Two figures came into his view, locked tightly together, arms flailing. It was Dowst and the second Connie. He got to his feet and was moving to the Planeteer’s aid when Santos’ voice shrilled in his helmet. “Sir! Look left!”
Rip whirled. The Connie who had stepped aside was advancing, pistol in hand. His light caught Rip full in the face.
The young officer thought quickly. The Connie hadn’t fired. Why? Suddenly he had it. The man hadn’t fired for fear of hitting his friend, who was battling with Dowst. Rip was in front of them. Quickly he dropped to one knee, reaching for his own pistol. The Connie wouldn’t dare fire now. The high-velocity slug would go right through him, to explode in one of the struggling figures behind—and the wrong one might get it.
The Connie saw Rip’s action and tossed his pistol aside. He, too, knew he couldn’t fire. He reached into a knee pouch and drew out his space knife. He leaped for the Planeteer.
Rip pulled frantically at his pistol. It was stuck fast, probably caught in the fabric by his knee landing. The space knife wouldn’t be caught. It was smooth, with no projections to catch. He shifted knees and jerked it out.
The Connie’s flying body hit him, and a powerful arm circled his waist. Rip thrust upward with his knees, one hand reaching for the Connie’s suit valve. But the Connie had one arm free, too. He drove his glove up under Rip’s heart. Rip let go of the valve and used his elbow to lever away, just as the Connie pressed his knife’s release valve. The blade slammed outward and drove into the inside of Rip’s right arm, just above the elbow.
Pain lanced through him, and he felt the blood rush to the wound as air poured through the gap in his suit. He gritted his teeth and smashed at the Connie with his own knife. It rammed home, and he squeezed the release. The blade connected solidly. He was suddenly free.
He pressed the wounded arm to his side, stopping the outpouring of air. The cut hurt like all the devils of space. With his other hand he increased the air in his suit, then looked swiftly around. The Connie was on his knees, both gloves pressed tightly to his side.
Dowst was just finishing a knot in the safety line that bound a second enemy’s hands. The Connie Rip had rocketed down on was still lying where he had fallen. And Corporal Santos, the enemy’s pneumatic chatter gun at the ready, was standing guard.
Rip turned up the volume in his communicator. He tried to sound calm, but the shakiness of triumph and excitement was in his voice. “All Planeteers. We have the Connie snapper-boats. Koa, bring your men here.”
He felt someone working on his arm and turned to see Corporal Pederson, his face one vast grin in the glare from Dowst’s belt light. “Koa didn’t need me,” he said.
Rip grinned back. “Nunez,” he called, “how are things at the cave?”
“Sir, this is Nunez. Two Connies were prowling around, but they didn’t see the entrance. Then, a minute ago, they hurried away.”
Rip considered. “Koa, how many Connies have you?”
“Four, sir.”
With the five he and Dowst had taken, that meant four sill at large, and from Nunex’s report, some Connie yelling had been going on. The four certainly knew by this time that there were Federal men on the asteroid. Unless something were done quickly the four Connies would be shooting at them from the darkness. He ordered, “All Planeteers, kill your belt lights.”
The lights on the Connies they had just taken still glowed. Dowst was putting a patch on the Connie Rip had stabbed. He waited until the private had finished, then said, “Turn out the Connies’ lights, too.”
If he could get in touch with the Connies, he could tell them they were finished. But using the snapper-boat radios was out, because the enemy cruiser would hear. The cruiser couldn’t hear the helmet communications, though, because they carried only a short distance. The cruiser was close enough so that a helmet communicator turned on full volume might barely be heard, although it was unlikely.
He couldn’t stick his head in a Connie helmet, but he could talk to a Connie by direct communication and have him give instructions.
There was complete darkness with all belt lights out, but he groped his way to the Connie Dowst had been patching, felt for his helmet, and put his own against it. He yelled, “Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” Then he asked, “Why did you patch me?”
It was a perfect opening. “Because we don’t want to kill you. Listen. We have all but four of you. Understand?”
“Yes. What will you do with us?”
