Raiders from the Rings

by Alan Edward Nourse

  “It was there,” Ben said. “I saw it.”

  “But these reports were long before this blow-up started,” Petro said.

  “Maybe they’ve had a spy ship out here that we haven’t known about. They knew the location of every house on Mars; they didn’t waste any shells.”

  They talked it over for a few more moments, but neither of them came up with any answer. Finally Ben said, “What are you planning now?”

  “I’m going to limp on out to Outpost 5, if the boys ever get the gyros fixed. Most of the Earth ships are clustered around Asteroid Central, maybe five hundred of them, trying to figure out a way to get ships or shells through the Maze. And that’s fine for now, but Central can’t stand a prolonged siege. Sooner or later they’ll get a shell through by sheer chance; we’ve got to break them apart before they do it. And they’re out to annihilate every Spacer alive, man, woman and child.”

  “Why travel with this ship?” Ben said. “You and your crew could come aboard with me.” Petro shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. As long as this ship still has power, I’ll stay aboard her.”

  “Suppose you run across another crowd of Earth ships?”

  The old Spacer shrugged. “We’re going to run across a lot of Earth ships before this war is over,” he said slowly. “Your father didn’t have a chance to fight. I’ve got fighting to do for both of us, and I’m going to do it in my own ship.”

  “Then at least team up with me,” Ben Trefon said. “I can hold my own in a fight.” For a moment Petro looked him over. Then he chuckled. “Yes, I think you probably can. But you said you had a couple of captives. What about them?”

  “There’s nothing they can do. In fact, this jaunt has been an eye-opener for them. They aren’t so sure that this war even makes sense any more.”

  Petro grunted. “That’s all very well, but don’t trust them. Don’t trust them for a minute. Earthmen are Earthmen, and you can’t change that overnight.”

  Quickly then they made plans. Petro would follow Ben’s course on toward Outpost 5; in the event of an encounter, they would work as a combat team. Because of Ben’s greater maneuverability until Petro got his ship to drydock, it was decided that Ben should assume command. With the details agreed upon, Ben donned his pressure suit again. The firm pressure of the black web belt around his waist reminded him of a final question. “Do you happen to remember a black belt that Dad used to wear?” he asked Petro.

  “A web belt with a capsule in it?” Petro nodded. “Some kind of a keepsake, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess so,” Ben said. “Did Dad ever say anything about it to you?”

  “Not that I can remember.” Petro frowned. “Though it seems to me he once said he wanted you to have it when he died. Didn’t you find it on Mars?”

  “Oh, I found it, all right,” Ben replied. “But it’s an odd kind of belt.” Petro shrugged. “Your father seemed to like it. Said it might bring him good luck, and you too. Maybe it will. I’ve a hunch you’re going to need it.”

  And on that, at least, Ben Trefon was ready to agree.

  The next few hours were tense as the two ships began accelerating together toward the rendezvous point with Outpost 5 asteroid, Ben Trefon’s little S-80 in the lead, followed closely by the crippled cruiser manned by Petro’s crew. The ships kept close contact by means of tight-beam transmitter in order to minimize the chances of ships beyond them picking up the signals. Working together, they set the course that would intersect the orbit of the outpost at the precise point in space and time necessary for contact.

  And then they sat back and waited.

  They knew, of course, that the course would not be a hundred per cent accurate, no matter how carefully it was plotted. Precise as their calculations were, they could not take into account every one of the minor variables in an asteroid’s orbit. Theoretically it was possible to calculate such an orbit down to inches for any given instant in time; but on board a ship it just wasn’t practical. Asteroids followed elliptical orbits around the sun, just like all other planetary bodies, and their speed in orbit varied from moment to moment, gradually increasing as they moved in toward perihelion and slowing down bit by bit as they moved out toward aphelion. In addition, the asteroids affected each other’s orbital velocities slightly, exerting weak but significant gravitational attraction for one another as they passed. Finally there was mighty Jupiter to take into account; in the Asteroid Belt, Jupiter was king, its powerful gravitational field pulling and tugging at the asteroids in its titanic effort to bring them under control.

  Astronomers had their pet theories. Some insisted that at some time in the distant future mighty Jupiter would win the struggle and ultimately capture many of the asteroidal fragments. Others would destroy themselves in collisions with each other and still others would be kept from wandering by gravitational forces until each asteroid had a completely predictable orbit. But other scientists insisted that the turbulence of movement in the Asteroid Belt would never cease; that any effort to pinpoint exactly where a given asteroid was going to be at a given time would be doomed to failure to the end of time.

  These things did not disturb Ben Trefon. Space navigators had long since discovered that their targets were never precisely where they were supposed to be, no matter how fine the course was calculated.

  Ben knew that he would have to rely upon visual sighting, radar contact and radio guideposts when he reached the near vicinity of the outpost. But outpost asteroids were well equipped with powerful transmitters to guide in any approaching Spacer ship.

  After Ben returned from Petro’s ship, he found the Barrens burning with curiosity. Ben set the course and started acceleration; then he reviewed for them what he and Petro had discussed. He told them about Petro’s encounter with the Earth ships, and the outline of the plan they were following.

