The Rock Rats

CHAPTER 29

With Nodon working in the cargo bay, Fuchs finally got George out of the galley and into the bridge.

“You must tell everything that happened to the IAA,” Fuchs said, setting himself in the command chair.

George took the copilot’s seat; overflowed it, actually. He may have been hungry, Fuchs thought, but he hasn’t lost much weight.

“Be glad to, mate,” George said amiably. “Just get ’em on the horn.”

Fuchs instructed the comm computer to call Francesco Tomasselli at IAA headquarters in St. Petersburg. “Oh-oh,” said George.

Fuchs saw that he was pointing at the radar display. A single blip showed in the upper right corner of the screen. “He’s here,” George said.

“It could be a rock,” Fuchs heard himself say, even though he didn’t believe it. “It’s a ship.”

Fuchs tapped on his command keyboard. “A ship,” he agreed, after a few moments. “And it’s on an intercept course.”

“I’d better get into a suit and back to the cargo bay with Nodon. You suit up, too.”

As he followed George down to the airlock compartment where the spacesuits were stored, Fuchs heard the comm unit’s synthesized voice said, “Signer Tomasselli is not available at this time. Do you want to leave a message?”

Fifteen minutes later he was back in the bridge, feeling like a medieval knight in armor, wearing the cumbersome spacesuit.

The blip was centered in the radar display now. Fuchs peered through the window, but could see nothing in the dark emptiness out there.

“He still approaching?” George’s voice rasped in his helmet earphones.

“Yes.”

“We got your laser connected to the main power supply. Ours is down, something’s buggered it up.”

“But the one is working?”

“Yeah. Swing the ship around so we can get a clear view of ’im.”

“George,” Fuchs said, “suppose it’s not the ship that attacked you?”

A half-moment of silence, then, “You think somebody else just happened to drop by? Not bloody likely.”

“Don’t shoot at him unless he fires on us first,” Fuchs said.

George grumbled, “You sound like some bleedin’ Yank. ‘Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.’ ”

“Well, we shouldn’t—”

The comm screen suddenly flashed brightly, then went blank. With gloved fingers Fuchs tapped out a diagnostic command.

“I think he’s hit our main antenna,” he said to George.

“Turn the bloody ship so I can shoot back!”

The air pressure alarm started shrilling, and Fuchs heard the safety hatch at his back slam shut.

“He’s punctured the hull!”

“Turn, dammit!”

Hoping the controls still worked, Fuchs heard a startled voice in his head say, Mein gott, we’re in a space battle!

This might work out after all, Harbin told himself.

His first shot had disabled Starpower’s main communications antenna. And just in time, too. Fuchs had already put in a call to the IAA back Earthside.

His second shot had holed their habitation module, he was certain. They were swinging their ship around, trying to protect the hab module by moving it behind their cargo bay. Harbin studied the schematics of Starpower while he waited for his laser to recharge.

No sense wasting time or energy. Hit the propellant tanks, drain them dry and then leave them to drift helplessly deeper into the Belt.

He shook his head, though. No, first I’ve got to disable their antennas. All of them. They could scream their heads off to the IAA while I’m puncturing their tanks. They could tell the whole story before they drift away and starve to death. If they had any sense, they’d be broadcasting on all frequencies now. They must be panicked, too terrified to think clearly.

You have much to be terrified of, Harbin said silently to the people aboard Starpower. The angel of death is breathing upon you.

“What’s he doin’?” George asked.

“He’s hit us several times,” Fuchs replied into his helmet microphone. “He seems to be concentrating on the hab module.”

“Goin’ for the antennas, just like he did to us.”

“The antennas?”

“So we can’t call for help.”

Fuchs knew that was wrong. What good would it do us to call for help? It would take ten minutes or more for our signal to reach Ceres. How could anyone possibly help us?

“I can see him!” Nodon shouted.

“Now we can shoot back at ’im,” George said excitedly. “Hold us steady, dammit.”

Working the reaction jets that controlled the ship’s attitude, Fuchs’s mind was racing. He’s not worried about our calling for help, he realized. He doesn’t want us to tell anyone that we’re under attack. He wants us to simply disappear, another ship mysteriously lost out in the Belt. If we get a distress call off then everyone will know that ships are being deliberately destroyed. Everyone will know that Humphries is killing people.

He called up the comm system diagnostics. Every last antenna was gone, nothing but a string of baleful red lights glowering along the display screen.

What can we do? Fuchs asked himself. What can we do?

George blinked at the sweat that stung his eyes maddeningly.

“Are you ready?” he shouted at Nodon, even though the spacesuited crewman was hardly three meters from him. They were standing on either side of the bulky cutting laser, a collection of tubes and vanes and piping that looked too complicated to possibly work correctly. Yet George saw Nodon nod, tight-lipped, inside his bubble helmet.

“Ready,” he said.

George glanced at the control board, leaning slightly canted against the curving bulkhead of the cargo bay. All the lights in the green, he saw. Good. Looking up through the open cargo bay hatch he could see the distant speck of the attacking ship, a cluster of gleaming sunlit crescents against the dark depths of infinity.

“Fire!” George said, leaning on the red button so hard he forced himself up off the metal deck. He raised a gloved hand to the overhead and pushed gently, felt his boots touch the deck plates again.

The cutting laser was a continuous wave device, designed to slice through rock. Its aiming system was so primitive that George had to sight the thing by eye. Its infrared beam was invisible, and the red beam of the low-power guide laser disappeared in the emptiness of space. In the vacuum of the cargo bay there was no sound, not even a vibration that George could feel.

“Are we hitting him?” Nodon asked, his voice pitched high.

“How the fook should I know?” George snapped. “I’m not even sure the fookin’ kludge is workin’.”

“It’s working! Look at the panel.” It’s working, all right, George saw. But is it doing any good?

The first hint that Starpower was firing back at him came when Harbin’s control board suddenly sprung a half-dozen amber warning lights. Without hesitation, he hit the maneuvering jets to jink Shanidar sideways. It ruined his own shot, but it moved him out of harm’s way. Temporarily.

Frowning at the displays, Harbin saw that one of his propellant tanks had been ruptured. He looked up at Starpower hanging out there and saw the big hatch of the ship’s cargo bay was open. They must have a laser in there, probably a cutting laser they use for mining. And they’re shooting at me with it.

He maneuvered Shanidar away from the open cargo hatch while checking his ship’s systems. Fortunately, the propellant tank they holed was almost empty anyway. Harbin could afford to jettison it. Yet as he did, he began to worry that they might hit remaining tanks before he had the chance to finish them off.

Staring at the dumbbell shape of Starpower rotating slowly against the distant, uncaring stars, Harbin’s chiseled features twisted into a cruel smile.

“Kill or be killed,” he whispered to himself.