An immense metal and glass wheel, half a mile in diameter, rotated slowly in the jeweled heavens. It was the primary manufacturing and launching headquarters of Nolan Mining Enterprise. It orbited the Moon about 500 miles above the surface.
Robert Nolan was burning with a zealous flame of energy. Although often close to burning out, he never went over the edge. His apparently bottomless resources had allowed him to achieve remarkable things in twenty years. Now he was in the command bubble that lifted like an antenna from the heart of the space station. A tower two hundred yards long lifted out from the plane of NME’s manufacturing and launching facility. At its end was a large observation and control center that commanded a view of every aspect of one side of the plant.
“Launch in forty-three minutes exactly,” said an operative in the command bubble. Nolan stood, looking intently over the man’s shoulder at the screen in front of him. Nolan’s eyes shifted repeatedly back and forth from the screen to the actuality that lay spectacularly open to view before him.
“Sir?” said another technician, turning toward Nolan. “The Lux Mundi has now completed docking.” The Lux Mundi was Richard Starlight’s personal spacecraft.
“Excellent, John,” said Robert Nolan. “Please have Mr. Starlight sent up here without delay.”
“Yes sir.” The technician turned back to his station and issued commands. In less than four minutes, an elevator brought Richard Starlight into the center of the command bubble of Nolan Mining Enterprise. He stepped out onto the floor and looked around quickly.
“Over here, Rick,” said Nolan, stepping toward his friend.
“Bob! Good to see you!” The men shook hands briefly. “All went well at our end,” Richard whispered.
Nolan stepped back and spread his hands toward the launching arena of the space station.
“Terrific news,” he said. “We’ll be launching in about forty minutes.”
The two men went into Nolan’s office and sealed it. Though everything was visible through clear partitions, no one could hear what went on inside.
“I’m so sorry I fell apart at that meeting, Rick,” Robert began.
“Don’t give it a thought, Bob. You’ve done very well for the project since then. This is a great offering you’re making.”
“The least we can do, in addition to making as many of the microwave probes as we could, is provide these freighters.”
“Ahead of schedule, too, by a little bit. All the companies pulled together and made the probes to Dr. Hoshino’s specifications. I like his design. His plan should work very well, very well indeed!”
“It’s a wonderful design, Rick! Dr. Hoshino is a genius to a degree above everyone else of this generation. We ought to be able to locate any asteroid that Lurton Zimbardo throws at us. But stopping it is a different problem.”
“If we find it in time, that shouldn’t be too hard, either.”
The two friends talked for a little longer, then went out to watch the launch. Seven unmanned NME freighters were prepared to carry Earth’s hope into space. They would be accompanied by a dozen armed ships supplied by Space Command. The rendezvous of freighters and warships was only a half-hour’s flight time from the space station. Then they would proceed on the eight-day journey to the site of deployment.
In a private office and laboratory below, Robert Nolan’s chief assistant Beowulf Denn finished making a voice recording of the details of the launch. He included the number of freighters, the number and type of Space Command warships appointed to guard them, their course, hour of departure, and timing of the deployment of the probes.
When he had finished the recording, he inserted the disk into a computer independent of the NME computer system and speeded up its contents so that the entire message was less than 0.03 seconds long. He then encrypted it and transmitted the result on a tight beam communicator to coordinates in space which he kept only in his head. After the message had been sent, he destroyed the disk and removed all signs on his computer that the action had occurred. The message he sent could be read only one time and then would erase itself, leaving no trace at the receiving end that it had ever existed.
Seven ships had arrived at O344. The Starmen were outside, having sped through the airlock with the first news that the ships from Ceres were at hand. They stood on the edge of the landing zone and watched the ships come close to O344. Only the dark red Star Ranger and one other ship touched down. Sim Sala Bim was the first to debark.
“So pleased to see you young men are safe!” he spouted. “So much has happened in these three weeks! Here is your Star Ranger, ready for duty!” The Indian was excited. Zip had shaken off his own dark mood and was rising to the challenge. The other two Starmen were eager to lift off and get back into the battle against Lurton Zimbardo.
“Nice to see you, Sim!” cried out Zip, as he and the man from Ceres shook hands through their spacesuits. “George and his men will be ready in a moment. They are wonderful people! Salt of the earth types, though I’ll bet none of them has been on Earth for years!”
“We’ll get them back to Ceres safely, don’t worry about that!” advised Sim. “You just go on and stop this crazy fellow.”
“Let’s get going, Starmen!” urged Zip. They had already made their farewells to the asteroid miners, and had decided to leave the alien ship on O344 for research in a less anxious time. Joe had sealed it and seen that it was securely clamped to the asteroid’s surface.
Within a few minutes, the Starmen were aboard the Star Ranger in their accustomed places.