  Tom Barron’s forehead creased with worry. “I don’t understand,” he said. “If our ships have actually located your Asteroid Central, then you must be under attack there right now. Why aren’t you going there?”

  “Because we need organization first,” Ben said. “Anyway, there’s no way Earth ships can be attacking, even if they’re on all sides of Central. That’s what the Maze is there for.”

  “What maze?” Tom Barron said.

  “The maze of asteroids surrounding Asteroid Central,” Ben said. “When Earth started sending out pirates against us a century or so ago, our Council realized that a couple of well-placed nuclear bombs could blow Central to pieces, so they built a maze of small rocks around Central to detonate any shells that might strike home. Quite a feat of planetary engineering, hauling in mile-wide rocks and launching them in orbit around Central with Central as the primary. But now Central is surrounded by a regular swarm of satellites, moving in all directions and angles, at a dozen or more rates of speed. Any ship that tries to approach Central now without knowing the safe navigation key doesn’t stand a chance in three billion of actually reaching target. It would have fifteen or twenty collisions with smaller asteroids first, and when a space ship collides with an asteroid, believe me, the asteroid wins.” Tom thought that over. “How many asteroids are there in the Maze?”

  “About three thousand, spread out in a hundred-mile radius.”

  “But how do you get through it?”

  “Well, we know the safe navigation key, for one thing. It’s taped into our ships’ computers. Even so it’s a tricky navigational problem, since the key is never one hundred per cent right. We have to know how to handle our ships. In fact, approach to Asteroid Central is required navigation training for any Spacer who wants to operate a ship, sort of a graduation exercise. As for a ship that doesn’t know the key, or one with a poor navigator, the Maze is doubly treacherous. It’s a one-way road; once a ship starts in, it’s certain death to try to back out again, and just as deadly to try to sit still. Once you start in, you keep going or you get smashed. It doesn’t pay to get cold feet halfway through.” Tom was still puzzled. “
And you mean to say you went to all that trouble just because of the patrol ships we sent up?”

  “What else could we do if one ship could carry one bomb that would split Central into fragments if it were launched without warning?”

  Joyce, who had been following the conversation silently, joined in now. “I just can’t believe that an Earth captain would fire on a city without warning,” she said.

  “Mars didn’t get much warning,” Ben said.

  “But that was in war.”

  “Do you think we were at peace before?” Ben asked. “Did you ever hear the things your pirate ships did when they came out here looking for us?”

  Joyce shook her head. “Just that they’d recovered food stores that had been stolen. Of course, before we had radiation shielding on our ships, those crews had to be interned for months, and sometimes reports were slow.”

  Ben nodded grimly. “And incomplete, I’ll bet. You never heard about the time Outpost 7 was bombed to rubble a few years ago, women, children, and all? They never told you about the maukis that were kidnapped? About the two-year-old baby they took back to Earth and kept in a completely black room for fourteen years without contact with another human being? Or about the children they jettisoned into space through the rocket tubes without space suits?”

  Tom and Joyce Barron just stared at him. “There never were any such stories.”

  “I don’t imagine there were,” Ben said bitterly. “Don’t you see that you’ve only been told what your government wanted you to know? But the truth is the truth. Your expeditionary ships would murder every Spacer child they came across; there was no limit to the torment they spread before they could be driven back. We knew we couldn’t barricade all space, but maybe you can understand why we barricaded Asteroid Central with the Maze.”

  Under their feet they could feel the throbbing hum of the null-gravity generators; on the control panel the computer clucked occasionally like a worried hen, and the radio beam to Petro’s ship chattered its contact signal at periodic intervals. The Barrons were silent for a moment, and Ben realized that once again they were at loggerheads; they could not believe him, yet neither could they believe that he was lying to them. Finally Joyce Barron sighed. “You make us sound beastly,” she said. “But you just ignore our side of the picture. You don’t pay any attention to how we felt, never knowing when another raid would come. You don’t understand how our people dreaded those raids, knowing they were coming and knowing that sisters or daughters would be stolen away and disappear forever. And you don’t say anything about the murder and mayhem your own raiders were responsible for on Earth.” Ben nodded. “I know people were killed in the raids,” he said. “But it was never murder for the sake of murder. And that was why we developed the tangle-guns, so we could defend ourselves on Earth raids without hurting people. As for the kidnappings, if Earth had let us come down in peace to find our wives, there wouldn’t have been any kidnappings, and no kidnapped girl was every forced into marriage against her will. None of the girls liked the idea at first, but when they heard the songs and stories and saw the way we lived—” He spread his hands. “You would have to look far and wide today to find a disloyal mauki.”

  The conversation lagged as Ben corrected course and then broke radio silence to check with Petro.

  The periodic recognition signal beamed ahead toward Outpost 5 still failed to raise a response, even though the two ships were now approaching rendezvous point very rapidly.

  “Any sign of life?” Petro asked in the earphones.

  “Not a peep. I wonder what’s wrong?”

  “They’re probably afraid to break silence until we’re close enough for a tight beam to hit us without hitting a dozen Earth ships too.”

  “But we’re already close enough for that,” Ben protested.