“Treat you as prisoners—if you behave. Get on your communicator and tell those four men to surrender. Tell them to come to the boats, with lights on. Tell them we’ll give them five minutes. If they don’t come, we’ll hunt them with rockets. Make that clear.”
“They will come,” the Connie said. “They don’t want to die. I will do it.”
Rip kept his helmet against the Connie’s, but the man spoke in another language, which Rip identified as the main Consops tongue. When he had finished, Rip told his Planeteers to have weapons ready and to keep lights off. Time enough for light when the Connies were all disarmed.
It didn’t take five minutes. The Connie teams came quickly and willingly, and they seemed almost glad to give up their pistols and knives. This was not unusual. Rip had seen many Planeteer reports that spoke of the same thing. Many Connies, it seemed, were glad to get away from the iron Consops rule, even if it meant becoming Federation prisoners.
Inside one of the snapper-boats a light glowed. Rip put his helmet against that of the man who had given the surrender order and demanded, “What’s that light?”
“The cruiser wants us.”
Rip considered demanding that the Connie answer, then thought better of it. He would do it himself. After all, they had hostages. The cruiser wouldn’t take any further action. He climbed into the snapper-boat and hunted for the plug-in terminal. It fitted his own belt jack. He plugged in and said, “Go ahead.”
There was an instant of silence, then an accented voice demanded, “Why are you speaking English?”
Rip replied formally, “This is Lieutenant Foster, Federation Special Order Squadrons, in charge on the asteroid. Your landing party is in our hands, as prisoners, two wounded, none dead. If you agree to withdraw, we will send the wounded men back to you in one boat. The rest will remain here as hostages for your good behavior.”
“Stand by,” the voice said. There was silence for several moments, then a new voice said, “This is the cruiser commander. We make a counteroffer. If you release our men and surrender to them, we will spare the lives of you and your men.”
Rip listened incredulously. The commanding officer didn’t understand. He, Rip, held the whip hand, because the lives of the Connie prisoners were in his hands. He repeated his offer.
“And I repeat,” the commander retorted. “Surrender or die. Choose now.”
“I refuse,” Rip stated flatly. “Try anything, and your men will suffer, not us.”
“You are mistaken,” the harsh voice said. “We will sweep the asteroid clean with our exhaust, but this time we will be more thorough. When we have finished, we will hammer you with guided missiles. Then we will send snapper-boats with rockets to hunt down any who remain. We intend to have that thorium. You had better surrender.”
Rip couldn’t believe it. The cruiser commander had no hesitation in sacrificing his own men! And it was not a bluff. He knew instinctively that the Connie commander meant it. Instantly he unplugged the radio connection from his belt and spoke urgently. “Koa, get everyone under cover in the cave. Hurry! Collect all the Connies and take them with you.”
Then he plugged in again. “Commander, I must have time to think this over.”
“You have one minute.”
He watched his chronometer, planning the next move. When the minute ended, he asked, “Commander, how do we know you will spare our lives if we surrender?” Through the transparent shell of the snapper-boat he saw lights moving toward the horizon and knew K
oa was following orders.
“You don’t know,” the cruiser answered. “You must take our word for it. But if you surrender, we have no reason to wish you harm.”
Rip remained silent. The seconds ticked past until the commander snapped, “Quickly! You have no more time.”
“Sir,” Rip said plaintively, “two of my men do not wish to surrender.”
“Shoot them, fool! Are you in command or not?”
Rip grinned. He made his voice whine. “But, sir, it is against the law of the Federation to shoot men without a trial.”
The commander lapsed into his own language, caught himself, then barked, “You are no longer under Federation law. You are under the Consolidation of People’s Governments. Do you surrender or not? Answer at once, or we take action anyway. Quick!”
Rip knew he could stall no longer. He said coolly, “If you had brains in your head instead of high vacuum, you’d know that Planeteers never surrender. Blast away, you filthy space pirate!”
He jerked the plug loose, hesitated for a second over whether or not to take the snapper-boat, and decided against it. He wasn’t familiar with Connie controls, and there wasn’t time to experiment. He headed for the cave.
