Rip turned it on full, and the Connie barked quick instructions. The
exhausts died, and five men filed out of each boat, with hands held high.
Rip blew a drop of perspiration from the tip of his nose. Empty space!
It was a good thing Connie morale was bad. The enemy's willingness to
surrender had saved them a costly fight.
The Planeteers rounded up the prisoners and secured them, while Rip took
an anxious look at the communicator. It was about time he heard from
Terra base.
The light was glowing. For all he knew, it might have been glowing for
many minutes. He plugged into the circuit.
"This is Foster on the asteroid."
"Terra base to Foster. Listen. You will reach optimum position on the
time-distance curve at twenty-three-oh-six."
"Got it. We will reach optimum position at twenty-three-oh-six." He
looked at his chronometer, and his pulse stopped. It was 22:58! They
had just eight minutes before the sun caught them forever, atomic blast
or no!
And the Connie cruiser was still overhead, with no friendly cruisers in
sight. He looked up, white-faced. Not only was the Connie still there,
but its main air lock was sliding open to disclose a new danger.
In the opening, ready to launch, an assault boat waited. The assault
boats were something only the Connies used. They were about four times
the size of a snapper-boat, less maneuverable but more powerful. They
carried twenty men and a pair of guided missiles with atomic warheads!