  “Well, keep trying. And don’t get nervous. The boys on 5 know what’s up there better than we do. If they think a signal will draw a wolf pack, they may make us home in without a signal.” Ben kept trying, but he couldn’t hide his growing apprehension. With the ship now decelerating again, he watched the dials turn as the distance to contact point diminished. Tom and Joyce watched the radar screen over his shoulder. A half hour passed, and then another, with no answer to Ben’s signal.

  Then the radar screen picked up a response, the faintest suggestion of a blip where Outpost 5 should be located. Excitedly, Ben activated the tracking screen, superimposed the calculated orbit of Outpost 5

  on the same screen, and saw that they coincided exactly. He tapped the signal button to Petro’s ship.

  “We’re there,” he said. “I should have a sighting in a minute.”

  “Well, hang onto it,” Petro said. “I just had another generator go. I haven’t even got radar.”

  “Then stick close. I’ll guide you in.”

  After the hours of tension, the contact was an almost unbelievable relief. Jubilantly Ben tightened down his signal arc and beamed his recognition signal toward the outpost. After the long hours of going it alone, here was a safe haven, a port in this storm of space invaders, a place to rest and contact other Spacers and make plans to fight back the foe that was threatening their very existence. Until now Ben had not realized how much alone and helpless he had felt since his first look at the ruined House of Trefon. Now at least he would have an effective way to fight back.

  Suddenly the outpost asteroid appeared in the telescope, growing from a flicker of light to a distinct disk as they approached. But once again Ben saw the ship’s guard screens flaring as bits of rubble and debris floating in space were contacted. The rubble thickened, and some of the larger fragments became visible as they drew nearer the asteroid.

  Outpost 5 had not escaped attack, after all. There had been a battle here, probably only a few hours before, judging from the density of the debris. Ben strained for an answering signal from the outpost but still there was no response. Something stirred in his mind as he stared at the asteroid. He could make out some of the surface detail now. The outpost had an empty, abandoned look about it. There were no surrounding Spacer ships, no signs of life. He beamed his signal again, waiting uneasily for an answer. By now there should have been a response; the powerful transmitters on the outpost could not have been destroyed completely, and his ship was close enough for clear recognition.

  After a moment’s hesitation Ben rapped out the Spacer’s distress signal, an imperative demand for response. For a long moment there was silence. Then, feebly, a response came back on a tight beam.

  But it was not an identification signal. It was an SOS, repeated over and over as though being transmitted by tape in a feeble stream from the outpost radios.

  Ben signaled Petro. “Are you getting that?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Petro said. “They’re in trouble.”

  “I can’t get an ID from them.’’

  “That’s an automatic response,” Petro replied. “And look at that rock! They must have taken a pounding.”

  It was true. As they moved closer Ben could see the pockmarks and craters in the surface of the rock, telltale evidence of a terrific bombardment. Now Ben could see that the asteroid was listing and wobbling slightly as it moved in its orbit. The entrance locks to the great interior drydocks were gaping open and one of the locks was half blocked off with heaps of rubble.

  Ben signaled Petro again. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Do you see any ships?”

  “Not a one. But they may be inside.”

  “But there ought to be dozens here by now.”

  Petro grunted. “Let’s move in closer,” he said.

  The Barrons were at the control panel now, staring at the image of destruction in the view screen.

  Cautiously Ben inched the little S-80 closer, searching the surface of the rock for signs of life. The SOS

  continued coming in, weakly but steadily.

  “What are you waiting for?” Tom Barron asked. “Aren’t you going to land?” It was exactly the question Ben
had been debating. It seemed the obvious thing to do, but a sharp edge of apprehension was holding him back. He looked up at Tom suddenly. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Would you?”

  “I’d certainly answer an SOS.”

  Ben grunted, studying the view screen again. It would be easy enough. A few deft maneuvers would bring the S-80 into alignment with the main entry lock. Then the standard grappling maneuvers would draw the little ship down with practically no impact onto the conveyor belt leading into the heart of the hollowed-out asteroid. A crew of Spacers ought to be on the alert to help grapple the ship and draw it in, closing down the pressure locks behind it. A simple matter, landing a ship on an outpost asteroid.

  But Ben didn’t start the maneuvers. Instead, he ran down the signal lights on the control panel, checking out his missile tubes and launching apparatus to see that they were operating.

  “What’s the matter?” Tom Barron asked.

  “I don’t like this,” Ben said. “It’s just too quiet down there.”

  “But it’s obviously been attacked,” Tom protested “There could be men dying down there.”

  “I know.” For a moment Ben thought of the phantom ship that could not be seen, moving in with subtle menace to study his ship and course and then moving away again like a wraith. “Why are you so eager?” he asked Tom Barron suddenly. “What makes you so sure there’s anybody in there at all? Why the rush to go down there?”

  Tom look chagrined. “I just thought you might be able to help, if—if somebody’s been hurt.” Suspicion crystallized in Ben’s mind. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you already know what’s happened down there. Spies have been known to carry homing devices, hidden on their bodies. Maybe you’ve been in contact somehow with that ship we couldn’t see.”