"Then fire all three. Pick your targets at will. One blast!"
The lights in Venus Equilateral brightened. The thousands of
line-voltage meters went from one hundred and twenty-five to one
hundred and forty volts, and the line-frequency struggled with the
crystal-control and succeeded in making a ragged increase from sixty
to sixty point one five cycles per second. The power-output meters on
the transmitting equipment went up briefly, and in the few remaining
battery-supply rooms, the overload and overcharge alarms clanged until
the automatic adjusters justified the input against the constant load.
One of the ten-kilowatt modulator tubes flashed over in the audio-room
and was immediately cut from the operating circuit; the recording
meters indicated that the tube had gone west forty-seven hours prior to
its expiration date due to filament overload. A series of fluorescent
lighting fixtures in a corridor of the Station that should have been
dark because of the working hours of that section, flickered into
life and woke several of the workers, and down in the laboratory, Wes
Farrell swore because the fluctuating line had disrupted one of his
experiments, giving him reason to doubt the result. He tore the thing
down and began once more; seventy days work had been ruined.
"Well," said Channing cockily, "is that the best you can do?"
"You--!"
"You forgot," reminded Channing, "that we have been working with solar
power, too. In fact, we discovered the means to get it. Go ahead and
shoot at us, Murdoch. You're just giving us more power."
"Cease firing!" exploded Murdoch.
"Oh don't!" cheered Don. "You forgot that those tubes, if aligned
properly, will actually cause bending of the energy-beam. We've got
load-terminal tubes pointing at you, and your power-beam is bending to
enter them. You did well, though. You were running the whole Station
with plenty to spare. We had to squirt some excess into space. Your
beams aren't worth the glass that's in them!"
"Stalemate, then," snarled Murdoch. "Now _you_ come and get _us_. We'll
leave. But we'll be back. Meanwhile, we can have our way with the
shipping. Pilot! Course for Mars! Start when ready!"
* * * * *
The _Black Widow_ turned and streaked from Venus Equilateral as Don
Channing mopped his forehead. "Walt," he said, "that's once I was
scared to death."
"Me, too. Well, we got a respite. Now what?"
"We start thinking."
"Right. But of what?"
"Ways and--Hello, Wes. What's the matter?"
Farrell entered and said: "They broke up my job. I had to set it up
again, and I'm temporarily free. Anything I can do to help?"
"Can you dream up a space-gun?"
Farrell laughed. "That's problematical. Energy guns are something
strange. Their output can be trapped and used to good advantage. What
you need is some sort of projectile, I think."
"But what kind of projectile would do damage to a spaceship?"
"Obviously the normal kinds are useless. Fragmentation shells would
pelt the exterior of the ship with metallic rain--if and providing you
could get them that close. Armor-piercing would work, possibly, but
their damage would be negligible since hitting a spacecraft with a
shell is impossible if the ship is moving at anything like the usual
velocities. Detonation shells are a waste of energy, since there is no
atmosphere to expand and contract. They'd blossom like roses and do as
much damage as a tossed rose."
"No projectiles, then."
"If you could build a super-heavy fragmentation and detonation shell
and combine it with armor-piercing qualities, and could hit the
ship, you might be able to stop 'em. You'd have to pierce the ship,
and have the thing explode with a terrific blast. It would crack
the ship because of the atmosphere trapped in the hull--and should
be fast enough to exceed the compressibility of air. Also it should
happen so fast that the air leaving the hole made would not have a
chance to decrease the pressure. The detonation would crack the
ship, and the fragmentation would mess up the insides to boot, giving
two possibilities. But if both failed and the ship became airless,
they would fear no more detonation shells. Fragments would always be
dangerous, however."
"So now we must devise some sort of shell--?"
"More than that. The meteor-circuits would intercept the incoming
shell and it would never get there. What you'd need is a series of
shells--say a hundred, all emitting the meteor-alarm primary signals,
which would cause paralysis of the meteor-circuits. Then the big one,
coming in at terrific velocity."
"And speaking of velocity," said Walt Franks. "The projectile and the
rifle are out. We can get better velocity with a constant-acceleration
drive. I say torpedoes!"
"Naturally. But the aiming? Remember, even though we crank up the drive
to 50-G, it takes time to get to several thousand miles per second. The
integration of a course would be hard enough, but add to it the desire
of men to evade torpedoes--and the aiming job is impossible."
"We may be able to aim them with a device similar to the one Charley
Thomas is working with. Murdoch said his hull was made of lithium?"
"Coated with," said Channing.
