakes. Our internal systems were still functional, though. For what it was worth, propulsion, structures, electrical power all seemed to be in the green. Life support, too.
But not for long, I figured.
«Compute our best course for Vesta,» I commanded.
«Our present course—»
«Is for 78-13, I know. Compute high-thrust course for Vesta, dammit!»
«Done, sir.»
«Engage the main drive.»
«Sir, I must point out that a course toward Vesta will bring us closer to the unidentified vessel.»
«What?»
«The vessel that is jamming our communications, sir, is positioned between us and Vesta.»
Rats! They were pretty smart. I thought about climbing to a higher declination, out of the ecliptic.
«We could maneuver to a higher declination, sir,» Forty-niner said, calm as ever, «and leave the plane of the ecliptic.»
«Right.»
«But propellant consumption would be prohibitive, sir. We would be unable to reach Vesta, even if we avoided the attacking vessel.»
«Who says it’s an attacking vessel?» I snapped. «It hasn’t attacked us yet.»
At that instant the ship shuddered. A cluster of red lights blazed up on the display panel and the emergency alarm started wailing.
«Our main deuterium tank has been punctured, sir.»
«I can see that!»
«Attitude jets are compensating for unexpected thrust, sir.»
Yeah, and in another couple minutes the attitude jets would be out of nitrogen. No deuterium for the fusion drive, and no propellant for the attitude jets. We’d be a sitting duck.
Another jolt. More red lights on the board. The alarm seemed to screech louder.
«Our fusion drive thruster cone has been hit, sir.»
Two laser shots and we were crippled. As well as deaf, dumb, and blind.
«Turn off the alarm,» I yelled, over the hooting. «I know we’re in trouble.»
The alarm shut off. My ears still ringing, I stared at the hash-streaked screens and the red lights glowering at me from the display board. What to do? I couldn’t even call over to them and surrender. They wouldn’t take a prisoner, anyway.
I felt the ship lurch again.
«Another hit?»
«No, sir,» answered Forty-niner. «I am swinging the ship so that the control pod faces away from the attacker.»
Putting the bulk of the ship between me and those laser beams. «Good thinking,» I said weakly.
«Standard defensive maneuver, sir, according to Tactical Manual 7703.»
«Shut up about the damned tactical manual!»
«The new meteor shields have been punctured, sir.» I swear Forty-niner added that sweet bit of news just to yank my chain.
Then I saw the maneuvering jet propellant go empty, the panel display lights flicking from amber to red.
«Rats, we’re out of propellant!»
I realized that I was done for. Forty-niner had tried to shield me from the attacker’s laser shots by turning the ship so that its tankage and fusion drive equipment was shielding my pod, but doing so had used up the last of our maneuvering propellant.
Cold sweat beaded my face. I was gasping for breath. The freebooters or whoever was shooting at us could come up close enough to spit at us now. They’d riddle this pod and me in it.
«Sir, standard procedure calls for you to put on your spacesuit.»
I nodded mutely and got up from the chair. The suit was in its rack by the airlock. At least Forty-niner didn’t mention the tactical manual.
I had one leg in the suit when the ship suddenly began to accelerate so hard that I slipped to the deck and cracked my skull on the bulkhead. I really saw stars flashing in my eyes.
«What the hell…?»
«We are accelerating, sir. Retreating from the last known position of the attacking vessel.»
«Accelerating? How? We’re out of—»
«I am using our cargo as propellant, sir. The thrust provided is—»
Forty-niner was squirting out our water. Fine by me. Better to have empty cargo tanks and be alive than to hand a full cargo of water to the guys who killed me. I finished wriggling into my spacesuit even though my head was thumping from the fall I’d taken. Just before I pulled on the helmet I felt my scalp. There was a nice-sized lump; it felt hot to my fingers.
«You could’ve warned me that you were going to accelerate the ship,» I grumbled as I sealed the helmet to the suit’s neck ring.
«Time was of the essence, sir,» Forty-niner replied.
The ship lurched again as I checked my backpack connections. Another hit.
«Where’d they get us?» I shouted.
No answer. That really scared me. If they knocked Forty-niner’s computer out, all the ship’s systems would bonk out, too.
«Main power generator, sir,» Forty-niner finally replied. «We are now running on auxiliary power, sir.»
The backup fuel cells. They wouldn’t last more than a few hours. If the damned solar panels were working—no, I realized; those big fat wings would just make terrific target practice for the bastards.