The Connie cruiser lost no time. Its stern tubes flamed, then its steering tubes. It was going to drive directly at the asteroid without making a long run! Rip estimated quickly and realized that the Connie would get to the asteroid at the same time that he reached the cave—if he made it.
He speeded up as fast as he dared. With little gravity on the asteroid, he couldn’t fall, but a false step could lift him into space and make him lose time while he got out an air bottle to propel him down again. The thought gave him an idea. Without slowing he took two bottles from his belt, turned them so the openings pointed backward, squeezed the release valves.
The Connie was gaining speed, blasting straight toward him. Rip sped forward and crossed to the sun side, intent on the cave entrance but no longer sure he would make it. The Connie’s nose tube shot a cylinder of flame forward, reaching for the asteroid. He saw the fire lick downward and sweep toward him with appalling speed as he put everything he had into a frantic dive for the cave entrance. The flaming rocket exhaust seemed to snatch at him as a dozen hands pulled him to safety, then beat the sparks from his suit.
He was safe. He leaned against Koa, his heart thumping wildly. For a moment or two he couldn’t speak; then he managed, “Thanks.”
Koa spoke for the Planeteers. “We’re the ones to say thanks, sir. If you hadn’t thought of stalling the cruiser, and if you hadn’t stayed behind to give us time, we’d have some casualties, and so would the Connies we captured.”
“There wasn’t anything else I could do,” Rip replied. “Come on, Koa. Let’s see what the cruiser is doing.”
They stepped outside. The metal was already cold again. Things didn’t stay hot in the vacuum of space.
They didn’t see the Connie until the fire of its exhaust suddenly blasted above the horizon, and then they ducked for cover. The cruiser had taken a swing at the other side of the asteroid. They peered out again and saw it turning.
“He won’t get us,” Rip said confidently. “Our tough time will come when he sends a fleet of snapper-boats.”
“We’ll get a few,” Koa replied grimly. “Wait! What’s he doing?”
The cruiser had started for the asteroid. Suddenly jets flamed from every quarter of the ship. He was using all steering jets at once! Rip watched, bewildered, as the great ship spun slowly, advanced, then settled to a stop just at the horizon.
“He can’t be launching boats already,” he said worriedly. “What’s he up to?”
They ran forward a short distance until they could see below the cave’s horizon level. The cruiser released exhausts from both sides of the ship, the outer ones the slightest bit stronger. Rip exclaimed, “Great Cosmos, he’s cuddling right up to the asteroid! Why?”
“Hiding,” Koa said. “By Gemini! Come on, sir!”
Rip saw his meaning instantly, and they raced to the side of the asteroid away from the ship. As they crossed into the dark half, Rip looked back. He couldn’t see the cruiser from here. But he looked out into space, across the horizon, and knew that Koa’s guess had been right. The distinctive glow of a nuclear drive cruiser was clear among the stars.
The Scorpius had returned!
“The Connie saw it,” Rip said worriedly, “but didn’t blast away. That means he’s intending to ambush the Scorpius. Koa, if he does, that means war.”
The tall officer shook his head. “Sir, the Connie has guided missiles with atomic warheads, just as our ship has. If he can launch one from ambush and hit our ship, that’s the end of it. The Scorpius will be nothing but space junk. Commander O’Brine will never have time to get off a message, because he’ll be dead before he knows there is danger.”
The logic of it sent a chill down Rip’s spine. The Connie could get the Scorpius with one nuclear blast and then clean up the asteroid at leisure. The Federation would suspect, but it would be unable to prove anything, because there would be no witnesses. If the Connie took time to tow the remains of the Scorpius deep into the asteroid belt, it likely would never be found, no matter how the Federation searched.
They had to warn the ship. But how? Their helmet communicators wouldn’t reach it until it was right at the asteroid, and that would be too late. They had no other radio. If only the radios in the snapper-boats were on a Federation frequency.… Hey! They could take one of the boats and intercept the cruiser!
He was hurrying toward them before Koa understood what he was saying. He tried to make his legs go faster, but they were unsteady. He knew he was losing blood. He had lost plenty. He gritted his teeth and kept going.