Just before they lifted off, Zip turned on his communicator.
“George,” he said. “Thanks for your friendship. You gave me a gift I don’t think you’re even aware of.”
“Oh yes I am too aware of it, David.” responded the cheery voice. “The gift of confidence. Do your Latin and find out what ‘confidence’ really means. Blessing and peace go with you men.” A chorus of voices sounded in the background, also offering farewells.
Zip signed off. In minutes O344 was behind them.
When Lurton Zimbardo had first announced to Earth that he had aimed a huge asteroid through space on a collision course, the news of impending doom spread over the farthest reaches of the globe, bringing with it hysteria and despair. Pockets of unrest and violence sprang up but the phenomenon was short-lived. The memory of the Collapse was too recent, and the populace would not permit violence to prevail—but there was nothing to take its place. Cities, nations, and then continents ground to a standstill as people left their jobs and homes and wandered from place to place aimlessly. The thought of utter, unprecedented destruction for the whole planet, the home of mankind, struck at the very heart of the people. The very elderly, who remembered the worst days of the Collapse, felt their spirits quail within them.
It was a time such as the world had never seen before. In the years to come it became known as The Day the Earth Stood Still. No one knew where to flee, how to flee, or even if fleeing could do any good. After a time the panic quieted down to a heartless agonizing despair, and a heavy, dark spirit fell over the planet.
“Crass, Lather, Bolcher! Get your men and go! The Earthmen have launched their detection equipment!” Lurton Zimbardo was giving orders over the intercom from the control center of his asteroid. Moments earlier the pirate leader had received a message which informed him of the launch time of Earth’s freighters and other details of Earth’s defense plan.
“There are seven freighters accompanied by twelve Space Command warships! Each of you take five ships. Find the convoy and destroy the freighters! At all cost, destroy the freighters!”
Zimbardo slammed down the communicator and watched his men scurry for their ships. At the speed they could travel, they should be able to intercept the convoy in about a week—a full day before optimal site for deployment of the microwave probes. Zimbardo had little doubt of the outcome of the encounter. Earth had no idea that the plans were known to him, and the pirate ships were invisible to their radar.
17: The Enemy Revealed
FOR NEARLY seven days, the convoy of seven NME freighters and twelve Space Command warships had sped away from the Earth-Moon system. The warships flew in a spherical configuration about five miles in diameter, at the center of which were the unmanned freighters in compact formation. The urgency of the mission gave the convoy no choice but to utilize the most direct route to the site of deployment, so that the probes could be put into action at the earliest possible time. There was simply no time to follow any evasive flight plan. On the success of the microwave net rode the hope of Earth’s survival from the threat of impact with the enormous asteroid Lurton Zimbardo had unleashed.
“There they are!” announced Mr. Lather, pilot of the Silver Cloud, as he looked at the radar screen. He was followed closely by five other pirate spacecraft. Two other groups of six pirate ships were nearby, also searching the area of space in front of them for the convoy. “Inform Bolcher and Crass and give them the coordinates. Tell them that since I was the first to locate the freighters, I will attack first. Their ships will follow me according to our plan.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Lather,” responded the Silver Cloud’s navigator. The communication was completed and the details of the plan agreed upon. Then the intership communications system was deactivated. The pirates’ ships, being sheathed to radar, were equally invisible to each other as to the men of Space Command, but each pirate captain knew where the others were supposed to be. The ships usually communicated by closed-system radio and thereby kept in close contact with each other, but now they could not risk revealing their position by engaging in radio contact when they were in the proximity of other ships.
Moments went by without a word being said. Lather could feel the adrenaline surging through him. He was eager to give the command to attack.
“One minute!” he announced to his own crew. “All hands prepare for battle!” After the designated time had elapsed, he shouted, “Go!”
Followed by five spaceships protected by the radar bender, he sped undetected through the sphere of Space Command warships. On the screen before him the massive freighters loomed up. “Fire!” he shouted. “Fire! Fire!”
A laser cannon locked onto one freighter and ripped open its hull. In seconds the Silver Cloud was past it and through the other side of the sphere. Behind him came another pirate ship, and then another. As each passed through the sphere, it fired laser cannons at the freighters.
None of the lasers struck a vital point in any freighter’s fuel system, but the potent cannons, each set on highest power, ripped into the unmanned ships and tore them open to the vacuum. Lather’s six ships shot through the sphere of guard ships without being detected or even shot it, but none of the freighters had exploded. Lather cursed when he saw that the damage he had inflicted was not crippling.
The Space Command warships were immediately aware of the attack and began to scatter the freighters by remote control. Some freighters decelerated, others accelerated, still others moved away from the center. Now the pirates would have a more difficult challenge to destroy the NME ships.
