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Petersen turned to McCracken. “If we do find this thing, Blaine,” he said somberly, “it’s gonna be your job to blast it. I’ll fill you in.” He shifted in his seat to allow Blaine to creep up closer. Then he pointed to a center panel within easy reach of his right hand. The panel was dominated by a monitoring screen and a twin pair of joysticks. “This thing may look like a video game, but it’s the firing mechanism for the laser cannons.”

“Where do I insert the quarter?”

“In Jamrock’s toilet to the rear of the shuttle. Anyway, when the system’s activated, this is what you get.”

Petersen flipped a switch and the viewing screen came to life with a series of three-dimensional angular shapes merging into a single square sliced up into individual boxes.

“Okay,” he continued, “we’ve got two cannons, one inside each side of the front. For security reasons, since no one’s supposed to know we’re armed, the lasers are hidden behind heat shield panels that slide away upon activation. See that green light in the right corner of the panel?”

“Sure.”

“That indicates the panels are open and the cannons are operable. The fail-safe mechanism makes it impossible to fire them if the panels are still closed. Anyway, the cannons’ angle of fire can be changed by manipulating the joystick controls. They’re tied into the same circuit, so moving one is the same thing as moving both.” Petersen’s hand moved onto the screen. “Now, here’s the most important thing. Once we find this satellite of yours, you’ve got to adjust the joysticks so that it fills out the center of the box on the viewing screen. The closer we get and the bigger it is, the more individual cubes it will take up. And, remember, up here it doesn’t take long to cover lots of ground. But the thing’s still gotta be centered in the square to be sure of a hit. Savvy?”

Blaine shrugged. “It would seem a lot safer for you to do the shootin’, Sheriff.”

“I’ve got to drive this baby.”

“What about your deputy over there?” Blaine asked, head tilting toward the copilot.

“He’s gotta track the damn thing and adjust sensor and deflector shield levels.”

“Deflector shields? What is this, another of the continuing voyages of the starship Enterprise!”

“We’re well on the way to that, Blaine, but don’t be too impressed. The deflector shields are just a new toy that work on reverse polarity and it’s not quite perfected yet. We’d be best off not to rely on them.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to.”

It was 7:52. The Philippines were drawing slowly closer. From this altitude the Pacific looked like a beautiful blue blanket.

Blaine’s chair was set back from the pilot’s and copilot’s, and the weapons mechanism was built into what might have been a sloping desk within easy reach. He shifted about uncomfortably, growing eager for the confrontation that was about to come. His eyes looked out through the shuttle’s elaborate windshield, searching for something, anything. In the profound darkness of space, objects not producing their own light were virtually invisible. If the killer satellite were painted black, it could be almost on top of them and they wouldn’t be able to see it.

“I’d better check in with Houston,” Petersen announced.

McCracken’s fingers flirted with the joysticks.

“Houston, this is Pegasus. We’re just reaching the Philippines now. I’m gonna fire the maneuvering rockets, bring her around, and hold steady as she goes.”

Pegasus, this is Houston. We read you but you’re a bit garbled. Could you repeat your last sentence?”

“I said I’m gonna bring her around and—”

At the command center in Houston static drowned out the final part of Petersen’s sentence. The interference was getting stronger now. All eyes rose from their terminals and gazed up at the world’s most sophisticated radar board responsible for monitoring the shuttle and anything near it. At present it showed only a single blue blip to indicate Pegasus.

Pegasus, does your board show anything?”

“Say again, Houston,” requested Petersen through static.

“Is there anything on your board?”

The copilot shook his head. Petersen gave the response. “Negative, Houston. Nothing.” His last word was indistinguishable to the men on Earth.

Pegasus, you’re breaking up. We’ve lost your television transmission. Repeat, your television transmission is scrambled. … What’s going on up there? Pegasus, please acknowledge.”

Static was the only response.

Pegasus, please acknowledge.”

More static. The shuttle’s existence was reduced to a tiny blue blip on a huge screen. Every eye in mission control was locked on it, searching for reassurance, fighting against the panic each felt.

“Oh, my God,” Nathan Jamrock said out loud. A handful of Rolaids slipped to the floor. “It’s happening again.”

“Houston do you read me? This is Pegasus. … Come in, Houston.” Petersen finished bringing the shuttle around in a 180-degree turn, so it was now moving backward in its orbit, and looked at McCracken grimly. “We’ve lost them.”

“What happens now?”

Blaine could see Petersen swallow hard. “We hold our course as best we can. The thing should be here any second.”

A red light started flashing on the copilot’s warning board, and a beep started sounding.

“Captain,” the copilot called, “sensors have locked on to something.”

“Where?”

“Twenty thousand meters behind, in front now, and closing.”

“Switch on front deflector shields.” Then, to Blaine, “Looks like the fucker’s about to show itself.” And he pressed a button that activated the weapons system.

The copilot hit four switches, lighting a green signal under each.

“Shields in place, Captain.”

Petersen’s eyes strained out the viewing panels. “Come on out, you bastard,” he urged the thing.

“Fifteen thousand meters, Captain.”

“What’s its heading?”

The copilot hesitated. “Direct intercept.”

Petersen raised his eyebrows. “Looks like it’s gonna be eyeball to eyeball, Blaine. Flip your visor down and get ready on those guns.”

Blaine grabbed the joysticks between warm, sweat-soaked hands and locked his eyes on the now functioning targeting screen. Something had started to fill in the squares.

“Range ten thousand meters,” said the copilot. “Still closing. Should be in view any— Oh my Christ …”

The three men gazed out the shuttle’s windshield and saw it together. The killer satellite looked like a giant bullet rotating in the sky, at least as tall as Pegasus was long. Starting about two thirds of the way down its sleek, dark structure were thick legs like landing nodules linked together in a maze of wire and steel. Its lower third appeared to be wider than the top.

“Looks like somebody fired it out of a fuckin’ giant cannon,” muttered Petersen.

“Range seventy-five hundred meters …”

McCracken was working the joysticks feverishly now, trying to capture the killer satellite in the center of the square. It kept eluding him, changing direction to match Pegasus’s orbit, these slight alterations throwing the weapons’ sensors off.

“I can’t get a fix!” he complained into his helmet, licking the sweat from his upper lip.

“Range five thousand meters and … slowing.” The copilot swung toward Petersen. “The damn thing’s slowing, Captain.”

“Get your fix, Blaine!” Petersen ordered. “For God’s sake, shoot the fucker out of the sky!”