"Get me a lead-lined box about eight feet by...."
Static blasted shrilly in their ears. The voice of the ship's lookout,
strained with excitement, shouted. "Captain Elderburg. This is Main
Control. Get here fast. An explosion at Lieutenant Jerill's mine."
As Elderburg leaped for the door with a muffled roar, the lookout's
voice tautened. "No. No. Not an explosion. It's the _Kastil_. They're
attacking the mine. They're attacking the mine."
* * * * *
They crammed into the observation blister on the _Bertha's_ nose.
Scanners swept smoothly over the wilderness of stone jutting up between
the ship and the mine.
"There's a fire fight going out there." Elderburg's square face knotted
with anger. "Scott, take a party. Blow that livid scum crew off this
rock."
"Right, sir!" Scott bolted from the observation port. The emergency
alarm howled through the ship. He buckled on a pair of blasters with
unsteady hands, a black fury sweeping him. He stabbed one long finger
down on the intercom.
"Masters," he yelled. "Get the cargo jet ready. With full battle
equipment."
"Right, lieutenant. What's up?"
"Piracy." He spun toward the door. Then jolted to a halt, hands balling
at his sides.
A picture was forming on the Master Communication Screen.