As his fleet circled, Lather waited to see what Bolcher’s ships would do. He knew where Bolcher was supposed to be but could not communicate with him without revealing his position to the warships of Space Command. Lather could only watch the screen.
Suddenly one of the freighters exploded into incandescent fury. The detonation destroyed the two freighters closest to the one that Bolcher’s ship had hit. Within seconds a fourth freighter erupted into flame as its fuel system ignited. The three remaining freighters began to weave in a random pattern, and the Space Command warships began to close in, reducing the window of access to the center of the field.
Crass’ ships began to zoom toward the remaining freighters, laser cannons ready. Being the most experienced pilot, Crass was confident that his team could eliminate the last three ships. Coming in at a fast clip, each pirate ship only seconds after its predecessor, Crass’ crew strafed the freighters, scoring two direct hits.
With a grin of satisfaction, Lather saw that he would have one more chance to attack. The protective warships had drawn into a very tight formation to protect the last freighter. Its hulk was already torn with a long rip, but its engine still worked and it responded to controls. The freighter turned and twisted in a random, spiraling forward motion with the warships close around it. Lather brought the Silver Cloud in for the kill.
Shooting smoothly through an opening in the protecting ships’ formation, he saw his target and fired. The last freighter blew up almost in his face. All seven freighters—and their contents—had been turned into diminutive pieces of whirling space junk. The Silver Cloud sped through the detritus and passed the far boundary of warships. As soon as he had passed the last Space Command ship, three of them fired at him almost at once. Though he was invisible to radar, he was visible to the eye at the moment he was close to the exploding freighter.
One Space Command laser pierced the Silver Cloud—a narrow but tight beam. The shaft of weaponlight punctured the crew’s living quarters, and air began to escape from the pirates’ spacecraft. Automatic seals quickly stopped the leak and Lather sped on. The exultation he had felt at having fired the final destructive bolt had instantly changed into a cold dread at his narrow escape. Followed by the other pirate ships, he sped on, back toward the great asteroid where Lurton Zimbardo awaited news of their successful mission.
Commander Benjamin Bennett of the Space Command ship Ignis sat motionless for ten minutes after the last freighter had blown up. He was a topflight career space pilot who governed one of the few standard Space Command Fleets of Twelve. His black hair showed no signs of gray. Because of his unspotted record and eminent trustworthiness, he had been given the responsibility for guarding the freighters. Usually looking much younger than his forty-one years, now he appeared much older.
No one approached him. Then he spoke, as if into the air.
“I suppose the pirates are gone now.”
“So it would appear, sir,” said a crewman.
“Obviously they weren’t concerned with destroying us—just the freighters. I suppose in the long run it amounts to the same thing, though.” No one responded. “Please raise headquarters and hand me the communicator.” A crew member complied. Commander Bennett took the communicator. His message was terse but complete: pirates had attacked the convoy and all seven freighters had been lost.
Twelve minutes later the news came into Starlight Enterprise and was tranferred immediately to Richard Starlight, who was at work in his office. He finished listening to the message, then turned and looked out over the stark moonscape. Slowly, he smiled.
The next day, just after noon, Richard was again in his office. Joining him for lunch were John Rwakatare, Robert Nolan, Beowulf Denn, and Commander John Lewis and a few other visitors from Space Command. Though the food was delicious, the meal was a dismal affair. Long faces and few words expressed the atmosphere of the gathering.
Richard, however, and Robert seemed not to share the gloom. Richard was an attentive host, carefully seeing to his guests’ needs. “A little more water, John?” he asked, offering the crystal decanter. “Could you please pass the biscuits, Robert? Thank you. Good, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Rick, they are, especially for biscuits made on the Moon,” responded the head of NME. “Your chef is highly skilled.”
Beowulf Denn couldn’t take it any more. “You seem awfully lighthearted about everything, Richard,” he said in a tone that verged almost on disrespect. Richard smiled but said nothing.
When the lunch things had been cleared away, Richard spoke.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I apologize for not sharing your distress. Please forgive me for what must appear to be an appalling lack of empathy. When you learn why I have brought you here, you will forgive me, I think. I am expecting a message any moment now, and I wanted you to be here when it came in. It is coming from the commander of a large fleet of Starlight Enterprise ships.” Richard glanced at Robert. The two friends shared a subtle smile.
“Encrypted message from Captain Marks-Owens, sir,” came an artificial, mellow voice through the high-level communication system.
“Ah!” said Richard. “Transmit to my office.”
The large screen on the wall behind Richard lit up. He turned his chair. The visage of a tall and slender woman appeared, with high cheekbones and honey-dark hair drawn back and held in place with a small circlet.
“Captain Mary Marks-Owens on the Starlight Enterprise ship Tempest, reporting on top security beam to Richard Starlight. Starlight fleet is in place. There were no incidents, and we are ready for your command, sir.”
