Before McCracken could fire, the thing came to almost a complete stop relative to them in space. Cylindrical attachments popped free of its sides and spread like a fan. The attachments were reflective. The center base rotated, its blackness abandoned for the same shiny surface its extended sides were composed of.
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Petersen.
McCracken gained a brief fix on the satellite and hit both joystick buttons. A pair of ice-blue rays shot out from either side of the shuttle, angling toward intercept right smack in the center of the adversary. Blaine could feel his smile forming.
But not for long. The lasers’ rays bounced off the reflective surface like light off a mirror and cascaded through space.
“Aim higher!” Petersen ordered. “We got to find a weakness in— What the …”
McCracken saw the flash coming from the satellite what felt like a second before it impacted. His face shield went opaque for an instant, saving him from blindness, while Pegasus shook violently. Pieces of white surface material flew off, soaring past the viewing windows.
“We’re breaking up!” Blaine screamed.
“It’s the heat shield,” Petersen corrected him as he struggled to maintain the shuttle’s balance. “Pieces of it anyway. Not enough to do us much harm.”
“Jesus …”
“Deflector shields?” Petersen asked the copilot.
“Still holding. I’ve got four green lights.”
The killer satellite sent out another charge, catching Pegasus just as Petersen lowered her into an evasive dip. Impact rocked her hard and Blaine’s head snapped back in a whiplash. Vibrations rattled through the shuttle, forcing his teeth to clamp together.
“We’ve lost a deflector shield!” the copilot reported, his eyes on a red light that had joined the three green ones.
“I’m gonna rotate the ship to protect the side with the lost shield,” Petersen said, starting the maneuver.
The killer satellite angled itself for another attack. Its shape flirted with the targeting grid square on Blaine’s screen but never quite locked in. He fired on timing and again a pair of ice-blue rays shot out, joining up on one of the thing’s winglike extensions. Once more a dazzling display of white light exploded outward, individual streams crossing and converging into the blackness of space.
“Range thirty-five hundred meters …”
The satellite fired another of what Petersen could only identify as some kind of energy torpedo. Again their visors turned opaque, saving them from the bright flash which seemed everywhere at once, enveloping all of Pegasus in its white-hot aura. The shuttle shook the hardest it had yet, and felt as if it were stumbling in space. The cabin lights flickered, faded, came back on.
“Main battery’s shorted out!” the copilot screeched. “We’re running on emergency power. Second deflector shield’s gone and a third’s weakening!”
“Don’t tell me,” Blaine interrupted, “we can’t take another hit like that one. Scotty, where are you when we need you? Beam us the hell out of here.” Then something occurred to him. “Get me closer to it,” he told Petersen.
“You crazy?”
“Absolutely. Give me a shot at a closer hit.”
Petersen pulled back to minimum speed as his wounded bird continued to float backward in orbit. “Just so you remember it’ll have a closer shot at us too. …”
“Range twenty-five hundred meters,” the copilot reported. “It’s gaining. Two thousand …”
Blaine caught the satellite within his square and fired both cannons. The lasers blasted into the metallic skin, the resulting parade of shooting lights brighter and eerier since Pegasus was closer to them. A few seemed to pass right by the viewing panels, looking like the tails of an all-white fireworks display.
A blinding flash erupted from the satellite’s center. Blaine involuntarily raised his hand to his eyes to shield them. He had barely gotten it up, when the blast came. The copilot’s head slammed against the instrument panel, opening up an ugly gash on his forehead. Once again the cockpit lighting faded and came back on dimmer.
“Range seventeen hundred fifty meters,” the copilot muttered.
“I’m gettin’ us the hell outta here!” shouted Petersen.
“The energy torpedo, did you see where it came from?” Blaine asked rapidly.
“What?” the captain returned as he began to roll the shuttle.
“There was a black spot in the middle of all those reflectors. It’s gotta be a door in the base the thing has to open to fire at us. I saw it!”
“That doesn’t mean you can hit it,” Petersen pointed out.
“But if I can, it’ll mean a direct shot to the guts and kiss that thing good-bye.”
“Terrific,” Petersen moaned.
Pegasus had come all the way around now and was fleeing at top acceleration toward the sharpening California coast.
“Range fifteen hundred meters,” said the copilot. “Auxilliary power’s just about had it. We’ve lost the left laser cannon and can only generate a few more bursts from the right. … Range seventeen hundred fifty.” Then, to Petersen, “We’re pulling away.”
“Only until the gas runs out…”
“That’s it!” Blaine screamed. “Turn this thing around!”
“Huh?”
“Turn it around and kill all the thrust and defensive systems. Just leave me a final burst from the laser cannon.”
“Have you gone fuckin’ nuts?” Petersen challenged.
“No! Think! The thing moved right on top of Adventurer before it fired because she couldn’t defend herself. The satellite sensed that. It doesn’t think, it just responds. We’ve got to make it respond the way it did with Adventurer.”
“Range twenty-five hundred,” from the copilot.
“Captain!”
Petersen squeezed his lips together and fired the maneuvering jets to roll Pegasus around toward the satellite once more. When the maneuver was complete, he killed the main batteries to the shields and cut back to standard computer orbit.
“Range two thousand and closing,” announced the copilot. “Fifteen hundred and closing…”
Blaine locked the thing into the center of his firing grid. He had to be sure, had to make his last burst count. His hands felt stiff as boards, but they’d do the job well enough.
The satellite kept coming at them, growing into more of the individual cubes of the grid as it approached.
“Range one thousand and closing …”
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Petersen shrieked. “Kill the fucker!”
The killer satellite loomed near them like a giant hawk spreading its wings over its prey, the steel support legs looking like talons.
Blaine raised the joysticks so the center of the firing grid was in line with the area of the satellite where the door had opened to release its last energy torpedo.
“Range seven hundred fifty meters …”
Blaine saw a black area in the shape of a square appear amid the thing’s reflective surface, indicating the door had opened again. He closed his eyes and squeezed both red firing buttons.
There is no sound in outer space, but there is vibration, and the one that came when the last burst of Pegasus’s laser cannon pierced the guts of the killer satellite shook McCracken’s stomach up to his mouth. His teeth snapped together and he felt himself slammed backward against his seat. His eyes closed for an instant, and when they opened, he wanted to hoot and holler for joy and would have if he could have found his breath.
Because the viewing windows were filled with a beautiful circle of silent orange which absorbed the remains of the killer satellite into oblivion. What few particles remained showered harmlessly toward the ridge of the Earth’s atmosphere.