The snapper-boats seemed miles away to Rip, but he plugged ahead until his belt light picked them up. He took a long look, then turned away, heartsick. The Connie’s exhaust had charred them into wreckage.
“Now what?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir,” Koa answered somberly.
They went back to the cave, not hurrying because Rip no longer had the strength to hurry. Weakness and a deep desire to sleep almost overcame him, and he knew that he was finished, anyway. His wound must be too deep to clot, which meant it would bleed until he bled to death. Whether he warned the Scorpius or not, his end was the same.
Back in the cave, he leaned against the wall and asked tiredly. “How is Dominico?”
“I am fine, sir. My wound stopped bleeding.”
“How is the Connie I got?”
“Unconscious, sir,” Santos replied. “He must be bleeding badly, but we can’t tell. The one you landed on is all right now, but he may have a broken rib or two.”
Because his voice was weak, Rip had to turn up the volume on his communicator to tell the Planeteers about the Scorpius. They were silent when he finished. Then Dowst spoke up.
“Looks like they have us, sir. But we’ll take plenty of them with us before we’re finished.”
“That’s the spirit,” Rip told them. “I won’t last much longer. When I get too weak, Koa will take over. Meanwhile, I want to get outside. Bring the rocket launcher outside, too. Who’s the gunner? Santos? Stand by, then. We’ll need you, in case the Connie decides to send a few snappers before it goes after the Scorpius.”
The cruiser’s glow was plain above the horizon now. It was so close that they could make out its form against the background of stars. O’Brine was decelerating, and Rip was certain he was watching his screens for a sign of the enemy. He would see nothing, because the enemy was in the shadow of the asteroid. He would think the coast was clear and would come to a stop nearby while he asked why Rip had called for help. Failing to get a reply, since the landing boat was wrecked, he would send a landing party, and the Connie would attack while he was launching boats, off guard.
Rip watched the prediction come true. The nuclear cruiser slowed gradually, its great bulk nearing the asteroid.
O’Brine was operating as expected.
Rip was having trouble keeping his vision from blurring. He leaned against the rocket launcher, and his glove caressed one of the sharp noses in the rack.
He heard his own voice before the idea had even taken full form. “Santos! Do you hear me? Santos! Get the Scorpius! Fire before it comes to a stop. And don’t miss!”
Santos started to protest, but Koa bellowed, “Do it! The lieutenant’s right. It’s the only chance we’ve got to warn the ship. Get the scorpion, Santos. Dead amidships!”
The young corporal swung into action. His space gloves flew as he cranked the launcher around, turned on the illuminated sight, and bent low over it. Rip stood behind the corporal. He saw the cruiser’s shape stand out in the glow of the sight, saw the sighting rings move as Santos corrected for its speed.
The corporal fired. Fire flared back past his shoulder. The rocket flashed away, its trail dwindling as it sped toward the great bulk above. It reached Brennschluss, and there was darkness. Rip held his breath for long seconds, then gave a weak cry of victory.
A blossom of orange fire marked a perfect hit.
CHAPTER 11
Hard Words
The Scorpius could have taken direct hits with little or no major damage from a hundred rockets of the kind Rip had used, but Commander O’Brine took no chances. When the alarm bell signaled that the outer hull had been hit, the commander acted instantly with a bellowed order.
The Planeteers on the asteroid blinked at the speed of the cruiser’s getaway. Fire flamed from the stern tubes for an instant, and then there was nothing but a fading glow where the Scorpius had been.
Rip had a mental image of everything movable in the ship crashing against bulkheads with the terrific acceleration.
And in the same moment, the Consops cruiser reacted. The Connie commander was ready to fire guided missiles, when his target suddenly, mysteriously, blasted into space at optimum acceleration. There was only one reason the Connie could imagine: His cruiser had been spotted. The ambush had failed. It was one thing for the Connie to lie in ambush for a single, deadly surprise blast at the Federation cruiser. It was quite another to face the nuclear drive ship with its missile ports cleared for action. The Connie knew he had lost.
The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack: 10 Classic Young Adult Sci-Fi Novels Page 124