Richard smiled widely and said clearly, “Excellent work, Mary! Deploy the probes immediately!”
Beowulf Denn choked. “What is this?” he burst out.
“Surprised, eh?” said Richard jocularly, turning his chair back to the table. “Of course, she won’t get the message for about ten minutes. But when she does, we’ll be able to say, ‘mission accomplished’!”
“What is this?” Commander Lewis echoed Beowulf Denn.
“It was Robert’s idea, really,” began Richard, “and he ought to be telling the tale, but he is too modest to do so. Robert and I cooked up the plan between us and told no one else. Just in case there was a leak somewhere—and apparently there was!—Robert made a fuss about wanting to offer his freighters to convey the probes to the deployment site. He offered rather expensive freighters for service. Robert felt badly about, well, about making a scene when we met with the President and wanted to make up for it.”
Robert glanced down at the table so as not to meet anyone’s eyes, but it was evident that the success of his plan was deeply gratifying to him.
“The NME freighters were decoys. The real probes were sent out on SE freighters to different spots along the face of deployment. They were sent out without any fanfare whatever on the normal delivery schedule we follow for all shipments to Mars and the Asteroid Belt. It would never have done, anyway, to send the probes out in a tight bunch as the seven NME freighters; deployment must be simultaneously effected from several sites, and this is the command I just gave Captain Marks-Owens.
“If the pirates took the bait, then they would go back to their base believing that they had stopped us. And if they didn’t know about our plans or the decoy, well, no harm done. Deployment would still go on as scheduled. That’s about two minutes from now.”
The visitors were stunned. “Why, that’s terrific!” stammered Commander Lewis. “No one else knew about this? Not even the President?”
“No one,” said Richard. “Only Robert and I. And it’s a good thing we did it that way, too. Without the decoy, the launch would have gone as planned with everyone knowing about it. As it is, we’re safe now.”
“Not only that—” contributed John Rwakatare in his deep bass voice, “we’ve learned something of immense value. There is a leak somewhere. Someone informed the pirates of the launch from NME.”
“Yes, there’s that,” said Robert Nolan with a sigh, finally speaking up. “But for now, deployment of the probes will take place successfully. We’ll have to check for the leak, and I initiated a careful search as soon as we received news of the attack.”
Richard turned back toward the screen. “Computer,” he said. “Give me a tie-in to the master control aboard the Tempest.” The screen showed a scene in space.
“There is a delay, of course, but the feed is continuous. Deployment of the probes is taking place about now, but we won’t see the results for about ten minutes.” Time passed.
“Coming up on the time now,” announced Richard a little later, breaking into the light conversation that was going on around the table. All heads turned toward the screen.
“This is a map of the expanse of the site of the deployment. This is not the actual scene, of course; it is a computer enhancement, programmed to show us what is actually happening.”
From twelve sites at once, scattered about evenly throughout the area, small points began to glow. The points marked the locations of the SE freighters that had carried the real probes. Simultaneously from every point emerged a starburst of lines, each one a fine, golden strand of light.
“Dr. Hoshino’s design propels each probe at about one-twentieth the speed of light. Complete deployment should take about an hour and a half.”
The men waited nervously. Some browsed Richard’s books and others peered through his small telescope at the moonscape. Occasionally two or three would come together for quiet discussion.
On the screen, the golden lines gradually lengthened. From time to time one would burst into a flower of lines like summer fireworks, and then later each of those lines extended and burst again.
When deployment was complete, the entire screen was filled with a complex pattern of golden points, like dawn-illuminated mist hanging in a huge spider’s web.
“Success!” said Richard quietly, but his voice trembled with excitement. “Captain Marks-Owens will now initiate the program that will unify the probes into a single system. At the same time, she will enter a program that will allow the system to read the gravitational forces attendant upon every object within its range. The known asteroids and other heavenly bodies and the scheduled flights of spacecraft will be filtered out. What will be left will be the positions of unknown craft and any uncharted natural objects.” As he spoke, the web began to shimmer in dozens of places, each the site of an object with enough mass to ripple the gravitational-detecting field of the net.
“Ah! Now the known ships are being filtered out,” Richard observed as many of the ripples disappeared. In a moment, he leaped to his feet.
“There it is! There it is!” he shouted. He ran to the screen. “Look! Here are the pirates’ ships that attacked Robert’s freighters yesterday!” He pointed to a small ripple in the pattern and scanned the readings at the bottom of the screen. “Yes, eighteen ships. Here are their masses provided down here. And over here,” his finger swept across the screen to a large ripple in the upper center, “is the asteroid coming our way!
“Computer! Extrapolate the course of this object”—he gave the particulars—“and provide information on its trajectory.”