"Well. Set the alloy-selectivity disk to pure lithium, and use the
output to steer the torpedo right down to the bitter end."
"Fine. Now the armor-piercing qualities."
"Can we drill?"
"Nope. At those velocities, impact would cause detonation, the combined
velocities would look like a detonation wave to the explosive. After
all, darned few explosives can stand shock waves that propagate through
them at a few thousand miles per second."
"O.K. How do we drill?"
"We might drill electrically," suggested Farrell. "Put a beam in front?"
"Not a chance," grinned Channing. "The next time we meet up with
Hellion Murdoch, he'll have absorbers ready for use. We taught him that
one, and Murdoch is not slow to learn."
"So how do we drill?"
"Wes, is that non-arcing alloy of yours very conductive?"
"Slightly better than aluminum."
"Then I've got it! We mount two electrodes of the non-arcing alloy
in front. Make 'em heavy and of monstrous current-carrying capacity.
Then we connect them to a condenser made of Farrell's super-dooper
dielectric."
"You bet," said Walt, grinning. "We put a ten microfarad condenser in
front, only it'll be one hundred and thirty farads when we soak it in
Farrell's super-dielectric. We charge it to ten thousand volts, and let
it go."
"We've got a few experimental jobs," said Channing. "Those inerts.
The drones we were using for experimental purposes. They were radio
controlled, and can be easily converted to the aiming-circuits."
"Explosives?"
"We'll get the chemistry boys to brew a batch."
"Hm-m-m. Remind me to quit Saturday," said Walt. "I wonder how a ten
farad condenser would drive one of those miniatures."
"Pretty well, I should imagine. Why?"
"Why not mount one of the miniatures on a gunstock and put a ten farad
condenser in the handle? Make a nice side arm."
"Good for one shot, and not permanently charged. You'd have to cut your
leakage down plenty."
"Could be. Well, we'll work on that one afterwards. Let's get that
drone fixed."
"Let's fix up all the drones we have. And we'll have the boys wire up
as many as they can of the little message-canisters. The whole works
go at once at the same acceleration, with the little ones running
interference for the big boy."
"Murdoch invited us to 'come and get him,'" said Channing in a hard
voice. "That, I think we'll do!"
* * * * *
Four smoldering derelicts lay in absolute wreckage on or near the four
great spaceports of the solar system. Shipping was at an unequaled
standstill, and the communications beams were loaded with argument
and recriminations and pleas as needed material did not arrive as per
agreement. Three ships paid out one dollar each gross ton in order to
take vital merchandise to needy parties, but the mine-run of shipping
was unable to justify the terrific cost.
And then Don Channing had a long talk with Keg Johnson of
Interplanetary Transport.
One day later, one of Interplanetary's larger ships took off
from Canalopsis without having paid tribute to Murdoch. It went
free--completely automatic--into the Martian sky and right into
Murdoch's hands. The pirate gunned it into a molten mass and hurled his
demands at the system once more, and left for Venus since another ship
would be taking off from there.
In the _Relay Girl_, Don Channing smiled. "That finds Murdoch," he told
Walt. "He's on the standard course for Venus from Mars."
"Bright thinking," commented Walt. "Bait him on Mars and then offer him
a bite at Venus. When'll we catch him?"
"He's running, or will be, at about 3-G, I guess. We're roaring
along at five and will pass Mars at better than four thousand miles
per second. I think we'll catch and pass the _Black Widow_ at the
quarter-point, and Murdoch will be going at about nine hundred miles
per. We'll zoom past, and set the finder on him, and then continue
until we're safely away. If he gets tough, we'll absorb his output,
though he's stepped it up to the point where a spacecraft can't take
too much concentrated input."
"That's how he's been able to blast those who went out with absorbers?"
"Right. The stuff on the Station was adequate to protect, but an
ordinary ship couldn't handle it unless the ship were designed to
absorb and dissipate that energy. The beam-tubes would occupy the
entire ship, leaving no place for cargo. Result: A toss-up between
paying off and not carrying enough to make up the difference."
"This is Freddy," spoke the communicator. "The celestial globe has just
come up with a target at eight hundred thousand miles."
"O.K., Freddy. That must be the _Black Widow_. How'll we pass her?"
"About thirty thousand miles."
"Then get the finders set on that lithium-coated hull as we pass."
"Hold it," said Walt. "Our velocity with respect to his is about three
thousand. We can be certain of the ship by checking the finder-response
on the lithium coating. If so, she's the _Black Widow_. Right from
here, we can be assured. Jim! Check the finders in the torpedoes on
that target!"
