No matter how many times you do it, no matter how you prepare yourself mentally, the sensation of floating free in space is not an enjoyable one. It is easy to lose orientation, to have the sensation that all directions are up — or down. Jason was more than slightly glad of the accompanying bulk of the Pyrran.
"Operation has begun."
The voice crackled in their earphones; then they were too busy to be concerned about anything else. The computer informed them that the wall of giant boulders was sweeping toward them — they could see nothing themselves — and gave them instructions to pull aside. Then the things were suddenly there, floating ponderously by, already shrinking into the distance as the jets on the space suits fired. Again following instructions, they accelerated to the correct moving spot in space and fitted themselves into the gap in the center of the floating rock field. They had to juggle their jets until they had the same velocity as the boulders. Then, power cut off, they floated free.
"Do you remember the instructions?" Jason asked.
"Perfectly."
"Well, let me run through them again for the sake of my morale, if you don't mind." The battleship was visible now far ahead, a tiny splinter in space. "We do nothing at all to draw attention as we come in. There will be plenty of activity around us, but we don't use power except in an extreme emergency. And when we get hit by small-caliber fire — it will be the best thing that can happen to us. Because it will mean the big guns will be firing at something else. Meanwhile the other attack of flying rocks will be coming in from our flank. We won't see them — but our computer will. It is monitoring the battleship as well. Then the instant the big guns are on the second wave, it will send us the signal go. Then we go. Under full power toward the main drive tube. When our suit radar says we are eleven hundred meters from the ship, we put on full reverse thrust because we will be out of reach of the guns. See you at the bottom of the tube."
"What if the computer fires the tube to clear us out?"
"I have been trying not to think about that. We can only hope that it is not programmed for such a complex action and that its logic circuits will not come up with the answer. "
Space around them exploded with searing light. Their helmet visors darkened automatically, but the explosions could still be clearly seen, they were so intense. And silent. A rock the size of a small house fumed and vaporized soundlessly not a hundred meters from Jason, and he cringed inside the suit. The silent destruction continued — but the silence was suddenly shattered by deafening explosions. His suit vibrated with the impacts.
He was being hit! Even though he had expected it, wanted it, the jarring was intense and unbelievably loud. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and dimly, he heard a weak voice say go.
"Blast, Kerk, blast!" he shouted as he jammed on full power.
The suit kicked him hard, numbing him, slowing his fingers as they grappled for the intensity control on the helmet and turned it off. He winced against the glare of burning matter but could just make out the disk of the spaceship's stern before him, the main tube staring like a great black eye. It grew quickly until it filled space, and the sudden red glow of the present radar said he had passed the eleven-hundred-meter mark. The guns couldn't touch him here — but he could crash into the battleship and demolish himself. Then the full blast of the retrojets hit him, slamming him against the suit, stunning him again. Control was impossible. The dark opening blossomed before him, filling his vision, blacking out everything else.
He was inside it, the pressure lessening as the landing circuits took over and slowed his rate of descent. Had Kerk made it? He had stopped, floating free, when something plummeted from above, glanced off him, and crashed heavily into the end of the tube.
"Kerk!" Jason grabbed the limp figure as it rebounded after the tremendous impact, grappled it, and turned his lights on it. "Kerk!" No answer. Dead?
"Landed. faster than I intended."
"You did indeed. But we're here. Now let's get to work before the computer decides to burn us out."
Spurred by this danger, they unshipped the molecular un-binder torch, the only thing that would affect the tough tube liners, and worked a circular line on the wall just above the injectors. It took almost two minutes of painstaking work to slowly cut the opening, and every second of the time they waited for the tube to fire.
It did not. The circle was completed, and Kerk put his shoulder to it and fired his jets. The plug of metal and the Pyrran instantly vanished from sight. Jason dived in right behind him, into the immense, brightly lit engine room.
Made suddenly brighter by a flare of light behind him. Jason spun about just as the flames cut off. It had been a microsecond blast. "A smart computer," he said weakly. "Smart indeed."
Kerk had ignored the blast and dived into a control room to one side. Jason followed him, met him as he emerged with a large chart in a twisted metal frame.
"Diagram of the ship. Tore it from the wall. Central control this way. Go."
"All right, all right," Jason muttered, working to keep pace with the Pyrran's hustling form. This was what Pyrrans did best; it was an effort to keep up the pace.
"Repair robots," he said when they entered a long corridor, pointing to the tall, metal forms. "They won't bother us…"
Before he had finished speaking, the two robots had raised their welding torches and rushed to the attack. But the instant that they moved, Kerk's gun blasted twice, blowing them into instant junk.
"The ship's computer is too smart. It will turn anything against us. Stay alert and cover my back."
There was no more time for talking. They changed their course often, so it would not be obvious that they were heading toward cent control. Every machine along the way wanted to destroy them. Housekeeping robots rushed at them with brooms, TV screens exploded as they passed, airtight doors tried to close on them. The suddenly electrified floors arced and sputtered. It was a battle, but a one-sided one as long as they stayed alert. Their suits were invulnerable to small-scale attack and well insulated from electricity. In the end they came to a door marked centra kontrolo. Kerk offhandedly blasted it open and floated through. The lights were lit, the room and the controls were spotlessly clean.
"We've done it," Jason said, looking at the pressure gauge, then cracking his helmet and smelling the cool air. "One billion credits. We've licked this bucket of bolts. "
"THIS IS A FINAL WARNING," the voice boomed, and their guns nosed about for the source before they realized it was just a recording. "THIS BATTLESHIP HAS BEEN ENTERED BY ILLEGAL MEANS. YOU ARE ORDERED TO LEAVE WITHIN THE NEXT FIFTEEN SECONDS OR THE ENTIRE SHIP WILL BE DESTROYED. CHARGES HAVE BEEN SET TO ASSURE THIS BATTLESHIP DOES NOT FALL INTO ENEMY HANDS. FOURTEEN…"
"We can't get out in time!" Jason shouted.
"Shoot up the controls!"
"No! The destruction controls won't be here."
"TWELVE—"
"What can we do?"
"Nothing! Absolutely nothing at all…!"
"EIGHT—"
They looked at each other wordlessly. Jason put out his armored hand and Kerk touched it with his own.
"SEVEN—"
"Well, goodbye," Jason said, and tried to smile.
"FOUR. errrk. THR—"
There was silence; then the mechanical voice spoke again, a quieter voice. "De-mothballing activated. Defenses disarmed. Am awaiting instructions."
"What. happened?" Jason asked.
"De-mothballing signal received. Am awaiting instructions."
"Just in time," Jason said, swallowing with some difficulty. "Just in time." He fumbled with the unfamiliar controls until he finally turned on the communicator. Meta's face glared from the screen at him.