In eight seconds the voice of the computer spoke. “Object is a natural body of approximately 20,625 trillion tons, currently traveling at a rate of approximately 280,000 miles per hour. If present speed and course are maintained, object will fly by the Earth. Closest approach will be attained in 15 days, 8 hours, 3 minutes, 14 seconds at a distance of approximately 10,689 miles.”
There was silence in Richard’s office for over a minute. Then someone said, “It’s going to miss.”
18: Collision Course!
EXHAUSTED with relief, the party broke up. The men from Space Command left the Starlight Enterprise plant and returned to their headquarters. Robert Nolan and Beowulf Denn lifted off from a launching deck not far from Richard’s office and set course for the space station that was the central facility for Nolan Mining Enterprise.
Richard had already given orders that ships from Starlight Enterprise be assigned the immediate task of pursuing and capturing the eighteen pirate ships that had destroyed NME’s decoy freighters the day before. The SE freighters that had actually carried the probes into space had been joined by SE ships gathered quietly from various sources during the previous week. They had converged during the journey so that many were in place throughout the area of the search, ready to respond to any orders that might come.
Inside many of them were the Firewasp fighters SE produced for use in the Asteroid Belt. The Firewasps were small, tremendously fast and amazingly maneuverable one-man ships that had been concentrated in several SE bases in the Asteroid Belt. They had been named after a menacing insect found in certain hostile swamps on Mars. The tiny craft served mostly as a deterrent, since smugglers and other lawless types avoided any settlement that showed it was ready to defend itself against marauders.
Commander John Lewis was to issue similar orders to Space Command ships in the vicinity of the microwave net. There were enough SE ships close to the course the pirate fleet was taking that Firewasps could be launched to intercept the pirate ships within an hour.
John Rwakatare and Richard Starlight remained alone in Richard’s office. They were seated on a sofa, looking out over the vast lunar landscape. An enormous dark gray field stretched out for several miles before breaking up at the far side into jumbled, light gray boulders.
“What do you make of it, Rock?” asked Richard. “Why did Zimbardo tell the entire planet that he was going to pulverize it, and then set his projectile on a fly-by course?”
“I don’t think he merely made a mistake,” said Rock. “He’s shown he can guide asteroids to near-pinpoint accuracy.”
“Hmm, yes...but those were much, much smaller and were aimed at much closer targets. You don’t think he could have just...aimed and missed?”
“Possible, Rick, but I’m not convinced. Consider this: where did the communications from Zimbardo come from? An asteroid base. The Starmen told us about this hollow asteroid and that it could be ‘flown’ like a great spaceship. We have seen only one large asteroid coming toward Earth. To be blunt, I think Lurton Zimbardo is a liar. The asteroid he aimed at Earth is his own base! His threat to slam it into Earth was intended to cause panic—and it did! He achieved that without actually having to carry out his threat. I think the real threat is what is inside this hollow asteroid.”
Richard was listening intently. The relief he had previously felt was evaporating rapidly. He deeply admired and respected John Rwakatare. Rock had a remarkable and rare combination of a filing-cabinet mind and an ability to dream. He was eminently logical at all times, but could also come up with “leaps beyond logic” in which inspiration confidently answered a challenging situation. Now was one of those times.
Richard remembered when Rock had graduated from Starlight Academy fifteen years earlier. Richard was in his early forties at the time, and recalled the shock that went through the Starlight world when Rock was offered the position of Starman but had turned it down. He was the only person ever to have refused the honor. He had chosen instead to stay close to a young woman whom he loved; they had married and now had four young children. Rock rarely left his family, and Richard had placed him second in command of Starlight Enterprise.
Rock continued. “We already concluded that the ability to sheath spacecraft and even asteroids comes from an alien intelligence more advanced than our own race. I think it highly likely that the source—at least the immediate source—of that knowledge is the asteroid Zimbardo has taken over. We don’t know what other capabilities this asteroid base has. But we do know that Lurton Zimbardo is bringing it to Earth—very, very close to Earth, and that he will be here in fifteen days.”
Richard swallowed hard and looked away. “Oh my, Rock!—I’m sure you’re right. In fact, what other possibilities are there?”
“But unless he has defenses or weaponry we haven’t seen yet, we have an advantage. A slight advantage.”
“What’s that?”
“He doesn’t know that we know where he is or that we have guessed what he’s really doing.”
Robert Nolan and Beowulf Denn made the twenty-six minute journey from the Moon to the space station. Robert had been full of chatter on the way back, but Wulf had responded only with short sentences, and after they had docked they went their separate ways. Robert went to his office to call the President. Richard had urged Robert to be the one to inform him that the probes had deployed successfully, that the microwave net had found the asteroid, and that Earth was not in danger of collision. Robert felt the honor deeply and was eager to announce the good news.
Wulf found his way to his own private sanctum, saying he wanted to take a nap. He set a “do not disturb” code on his communication system. Then he prepared another audiodisk, making a brief report of the luncheon meeting at Starlight Enterprise. He played it through twice, making changes until he felt comfortable with the message. Then he speeded it up so that the complete message lasted 0.027 seconds, encrypted it, inserted the disk into his personal computer, and transmitted it. After the message had been sent, he destroyed the disk and removed all signs on his computer that the action had occurred.
He stared out the window at the third planet, a beautiful blue and white globe, thinking nothing in particular. After a moment he stretched out and tried to take a nap. But he couldn’t sleep.
A red light pulsed rapidly on the console near Lurton Zimbardo’s chair. Seeing the flash from the corner of his eye, he jerked his head around and stared at it as if he couldn’t believe that it was lit.
“What’s this?” he thought. “There’s no message due now.” He pressed the button that deactivated the light, placed headphones on, dialed a few knobs on the console, and pressed “Play.”
Fifteen seconds later he leaped up from his chair and bellowed. With both hands he jerked the headphone cord out of the control panel. The wires whipped through the air with a noise like a scourge. Zimbardo twirled, his eyes bulging, and flung the headphones from him with all his force. The set flew through the command center and collided with the opposite wall. Everyone in the room froze and turned to look at the pirate leader, and were appalled at what they saw. He was trembling with demonic fury. No one moved or said a word. Even Gene was afraid to speak.
“They found us!!” Zimbardo shouted. “They found us! The Earthmen know where we are! They’ve located the fleet!! The freighters those fools destroyed yesterday were decoys! The Earthmen deployed the real probes and they’ve already found us! They outsmarted us!” He cursed vehemently, then growled as if his teeth were grinding on gravel. “But I’ve never been outsmarted! I won’t be outsmarted now!”
Zimbardo jumped back into his chair. “Gene! GENE!!” He screamed like a man possessed.
“Right here sir,” said the young man, coming up quickly to the pirate leader’s side.
“Crank up all the power this asteroid can give me! I’m going to create the biggest electromagnetic pulse this Solar System has ever seen, and BURN every last one of those probes out of the void!! And then when we are invisible again, we’ll move this asteroid to a new course and continue our plan.”
“But sir,” pleaded Gene, almost desperately. “That would take a lot of power! It would be highly inefficient and might work against us! I don’t know the power capacity of the asteroid! It could very well burn us out!”
Zimbardo stopped moving for a moment, then turned his head very slowly around and stared at Gene. His eyes glinted with an unearthly light.
“Do it,” he hissed.
Gene stepped back half a pace, then pivoted swiftly and ran to the power breakers on the far side of the room. He began to pull switches, override safety indicators, and turn power dials to maximum output.
In a little less than three minutes, he turned and looked back at Zimbardo. The pirate leader had not taken his eyes off of his assistant for a second. With his mouth slightly open, Gene looked into Zimbardo’s eyes from across the room and nodded with a quick jerk of his head. Zimbardo smiled, inclined his head slowly, and turned back to his console. He laughed out loud and pressed the switch that activated a general direction EMP.
There was a deafening sound like that of a huge metal block falling to the floor and then grinding along an uneven surface. A wailing screech filled the room and everyone but Zimbardo covered his ears. The screech increased in intensity until men fell to the floor and writhed, pressing their hands firmly to the sides of their heads. Then there was sudden silence and the lights went out. Men began to moan, and someone’s voice quavered: “The atmosphere recycler has stopped!”
“Everything has stopped,” said Gene from the darkness.
Twelve Firewasps came upon the eighteen pirate ships with a suddenness that took the pirates completely by surprise. The small spacecraft moved so quickly that the pirates could get off only wild shots that never came close to any of the SE craft. The Firewasps used narrow but highly dense laser weaponlight with remarkable effectiveness. Skilled pilots and marksmen quickly disabled the pirate ships by piercing their power supply, effectively casting them adrift in space. The pirates’ sheathing systems went down, rendering the ships visible.
The battle was over in less than two minutes. Captain Mary Marks-Owens and Richard Starlight received the news within minutes of each other, that the eighteen pirate ships were derelicts and their crews would no doubt be eager to be picked up by the nearest Space Command ships. Without power, their air would not last more than twenty-four hours.
Richard and Commander Lewis made the next order jointly. With a few exceptions, all Starlight Enterprise and Space Command spacecraft were to journey to the pirates’ asteroid at once and prepare for battle. They would bring the attack directly to Lurton Zimbardo.
After issuing the order, Richard reset his communication system to contact the Star Ranger. Now that the need for secrecy was past, he wanted to bring the returning Starmen up to date and urge them to come to the pirates’ asteroid with the others.
