The transport broke the detector screens a few hours later. The two tacships waited. Sten expected that a couple of Tahn destroyers would be lurking somewhere behind the tender. But there was nothing. The Gamble's Jane's fiche identified the transport as an Atrek-class tender, the IFT Galkin.
Sten chanced challenging the transport. The automatic IFF response was weeks out of date. Foss could not get any sort of response other than that, nor was the transport broadcasting on any wavelength that could be received by the Gamble.
Sten launched his eye-modified Goblin to have a closer look. Possibly the transport was a dummy.
There was no response.
Sten matched orbits with the transport, put a recorder on, and circumnavigated the ship. Both locks and all cargo ports were sealed. There was no sign that any of the life-ships had been launched. Finally Sten brought the Goblin in until one fin touched the outer lock door. If the transport was a booby trap, that should set it off.
The detectors still reported no other ships onscreen. Still, Sten had a crawling feeling that the Galkin might be the bait for a nasty Tahn surprise.
He opened the tight beam to the Claggett to discuss the situation with Sh'aarl't. She was in complete agreement with him. It smelled very much like a trap. There was only one way to find out. Someone had to board the ship.
"Sh'aarl't... Kilgour and I are boarding. I want you about a light-second off, on the transport's back orbit."
Sh'aarl't came back at him instantly. "That doesn't sound too wise to me, Sten," she said. "If we are jumped, the Claggett would be outgunned by almost anything the Tahn threw at us—practically down to a lifeboat."
She had a strong point. Sh'aarl't and her weapons officer, Ensign Dejean, would check things out. The Gamble would play rear guard. Kilgour moved the ship into position and they both watched the screen as the Claggett's AM2 drive flared. A few moments later, the Claggett was docking with the Galkin.
Even at close range, there was nothing strange noted visually by either Sh'aarl't or Dejean. Their suit sensors also showed nothing beyond the normal. Sh'aarl't keyed her mike. "We're boarding."
Sten buried the instinct to say something stupid, like "be careful." Instead, he bent his head closer to the monitor, listening to the crackle of the two voices.
Dejean, expecting a bolt of lightning to leap from the ship to his suit glove, touched the outer lock control. It obediently irised open. Sh'aarl't and Dejean hesitated, then entered. Sh'aarl't's perceptions swung as the Galkin's McLean gravity generators provided a new "down" for them. Their boots touched the inside of the lock—again there was no sudden explosion.
"My suit shows normal atmosphere," Dejean reported. "But I have no intention of trusting it."
They kept their suit faceplates sealed. Sh'aarl't touched the inner lock control. It, too, opened.
She increased transmitter output power enough to punch through the ship's atmosphere and outer hull. They rhinoceros waddled in their armored combat suits into the Galkin.
They found nothing. The ship, from machinery spaces to the engine room, was completely deserted. None of the lifeships had been launched. All spacesuits, from survival type to the small, two-person work capsules, were racked.
Both beings found it more comforting to continue the search with weapons ready. Sh'aarl't turned on a recorder at her waist and fed the information back to the Gamble.
They checked the crew quarters. Not only were they deserted, the lockers that should have held the crew's personal effects were empty.
Dejean checked the ship's stores. They were bare, as if the Galkin had never been supplied before it took off.
Sh'aarl't ignored the crawl of fear down her back spine and went to the control room. She found the ship's log and ran it back. The Imperial Fleet Tender Galkin, Captain Ali Remo in command, had taken off from the planet of Mehr some six cycles previously. Complement forty-two officers, 453 enlisted. Captain Remo carefully noted they were six officers, thirty-four men under authorized complement.
The Galkin had been ordered to reinforce the 23rd Fleet on Cavite.
She key jumped to the log's last entry:
IMPERIAL DATE... SHIP DATE 22, THIRD WATCH. OFFICER OF THE WATCH: LT. MURIEL ERNDS, SECOND OFFICER ENSIGN GORSHA, ENGINE ROOM CHIEF ARTIFICER MILLIKEN. COURSE AS SET, NO UNPLOTTED OBJECTS DETECTED. 2240 SHIPS HOURS GENERAL QUARTERS DRILL ORDERED PER CAPTAIN'S INSTRUCTIONS. TIME TO FULL READINESS 7 MINUTES, 23 SECONDS. STAND DOWN FROM DRILL ORDERED, 2256 SHIPS HOURS. 2300 STANDARD REPORT INPUT
... and the log automatically recorded the readout monitoring the Galkin's condition.
Sten paced the control room of the Gamble, listening intently to everything Sh'aarl't said.
"It all looks perfectly normal," she reported. "Except for the fact that sometime after 2300 hours, every man, woman, and being on the Galkin decided to vanish."
Sten looked at Alex. The stocky Edinburghian looked very unhappy.
"Ah noo believe he ghosts," he said, "but—"
"Wait a minute! I think we got something!" Sh'aarl't's voice crackled excitedly over the monitor.
Sten waited much longer than a minute. He became impatient. "Report, Sh'aarl't! What have you got?"
"Well, according to the log—"
There was an eerie silence as her voice stopped in mid-sentence. It was if the Gamble's com system had gone dead. Before Sten could say a word, Foss sat bolt up in his chair.
"Skipper! I don't understand it! They're gone!"
Sten rushed to his side and looked at the screen. The large blips that had represented the Claggett and the Galkin had disappeared.
"It's gotta be some kind of malfunction with the system," Sten said, knowing even as he said it that it wasn't so.
"Not a chance, sir," Foss said, his voice cracking.
It wasn't necessary to give any orders—within bare moments, the Gamble was at battle stations, the drive at instant readiness. Foss ran every test and every electronic search pattern in the book, plus a few more he had invented.
Once again: nothing.
There was nothing on the radar, nothing on the intermediate or deep sensors, and no directional pickup on any broadcast frequency, including emergency. At one light-second, the two docked ships should have been on visual. But the screens were blank.
"Quarter power," Sten ordered. "Bring us up over that ship real slow."
All inputs remained negative.
"Back-plot the orbit. Mr. Kilgour, I want a figure-eight search pattern. Half speed."
"Aye, sir."
They searched in a gradually widening moving globe pattern for three full E-days. But the Claggett, Sh'aarl't, her two officers, and nine enlisted had vanished along with the Galkin.
There was no explanation. And there never would be one.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Three hours out of Romney, the com began yammering onscreen, the message sent en clair: