He smiled angelically at their scowls of hatred, the sudden tensing of hard muscles, the whine of the power holsters as their guns slipped toward their hands, then slid back out of sight.
"Let us get started," Kerk said. "We are wasting time and every second counts. What do we do first?"
"Go through the records, find out everything we can about a ship like this. Then find a way in."
"I fail to see what throwing rocks at that ship can do," Meta said. "We know already that it destroys them before they get close. It is a waste of time. And now you want to waste food as well, all those animal carcasses. "
"Meta, my sweet — shut up. There is method to the apparent madness. The navy command ship is out there with radar beeping happily, keeping a record of every shot fired, how close the target was before it was hit, what weapon fired the shot, and so forth. There are thirty spacers throwing spatial debris at the battleship in a steady stream. This is not the usual thing that happens to a mothballed vessel and it can only have interesting results. Now, in addition to the stone-throwing, we are going to launch these sides of beef at our target, each spacegoing load of steak to be wrapped with twenty kilos of armilon plastic. They are being launched on different trajectories with different speeds. If any one of them gets through to the ship, we will know that a man in a plastic space suit made of the same material will get through as well. Now, if all that isn't enough burden on the ship's computer, a good-sized planetoid is on its way now in an orbit aimed right at our mothballed friend out there. The computer will either have to blow it out of space — which will take a good deal of energy. Or if it is possible it may fire up the engines. Anything it does will give us information, and any information will give us a handle to grab the problem with."
"First side of beef on the way," Kerk announced from the controls where he was stationed. "I cut some steaks off while we were loading them; have them for lunch. We have a freezerful now. Prime cuts only — from every carcass, maybe a kilo each. Won't affect the experiment."
"You're turning into a crook in your old age," Jason said.
"I learned everything I know from you. There goes the first one." He pointed to a tiny blip of fire on the screen. "Flare powder on each, blows up when they hit. Another one. They're getting closer than the rocks — but they're not getting through."
Jason shrugged. "Back to the drawing board. Let's have the steaks and a bottle of wine. We have about two hours before the planetoid is due. That is an event we want to watch."
The expected results were anticlimactic to say the least. Millions of tons of solid rock that had been put into collision orbit at great expense, as Admiral Djukich was fond of reminding them, soared majestically in from the black depths of space. The battleship's radar pinged busily. As soon as the computer had calculated the course, the main engines fired briefly. The planetoid flashed by the ship's stern and continued on into interstellar space.
"Very dramatic," Meta said in her coldest voice.
"We gained information!" Jason was on the defensive. "We know the engines are still in good shape and can be activated at a moment's notice."
"And of what possible use is that information?" Kerk asked.
"Well, you never know. Might come in handy…"
"Communication control to Pyrrus One. Can you read me?"
Jason was at the radio instantly, flicking it on. "This is Pyrrus One. What is your message?"
"We have received a signal from the battleship on the 183.4 wavelength. Message is as follows. 'Nederuebla al navigacio centre Kroniku ci tio sangon. ' "
"I cannot understand it," Meta said.
"It's Esperanto, the old Empire language. The ship simply sent a change-of-course instruction to navigation control. And we know its name now, the Indestructible."
"Is this important?"
"Is it!" Jason yipped with joy as he set the new wavelength into the communication controls. "Once you get someone to talk to you, you have them half-sold. Ask any salesman. Now, absolute silence, if you please, while I practice my best and most military Esperanto." He drained his wineglass, cleared his throat, and turned the radio on.
"Hello, Indestructible, this is Fleet Headquarters. Explain unauthorized course change."
"Course change authorized by instructions 590-L to avoid destruction."
"Your new course is a navigational hazard. Return to old course."
Silent seconds went by as they watched the screen — then the purple glow of a thrust drive illuminated the battleship's bow.
"You did it!" Meta said happily, giving Jason a loving squeeze that half-crushed his rib cage. "It's taking orders from you. Now tell it to let us in."
"I don't think it is going to be that easy — so let me sneak up on the topic in a roundabout way."
He spoke Esperanto to the computer again. "Course change satisfactory. State reasons for recent heavy expenditure of energy."
"Meteor shower. All meteors on collision orbit were destroyed."
"It is reported that your secondary missile batteries were used. Is this report correct?"
"It is correct."
"Your reserves of ammunition will be low. Resupply will be sent."
"Resupply not needed. Reserves above resupply level."
"Argumentative for a computer, isn't it?" Jason said, his hand over the microphone. "But I shall pull rank and see if that works.
"Headquarters overrides your resupply decision. Resupply vessel will arrive your cargo port in seventeen hours. Confirm."
"Confirmed. Resupply vessel must supply override mothball signal before entering two-hundred-kilometer zone."
"Affirmative, signal will be sent. What is current signal?"
There was no instant answer — and Jason raised crossed fingers as the silence went on for almost two seconds.
"Negative. Information cannot be supplied."
"Prepare for memory check of override mothball signal. This is a radio signal only?"
"Affirmative."
"This is a spoken sentence."
"Negative."
"This is a coded signal."
"Affirmative."
"Pour me a drink," Jason said with the microphone off. "This playing twenty questions may take some time."
It did. But patient working around the subject supplied, bit by bit, more of the needed information. Jason turned off the radio and passed over the scribbled sheet.
"This is something at least. The code signal is a ten-digit number. If we send the correct number, all the mothballing activity stops instantly and the ship is under our control."
"And the money is ours," Meta said. "Can our computer be programmed to send a series of numbers until it hits on the right one?"
"It can — and just the same thought crossed my mind. The Indestructible thinks that we are running a communications check and tells me that it can accept up to seven hundred signals a second for repeat and verification. Our computer will read the returned signal and send an affirmative answer to each one. But of course all the signals will be going through the discrimination circuits, and if the correct signal is sent, the mothball defenses will be turned off."
"That seems like an obvious trick that would not fool a five-year-old," Kerk said.
"Never overestimate the intelligence of a computer. You forget that it is a machine with zero imagination. Now, let me see if this will do us any good." He punched keys rapidly, then muttered a curse and kicked the console. "No good. We will have to run nine to the tenth power numbers and, at seven hundred a second, it will take us about five months to do them all."
"And we have just three weeks left."
"I can still read a calendar, thank you, Meta. But we'll have to try in any case. Send alternate numbers from one up and counting from 9,999,999,999 back down. Then we'll get the navy code department to give us all their signals to send as well; one of them might fit. The odds are still about five to one against hitting the right combination, but that is better than no odds at all. And we'll keep working to see what else we can think of."