Inside the Star Ranger, Mark cried out, “Hey! Listen to this!” He directed the communication system to public announcement mode and restarted the message from Richard Starlight. In exultant tones, Richard related the events of the previous two days, concluding with the capture of the eighteen pirate ships and the coming attack on Zimbardo’s asteroid.
The Starmen cheered. They all jumped up and danced. After a moment, Zip asked, “How soon can we get to the asteroid, Mark?”
Mark sat down and quickly figured. “We’re only about a day and a half away.”
“What are we waiting for?!” exclaimed Joe.
“Let’s go!” said Zip. “We could use a little diversion on our way back to Earth.”
Mark set a new course and Joe initiated it. The Star Ranger turned slightly to intercept the asteroid where they had been imprisoned nearly three weeks before.
As the power system aboard that same asteroid screeched into disruption and then silence, a massive electromagnetic shock wave was dispensed from its surface. A great pulse of destruction moved through space at the speed of light. Although it was not strong enough to harm spacecraft, the microwave probes were no match for its power. As the pulse swept past the probes, they winked out in flashes of golden light.
On the master screen aboard the Tempest and in Richard Starlight’s office, viewers watched the golden net disappear. Although it was past midnight, Richard and John Rwakatare were wide awake with their eyes glued to the screen. From the center where the asteroid was indicated, an expanding circle of darkness went forth, gradually swallowing up all the probes. It was obvious to Richard that the microwave net was doomed.
“Computer,” he said in a dull voice. “How much longer until the net disappears?”
“Four minutes, twelve seconds,” came the mellow voice.
“The eighteen ships are adrift,” Richard said. “We can’t lose them. But if this asteroid is maneuverable, as it must be, Zimbardo can speed up, slow down, or change course and avoid our attack. He can disappear.”
Richard’s body tensed and he raised his voice. “How did he know about the probes?!” he exclaimed, with exasperation.
“The spy,” responded John Rwakatare.
Aboard the pirates’ asteroid, power was returning. An emergency backup system had kicked in, causing the lights to flicker back on and the atmosphere recycler to hum quietly back into efficiency. With covert glances back at Zimbardo, the men returned to their stations.
Zimbardo barked out a command.
“Status report!”
“Right away, sir,” said Gene, taking his own seat. He attended to various dials and incoming signals.
Zimbardo stood up and walked over to the great window that overlooked the huge rocket pad outside. There were seven ships left—six belonging to the independent smugglers, Jeff Jenner, Lorry, and Captain Kimball, and his own personal ship, the Tartarus. Even the Silver Spear had been taken by Lorry. The asteroid was nearly empty of men; only his support crew, the smugglers and their crews, and a few others remained.
“Sir,” spoke up Gene. His voice trembled. He spoke as one apologizing. “Mr. Zimbardo. Mr. Lather sent in a frantic message that all eighteen ships were under attack. The transmission was cut off in mid-sentence. I scanned their location, sir, and detected three large Space Command ships approaching our convoy. They are about to be captured, sir.”
Zimbardo turned slowly and looked at Gene without a change in expression. “And?” he said. “There’s more, I can tell. And...”
“And there is a large fleet of ships belonging to Space Command and Starlight Enterprise converging on our location. In less than three hours, fourteen ships will be arriving within minutes of each other. Approximately the same number again will join them over the next twenty-four hour period.” Gene hesitated, then decided to deliver the last sentence. “Even if we are sheathed, sir, with that many ships so close, they will be able to find us before long.”
Lurton Zimbardo turned his eyes obliquely to the floor and joined his hands behind his back. He rocked for a moment on his feet, almost as if pondering a challenging philosophical question.
“I see,” he said at last. He walked quietly over to his console, sat for a moment without moving, then began to move dials and enter numbers into the navigational program. He consulted various tables of information and referred to a number of measuring devices whose sensitive detectors were on the surface of the asteroid.
Minutes passed. Zimbardo grew increasingly agitated as he worked. His men had stopped their own work and watched him. Where his hands had begun to move gently and carefully, they began to exhibit higher and higher degrees of animation. Soon he was pressing his keyboard vehemently and muttering under his breath. Once in a while he chortled.
Finally he shouted, “Hah! That will do it! I won’t be outsmarted!” He pressed the “Enter” button and then roared, “Yes! I win!” He leaped from his chair and lifted up both arms. “I win!” he screamed.
As the program Zimbardo had activated was engaged, the power it required began draining the emergency resources of the asteroid. The lights dimmed and the usual hum of the atmosphere recycler began to stutter.
“What did you do?” Gene asked with trepidation. “Even the backup power system is being strained.”
