“What’s your situation, Amphitrite?” our signal asked.
“Not good,” the faint answer came back. “They’ve got us in the power room and our accumulators aren’t going to stand this load very long. That last salvo went through our screens, but our armor stopped it. But if the screens go down—”
Our batteries flared at the Rebel as he again came into sight. He didn’t wait, but flicked right back into Cth without firing a shot. Pollard was on the ball.
“Brave lad, that Reb,” Chase said. There was a sneer in his voice.
For the moment it was stalemate. The Reb wasn’t going to come into close range with a warship of equal power to his own adding her metal to the Amphitrite’s, but he could play cat and mouse with us, drawing our fire until we had used up our torpedoes, and then come in to finish the supply ship. Or he could harass us with long range fire. Or he could go away.
It was certain he wouldn’t do the last, and he’d be a fool if he did the second. Amphitrite could set up a mine screen that would take care of any long range stuff,—and we could dodge it. His probe was still working and he had undoubtedly seen ours crushed against our hull. If he hadn’t he was blind—and that wasn’t a Rebel characteristic. We could hyper, of course, but we were blind up there in Cth. His best bet was to keep needling us, and take the chance that we’d run out of torps.
“What’s our munition?” Chase asked almost as an echo to my thought. I switched over to Pollard.
“Thirty mark sevens,” Pollard said, “and a little small arms.”
“One good salvo,” Chase said, thoughtfully. The Rebel flashed in and out again, and we let go a burst. “Twenty, now,” I said.
Chase didn’t hear me. He was busy talking to Allyn on damage control. “You can’t cut it, hey?—All right— disengage the converter on the auxiliary probe and break out that roll of duralloy cable in the stores—Pollard! Don’t fire over one torp at a time when that lad shows up. Load the other launchers with blanks. Make him think we’re shooting. We have to keep him hopping. Now listen to me—Yes, Allyn, I mean you. Fasten that converter onto the cable and stand by. We’re going to make a probe.” Chase turned to me.
“You were exec with Royce,” he said. “You should know how to fight a ship.”
“What are you planning to do?” I asked.
“We can’t hold that Rebel off. Maybe with ammunition we could, but there’s less than a salvo aboard and he has the advantage of position. We can’t be sure he won’t try to take us in spite of Amphitrite’s support and if he does finish us, Amphitrite’s a dead duck.” The Lachesis quivered as the port turrets belched flame. “That leaves nineteen torpedoes,” he said. “In Cth we’re safe enough but we’re helpless without a probe. Yet we can only get into attack position from Cth. That leaves us only one thing to do—improvise a probe.”
“And how do you do that?” I asked.
“Put a man out on a line—with the converter from the auxiliary. Give him a command helmet and have him talk the ship in.”
“But that’s suicide!”
“No, Marsden, not suicide—just something necessary. A necessary sacrifice, like this whole damned war! I don’t believe in killing men. It makes me sick. But I kill if I have to, and sacrifice if I must.” His face twisted and the gray green look came back. “There are over a thousand men on the Amphitrite, and a vital cargo of munitions. One life, I think, is fair trade for a thousand, just as a few hundred thousand is fair trade for a race.” The words were school-masterish and would have been dead wrong coming from anyone except Chase. But he gave them an air of reasonable inevitability. And for a moment I forgot that he was coldbloodedly planning someone’s death. For a moment I felt the spirit of sacrifice that made heroes out of ordinary people.
“Look, skipper,” I said. “How about letting me do it?” I could have kicked myself a moment later, but the words were out before I could stop them. He had me acting noble, and that trait isn’t one of my strong suits.
He smiled. “You know, Marsden,” he said, “I was expecting that.” His voice was oddly soft. “Thanks.” Then it became dry and impersonal. “Request denied,” he said, “This is my party.”
I shivered inside. While I’m no coward, I didn’t relish the thought of slamming around at the end of a duralloy cable stretching into a nowhere where there was no inertia. A hair too heavy a hand on the throttle in Cth would crush the man on the end to a pulp. But he shouldn’t go either. It was his responsibility to command the ship.
“Who else is qualified?” Chase said answering the look on my face. “I know more about maneuver than any man aboard, and I’ll be controlling the ship until the last moment. Once I order the attack I’ll cut free, and you can pick me up later.”
“You won’t have time,” I protested.
“Just in case I don’t make it,” Chase continued, making the understatement of the war with a perfectly straight face, “Take care of the crew. They’re a good bunch—just a bit too eager for the real Navy—but good. I’ve tried to make them into spacemen and they’ve resented me for it. I’ve tried to protect them and they’ve hated me—”
“They won’t now—” I interrupted.
“I’ve tried to make them a unit.” He went on as though I hadn’t said a thing. “Maybe I’ve tried too hard, but I’m responsible for every life aboard this ship.” He picked up his helmet. “Take command of the ship, Mr. Marsden,” he said, and strode out of the room. The Lachesis shuddered to the recoil from the port turrets. Eighteen torpedoes left, I thought.
We lowered Chase a full hundred feet on the thin strand of duralloy. He dangled under the ship, using his converter to keep the line taut.
“You hear me, skipper?” I asked.
“Clearly—and you?”
“Four-four. Hang on now—we’re going up.” I eased the Lachesis into Cth and hung like glue to the border. “How’s it going, skipper?”
“A bit rough but otherwise all right. Now steer right— easy now—aagh!”
“Skipper!”
“Okay, Marsden. You nearly pulled me in half—that’s all. You did fine. We’re in good position in relation to ‘Amphitrite.’ Now let’s get our signals straight. Front is the way we’re going now—base all my directions on that—got it?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Good, Marsden, throttle back and hang on your converters.”
I did as I was told.
“Ah—there she is—bear left a little. Hmm—she’s looking for us—looks suspicious. Now she’s turning toward Amphitrite. Guess she figures we are gone. She’s in position preparing to fire. Now! Drop out and fire—elevation zero, aximuth three sixty—Move!.”
I moved. The Lachesis dropped like a stone. Chase was dead now. Nothing made of flesh could survive the punishment but we—we came out right on top of them, just like Chase had done to the other—except that we fired before we collided. And as with the other Rebel we gained complete surprise. Our eighteen torpedoes crashed home, her magazines exploded, and into that hell of molten and vaporized metal that had once been a Rebel scout we crashed a split second later. Two thousand miles per second relative is too fast for even an explosion to hurt much if there isn’t any solid material in the way, and we passed through only the outer edges of the blast, but even so, the vaporized metal scoured our starboard plating down to the insulation. It was like a giant emery wheel had passed across our flank. The shock slammed us out of control and we went tumbling in crazy gyrations across space for several minutes before I could flip the Lachesis into Cth, check the speed and motion, and get back into threespace.