Samms' strategy had been worked out long since. On his Diesel, at a distance of just over one detet, he would follow the outlaw as fast as he could; long enough to establish his line. He would then switch to atomic drive and close up to between one and two detets; then again go onto Diesel for a check. He would keep this up for as long as might prove necessary.
As far as any of the Lensmen knew, Spaceways always used regular liners or freighters in this business, and this scout was much faster than any such vessel. And even if highly improbable thought! the enemy ship was faster than his own, it would still be within range of those detectors when it got to wherever it was that it was going. But how wrong Samms was!
At his first check, instead of being not over two detets away the quarry was three and a half; at the second the distance was four and a quarter; at the third, almost exactly five. Scowling, Samms watched the erstwhile brilliant point of light fade into darkness. That circular blob that he had almost seen, then, had been the space–ship, but it had not been a sphere, as he had supposed. Instead, it had been a teardrop; sticking, sharp tail down in the ground. Ultra–fast. This was the result. But ideas had blown up under him before, they probably would again. He resumed atomic drive and made arrangements with the Port Admiral to rendezvous with him and the Chicago at the earliest possible time.
"What is there along that line?" he demanded of the superdreadnaught's Chief Pilot, even before junction had been made.
"Nothing, sir, that we know of," that worthy reported, after studying his charts.
He boarded the gigantic ship of war, and with Kinnison pored over those same charts.
"Your best bet is Eridan, I think," Kinnison concluded finally. "Not too near your line, but they could very easily figure that a one–day dogleg would be a good investment. And Spaceways owns it, you know, from core to planetary limits the richest uranium mines in existence. Made to order. Nobody would suspect a uranium ship. How about throwing a globe around Eridan?"
Samms thought for minutes. "No…not yet, at least. We don't know enough yet."
"I know it that's why it looks to me like a good time and place to learn something," Kinnison argued. "We know almost know, at least that a super–fast ship, carrying thionite, has just landed there. This is the hottest lead we've had. I say englobe the planet, declare martial law, and not let anything in or out until we find it. Somebody there must know something, a lot more than we do. I say hunt him out and make him talk."
"You're just popping off, Rod. You know as well as I do that nabbing a few of the small fry isn't enough. We can't move openly until we can strike high."
"I suppose not," Kinnison grumbled. "But we know so damned little, Virgel"
"Little enough," Samms agreed. "Of the three main divisions, only the political aspect is at all clear. In the drug division, we know where thionite comes from and where it is processed, and Eridan may be probably is another link. On the other end, we know a lot of peddlers and a few middlemen nobody higher. We have no actual knowledge whatever as to who the higher–ups are or how they work; and it's the bosses we want. Concerning the pirates, we know even less. 'Murgatroyd' may be no more a man's name than 'Zwilnik' is…"
"Before you get too far away from the subject, what are you going to do about Eridan?"
"Nothing, for the moment, would be best, I believe. However, Knobos and DalNalten should switch their attention from Spaceways' passenger liners to the uranium ships from Eridan to all three of the inner planets. Check?"
"Check. Particularly since it explains so beautifully the merry–go–round they have been on so long chasing the same packages of dope backwards and forwards so many times that the corners of the boxes got worn round. We've got to get the top men, and they're smart. Which reminds me Morgan as Big Boss does not square up with the Morgan that you and Fairchild smacked down so easily when he tried to investigate the Hill. A loud–mouthed, chiseling politician might have a lock–box full of documentary evidence about party bosses and power deals and chorus girls and Martian tekkyl coats, but the man we're after very definitely would not"
"You're telling me?" This point was such a sore one that Samms relapsed into idiom. "The boys should have cracked that box a week ago,( but they struck a knot. I'll see if they know anything yet. Tune in, Rod. Ray!" He Lensed a thought at his cousin.
"Yes, Virge?"
"Have you got a spy–ray into that lock–box yet?"
"Glad you called. Yes, last night. Empty. Empty as a sub–deb's skull— except for an atomic–powered gimmick that it took Bergenholm's whole laboratory almost a week to neutralize."
"I see. Thanks. Off." Samms turned to Kinnison. "Well?"
"Nice. A mighty smart operator." Kinnison gave credit ungrudgingly. "Now I'll buy your picture what a man! But now and I've got my ears pinned back what was it you started to say about pirates?"
"Just that we have very little to go on, except for the kind of stuff they seem to like best, and the fact that even armed escorts have not been able to protect certain types of shipments of late. The escorts, too, have disappeared. But with these facts as bases, it seems to me that we could arrange something, perhaps like this…"
A fast, sleek freighter and a heavy battle–cruiser bored steadily through the interstellar void. The merchantman carried a fabulously valuable cargo: not bullion or jewels or plate of price, but things literally above price machine tools of highest precision, delicate optical and electrical instruments, fine watches and chronometers. She also carried First Lensman Virgil Samms.
And aboard the war–ship there was Roderick Kinnison; for the first time in history a mere battle–cruiser bore a Port Admiral's flag.
As far as the detectors of those two ships could reach, space was empty of manmade craft; but the two Lensmen knew that they were not alone. One and one– half detets away, loafing along at the freighter's speed and paralleling her course, in a hemispherical formation open to the front, there flew six tremendous tear–drops; superdreadnaughts of whose existence no Tellurian or Colonial government had even an inkling. They were the fastest and deadliest craft yet built by man the first fruits of Operation Bennett. And they, too, carried Lensmen—Costigan, Jack Kinnison, Northrop, Dronvire of Rigel Four, Rodebush, and Cleveland. Nor was there need of detectors: the eight Lensmen were in as close communication as though they had been standing in the same room.
"On your toes, men," came Samms' quiet thought. "We are about to pass within a few light–minutes of an uninhabited solar system. No Tellurian–type planets at all. This may be it. Tune to Kinnison on one side and to your captains on the other. Take over, Rod."
At one instant the ether, for one full detet in every direction, was empty. In the next, three intensely brilliant spots of detection flashed into being, in line with the dead planet so invitingly close at hand.
This development came as a surprise, since only two raiders had been expected: a battleship to take care of the escort, a cruiser to take the merchantman. The fact that the pirates had become cautious or suspicious and had sent three superdreadnaughts on the mission, however, did not operate to change the Patrol's strategy; for Samms had concluded, and Dronvire and Bergenholm and Rularion of Jupiter had agreed, that the real commander of the expedition would be aboard the vessel that attacked the freighter.
In the next instant, then each Lensman saw what Roderick Kinnison saw, in the very instant of his seeing it six more points of hard, white light sprang into being upon the plates of guileful freighter and decoying cruiser.
"Jack and Mase, take the leader!" Kinnison snapped out the thought. "Dronvire and Costigan, right wing he's the one that's going after the freighter. Fred and Lyman, left wing. Hipe!"