“Just keeping a promise,” said Zimbardo jovially. “I told Earth I had sent them an asteroid. I wasn’t very truthful at the time, I’m afraid. But now I have kept my promise. I have redirected the asteroid so that it will collide with the planet! —and I’ve pushed the acceleration up to full!”
A soul-wrenching moan escaped from Gene’s lips. He stumbled over to his chair and collapsed into it. He stared ahead, seeing nothing. The other men were frozen in their places.
Zimbardo strolled over to the wall-screen that provided a map of the Inner Planetary system and indicated their position. With the power drain, the images were going in and out of focus and numbers were fading from the screen.
“Hmm. About ten days to impact,” he muttered. “Can’t tell for sure with the images fading like this, but no matter. By that time we’ll be long gone.”
A few minutes later the insides of the complex began to screech as they had before. The screech did not rise in intensity but gradually turned into a groan. The light slowly faded and then went out completely.
“The power is out for good now!” Gene wailed. “and we’re prisoners on the asteroid! Now it’s a runaway! We can’t stop it!”
“Why would we want to stop it? We’ll take the Tartarus and leave to fight again another day! Pack up, get the men, and let’s go. We’ve got less than three hours, I think you said.”
Panicked, Gene fled from the room, feeling his way desperately through the darkness. “I’ve got to warn Kimball, Lorry, and Jenner! We’ve got to escape!” Fear unlike anything he had ever experienced or imagined filled his entire being.
19: Change of Guard
GENE FLEW down the corridor with his arms outstretched, not knowing exactly where he was going and not caring, as long as it was away from the control deck. He was breathing hard and fast, on the verge of hysteria. Realizing that he was in danger of losing his grip, he paused to catch his breath, and leaned against the wall.
A moment later he saw moving lights in the stairwell a long way ahead. In the growing gray illumination, he dashed forward and saw Kimball, Lorry, and Jenner coming up, carrying flashlights. When Kimball saw Gene hurrying toward him, he flashed the light directly into his eyes and roared, “What in blazes is going on in this place?”
Gene threw his hands up over his eyes, but continued to stumble forward. “You’ve got to get out of here,” he choked out. “Get your men, get your ships, go!”
Jenner put a firm hand on Gene’s shoulder, and Kimball lowered the light. “What’s going on? Where’s Zimbardo?” Jenner’s voice was a little quieter than Kimball’s but just as demanding.
Gene gulped and looked up. “He—, he’s aimed the asteroid at Earth! It’s on a collision course! He burned out all the power—all the power! He can’t stop it! He doesn’t want to stop it!”
There was a stunned silence. Jenner, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, finally blurted out, “Why did he do that?”
“All the men in the fleets have been captured! We’re the only ones left, and Space Command will be boarding us in less than three hours!”
The three smugglers gasped in dismay. Jenner pushed Gene away and the three of them shot back down the stairwell. When they reached the lower level, Gene heard them shouting for their men. The light gradually diminished until Gene was once again in complete darkness.
“Gene! Gene! Where are you?” came the voice of Lurton Zimbardo from far behind him. Startled, Gene quickly whirled and peered into the darkness. From far away came a sound as of scurrying feet. There were men coming—the men from the control center, with Zimbardo. Gene spun again and ran for his own room. He had decided what he was going to do. Frantically he rummaged through his belongings until he found his own flashlight. Without turning it on yet, he ran from the room and hastened farther away from the control center.
“Gene? Gene! Is that you?” came the voice of Lurton Zimbardo. Gene inhaled quickly and looked back. There was still no light. He hesitated for a moment, then answered,
“Yes, it’s me.” His voice was squeaky.
“Where are you?” echoed down the corridor.
“I’m not going with you! Go on without me!”
“What?” Zimbardo’s voice had a note of complete incredulity in it. “Why not? Hurry up, Gene! We have to go! I don’t want Space Command on my tail!”
“I’m not going!” Gene shouted. He turned and fled. He sped down the corridor as fast as he could go, came to its end, turned the corner, and kept going. In less than a minute he was many turns and twists away from the main level. He switched on his light, put it on its lowest setting, and slowed down to a walk. “He won’t wait for me! He won’t look for me! He’ll want to go! Soon he’ll be gone and I’ll be safe!” These thoughts came through Gene’s mind almost like a flow of clear water.
He came to a storeroom, pushed the door open, and flashed his light around. The room was crammed with stacks of boxes and various other items. Seeing there was no one else inside, he shut the door, crawled under a cabinet, and turned off his light.
After a short while, he felt the floor tremble slightly. He knew that a spaceship had lifted off. It was followed quickly by five others. “The smugglers are gone,” he thought. “Just one more now. If I hear one more, I’ll know that he’s gone.” He waited, desperately hoping he wouldn’t hear the sound of the door opening.