Even as they watched, a pair of scooters broke from the side of the Ranger and slid down toward the sun side of the asteroid. “I don’t know,” Johnny said. “I think they intended to stay hidden, until Tom lost control of his bumper and got far enough around there to spot them.” He frowned as the first scooter touched down on the asteroid surface.
“Can’t we fire on them?” Greg said angrily.
“Not the way this tub is lurching around. They’ve got our main gyros, and the auxiliaries aren’t powerful enough to steady us. Another blast or two could send us spinnin’ like a top, and we’d have nothing to stabilize us.”
There was another flash from the Ranger’s hull, and the ship jerked under their feet. “Well, we’re a sitting duck here,” Greg said. “Maybe those engines will still work.” He slid into the control seat, flipped the drive switches to fire the side jets in opposite pairs. They fired, steadying the lurching of the ship somewhat, but there was no response from the main engines. “No good. We couldn’t begin to run from them.”
“They could outrun us anyway,” Tom said, watching the view screen. “And they’re moving in closer now.”
It was true. The black ship, which had been lying out several miles from them, was now looming larger. As they watched, the Ranger maneuvered toward the #3 landing rack, just above the rack that held the Scavenger.
“They’re going to board us,” Tom cried.
Johnny nodded, his eyes suddenly bright. “I think you’re right. And if they do, we may have a chance. But we’ve got to split up. Greg, you take the control cabin here; try to keep them out if you can. Tom, you cover the main corridor to the storage holds. I’ll take the engine-room section. That will sew up the entrances to control, here, and give us a chance to stop them.”
“They may have a dozen men,” Tom said. “They could just shoot us down.”
“I don’t think so,” Johnny said. “They want us, not the ship, or they wouldn’t bother to board us. We may not be able to hold them off, but we can try.”
“What about making a run for it in the Scavenger?” Greg said.
Johnny chuckled grimly. “It’d be a mighty short run. That Ranger’s got homing shells that could blow the Scavenger to splinters if we tried it. Our best bet is to put up such a brawl that they’ll think twice about takin’ us.”
The Ranger had come in very close now. Magnetic grappling cables shot out from the dark hull, clanging on the steel plates above and below #3 rack. Slowly the ship began pull-itself in to the orbit ship’s side.
And then the two scooters shot up from the asteroid surface, heading for the loading lock. Johnny looked at Tom. “Let’s go, and don’t be afraid to hit them.”
They parted in the corridor outside control, Johnny heading down for the engine-room corridor, while Tom ran up toward the main outer-shell corridor, Markheim stunner in his hand. The entire outer shell of the ship was storage space, each compartment separately sealed and connected with the two main corridors that circled the ship. On each side these corridors came together to join the short entry corridors from the scout ship’s airlocks.
Tom knew that the only way the ship could be boarded was through those locks. A man stationed at the place where the main corridors joined could block any entry from the locks, as long as he could hold his position. He reached the junction of the corridors, and crouched close to the wall. By peering around the comer, he had a good view of the airlock corridor. He waited until his heart stopped pounding in his ears. Then he heard the clanging sound of boots on metal and the sucking noise of the airlock in operation.
They were aboard.
Tom gripped the Markheim tightly and dialed it down to a narrow beam. Nobody had ever been killed by a stunner, but a direct hit with a narrow beam could paralyze a man for three days. He would have to hit his target with no help from the sub-sonic reflections, but he knew that whoever he hit wouldn’t go any. farther.
There was movement at the far end of the airlock corridor. A helmeted head peered around the turn in the corridor; then two men in pressure suits moved into view, walking cautiously, weapons in hand. Tom shrank back against the wall, certain they had not seen him. He waited until they were almost to the junction with the main corridor; then he took aim and pressed the trigger stud on his Markheim. There was an ugly ripping sound as the gun jerked in his hand. The two men dropped as though they had been poleaxed.
A shout, a scrape of metal against metal, and a shot ripped back at him from the end of the corridor. Tom jerked back fast, but not quite fast enough. He felt a sledge-hammer blow on his shoulder, felt his arm jerk in a cramping spasm while the corridor echoed the low rumble of sub-sonics. He flexed his arm to work out the spasm. They were using a wide beam, hardly strong enough to stun a man. His heart pounded. They were being careful, very careful.
Two more men rounded the bend in the corridor. Tom fired, but they hit the deck fast, and the beam missed. The first one jerked to his feet, charged up the corridor toward him, dodging and sliding. Tom followed him in his sights, fired three times as the Markheim heated up in his hand. The beam hit the man’s leg, dumping him to the deck, and bounced off to catch the second-one.
But now there was another sound coming from the corridor behind him. Voices, shouts, clanging of boots. He pressed against the wall, listening. The sounds were from below—probably the men on the scooters. They must have gotten past Johnny. Tom looked around helplessly. If they came up behind him, he was trapped in a crossfire. But if he left his position, more men could come in through the airlock. Even now two more came around the bend, starting up the corridor for him.
Quite suddenly, the lights went out.
The men stopped. Sound stopped. The corridor was pitch black. Tom fired wildly down the corridor, heard shouts and oaths from the men, but he could see nothing; then, ahead, a flicker of light as a head lamp went on. The men from the airlock were close, moving in on him, and from behind he saw light bouncing off the corridor walls.
He jerked open the hatch to a storage hold, ducked inside, and slammed the hatch behind him. He pressed against the wall, panting. Silence, blackness, a close, stuffy smell. . . .
He waited.
Footsteps clanged by, muffled voices came to him faintly. Tom felt his way deeper into the compartment and ducked behind some storage crates. Here concealment was possible; they would find him, but only after a search. Meanwhile, he could wait and hide, perhaps catch them from the rear.
The hopelessness of the situation struck him like a black wave. Three determined men could hold off the raiders for a while, but not for long. The raiders would succeed by weight of numbers, if for no other reason. An orbit ship was simply not built for fighting. There were no good strategic points from which to defend it.
Ultimately, the Jupiter Equilateral ship would take them and the very best they could do was make the capture a little more difficult for the raiders. In the long run, it wouldn’t make any difference, they would still be captured.
An idea flickered in Tom’s mind.
It was a chance ... a long chance . . . but it was something. If they were going to be captured in spite of anything they could do, even a long chance was worth trying.
He waited in the darkness and tried to think it through. It was a wild idea, an utterly impossible idea, he had never heard of it being tried before, but any chance was better than none. He remembered what Johnny had said in the control cabin. The ranger ship would have homing shells. An attempt to make a run with the Scavenger might be disastrous.