"Did," said Jim. "They're on and it is."
"Launch 'em all!" yelled Franks.
"Are you nuts?" asked Channing.
"Why give him a chance to guess what's happening? Launch 'em!"
"Freddy, drop two of the torpedoes and half of the interferers. Send
'em out at 10-G. We'll not put all our eggs in one basket," Channing
said to Walt. "There might be a slip-up."
"It'll sort of spoil the effect," said Don, "But we're not here for
effect."
"What effect?"
"That explosive will be as useless as a slab of soap," said Don.
"Explosive depends for its action upon velocity--brother, there ain't
no explosive built that will propagate at the velocity of our torpedo
against Murdoch."
"I know," said Franks, smiling.
"Shall I yell 'Bombs away' in a dramatic voice?" asked Freddy Thomas.
"Are they?"
"Yup."
"Then yell," grinned Walt. "Look, Don, this should be pretty.
Let's hike to the star-camera above and watch. We can use the
double-telescope finder and take pix, too."
"It won't be long," said Channing grimly. "And we'll be safe since the
interferers will keep Murdoch's gadget so busy he won't have time to
worry us. Let's go."
* * * * *
The sky above became filled with a myriad of flashing spots as the
rapidly-working meteor spotters coupled to the big turret and began to
punch at the interferers.
The clangor of the alarm made Murdoch curse. He looked at the celestial
globe and his heart knew real fear for the first time. This was no
meteor shower, he knew from the random pattern. Something was after
him, and Murdoch knew who and what it was. He cursed Channing and Venus
Equilateral in a loud voice.
It did no good, that cursing. Above his head, the triply mounted
turret danced back and forth, freeing a triple-needle of Sol's energy.
At each pause another interferer went out in a blaze of fire and a
shock-excitation of radio energy that blocked, temporarily, the finder
circuits. And as the turret destroyed the little dancing motes, more
came speeding into range to replace them, ten to one.
And then it happened. The finder-circuit fell into mechanical
indecision as two interferers came at angles, each with the same
intensity. The integrators ground together, and the forces they loosed
struggled for control.
Beset by opposing impulses, the amplidyne in the turret stuttered,
smoked, and then went out in a pungent stream of yellowish smoke that
poured from its dust-cover in a high-velocity stream. The dancing of
the turret stopped, and the flashing motes in the sky stopped with the
turret's death.
One hundred and thirty farads, charged to ten thousand volts, touched
the lithium-coated, aluminum side of Murdoch's _Black Widow_. Thirteen
billion joules of electrical energy; thirty-six hundred kilowatt hours
went against two inches of aluminum. At the three thousand miles per
second relative velocity of the torpedo, contact was immediate and
perfect. The aluminum hull vaporized under the million upon million of
kilovolt-amperes of the discharge. The vaporized hull tried to explode,
but was hit by the unthinkable velocity of the torpedo's warhead.
The torpedo itself crushed in front. It mushroomed under the millions
of degrees Kelvin developed by the energy-release caused by the
cessation of velocity. For the atmosphere within the _Black Widow_ was
as immobile and as hard as tungsten steel at its best.
The very molecules themselves could not move fast enough. They crushed
together and in compressing brought incandescence.
The energy of the incoming torpedo raced through the _Black Widow_ in
a velocity wave that blasted the ship itself into incandescence. In a
steep wave-front, the vaporized ship exploded in space like a supernova.
It blinded the eyes of those who watched. It overexposed the camera
film and the expected pictures came out with one single frame a pure,
seared black. The piffling, comparatively ladylike detonation of the
System's best and most terrible explosive was completely covered in the
blast.
Seconds later, the _Relay Girl_ hurtled through the sky three thousand
miles to one side of the blast. The driven gases caught the _Girl_ and
stove in the upper observation dome like an eggshell. The _Relay Girl_
strained at her girders, and sprung leaks all through the rigid ship,
and after rescuing Don Channing and Walt Franks from the wreckage of
the observation dome, the men spent their time welding cracks until the
_Relay Girl_ landed.
It was Walt who put his finger on the trouble. "That was period for
Murdoch," he said. "But Don, the stooge still runs loose. We're going
to be forced to take over Mark Kingman before we're a foot taller.
He includes Terran Electric, you know. That's where Murdoch got his
machine work done."
"Without Murdoch, Kingman is fairly harmless," said Don, objecting.
"We'll have no more trouble from him."
"You're a sucker, Don. Kingman will still be after your scalp. You mark
my words."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing for the present. I've got some unfinished business to attend
to at Lincoln Head. Mind?"