Chapter 10: Get the Scorpion!

From the corner of his eye, Rip saw Dowst’s heavy space boots and knew the private was right with him. As they drove down, one of the Connies stepped a little distance away from the others, probably to get a better look at Santos. The Connie sensed something and turned, just as Rip and Dowst flashed downward on his two mates.

Rip’s boots caught one Connie where his bubble joined his suit, and the impact drove the man downward to the unyielding surface of the asteroid with a soundless smash. Rip threw up his arms to cushion his helmet as he struck the ground beyond his enemy. He threw the air bottles away. He fought to keep his feet under him and almost succeeded, but his knees hit the ground, and pistol and knife bit into them painfully.

Two figures came into his view, locked tightly together, arms flailing. It was Dowst and the second Connie. He got to his feet and was moving to the Planeteer’s aid when Santos’ voice shrilled in his helmet. “Sir! Look left!”

Rip whirled. The Connie who had stepped aside was advancing, pistol in hand. His light caught Rip full in the face.

The young officer thought quickly. The Connie hadn’t fired. Why? Suddenly he had it. The man hadn’t fired for fear of hitting his friend, who was battling with Dowst. Rip was in front of them. Quickly he dropped to one knee, reaching for his own pistol. The Connie wouldn’t dare fire now. The high-velocity slug would go right through him, to explode in one of the struggling figures behind--and the wrong one might get it.

The Connie saw Rip’s action and tossed his pistol aside. He, too, knew he couldn’t fire. He reached into a knee pouch and drew out his space knife. He leaped for the Planeteer.

Rip pulled frantically at his pistol. It was stuck fast, probably caught in the fabric by his knee landing. The space knife wouldn’t be caught. It was smooth, with no projections to catch. He shifted knees and jerked it out.

The Connie’s flying body hit him, and a powerful arm circled his waist. Rip thrust upward with his knees, one hand reaching for the Connie’s suit valve. But the Connie had one arm free, too. He drove his glove up under Rip’s heart. Rip let go of the valve and used his elbow to lever away, just as the Connie pressed his knife’s release valve. The blade slammed outward and drove into the inside of Rip’s right arm, just above the elbow.

Pain lanced through him, and he felt the blood rush to the wound as air poured through the gap in his suit. He gritted his teeth and smashed at the Connie with his own knife. It rammed home, and he squeezed the release. The blade connected solidly. He was suddenly free.

He pressed the wounded arm to his side, stopping the outpouring of air. The cut hurt like all the devils of space. With his other hand he increased the air in his suit, then looked swiftly around. The Connie was on his knees, both gloves pressed tightly to his side.

Dowst was just finishing a knot in the safety line that bound a second enemy’s hands. The Connie Rip had rocketed down on was still lying where he had fallen. And Corporal Santos, the enemy’s pneumatic chatter gun at the ready, was standing guard.

Rip turned up the volume in his communicator. He tried to sound calm, but the shakiness of triumph and excitement was in his voice. “All Planeteers. We have the Connie snapper-boats. Koa, bring your men here.”

He felt someone working on his arm and turned to see Corporal Pederson, his face one vast grin in the glare from Dowst’s belt light. “Koa didn’t need me,” he said.

Rip grinned back. “Nunez,” he called, “how are things at the cave?”

“Sir, this is Nunez. Two Connies were prowling around, but they didn’t see the entrance. Then, a minute ago, they hurried away.”

Rip considered. “Koa, how many Connies have you?”

“Four, sir.”

With the five he and Dowst had taken, that meant four sill at large, and from Nunex’s report, some Connie yelling had been going on. The four certainly knew by this time that there were Federal men on the asteroid. Unless something were done quickly the four Connies would be shooting at them from the darkness. He ordered, “All Planeteers, kill your belt lights.”

The lights on the Connies they had just taken still glowed. Dowst was putting a patch on the Connie Rip had stabbed. He waited until the private had finished, then said, “Turn out the Connies’ lights, too.”

If he could get in touch with the Connies, he could tell them they were finished. But using the snapper-boat radios was out, because the enemy cruiser would hear. The cruiser couldn’t hear the helmet communications, though, because they carried only a short distance. The cruiser was close enough so that a helmet communicator turned on full volume might barely be heard, although it was unlikely.

He couldn’t stick his head in a Connie helmet, but he could talk to a Connie by direct communication and have him give instructions.

There was complete darkness with all belt lights out, but he groped his way to the Connie Dowst had been patching, felt for his helmet, and put his own against it. He yelled, “Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” Then he asked, “Why did you patch me?”

It was a perfect opening. “Because we don’t want to kill you. Listen. We have all but four of you. Understand?”

“Yes. What will you do with us?”

“Treat you as prisoners--if you behave. Get on your communicator and tell those four men to surrender. Tell them to come to the boats, with lights on. Tell them we’ll give them five minutes. If they don’t come, we’ll hunt them with rockets. Make that clear.”

“They will come,” the Connie said. “They don’t want to die. I will do it.”

Rip kept his helmet against the Connie’s, but the man spoke in another language, which Rip identified as the main Consops tongue. When he had finished, Rip told his Planeteers to have weapons ready and to keep lights off. Time enough for light when the Connies were all disarmed.

It didn’t take five minutes. The Connie teams came quickly and willingly, and they seemed almost glad to give up their pistols and knives. This was not unusual. Rip had seen many Planeteer reports that spoke of the same thing. Many Connies, it seemed, were glad to get away from the iron Consops rule, even if it meant becoming Federation prisoners.

Inside one of the snapper-boats a light glowed. Rip put his helmet against that of the man who had given the surrender order and demanded, “What’s that light?”

“The cruiser wants us.”

Rip considered demanding that the Connie answer, then thought better of it. He would do it himself. After all, they had hostages. The cruiser wouldn’t take any further action. He climbed into the snapper-boat and hunted for the plug-in terminal. It fitted his own belt jack. He plugged in and said, “Go ahead.”

There was an instant of silence, then an accented voice demanded, “Why are you speaking English?”

Rip replied formally, “This is Lieutenant Foster, Federation Special Order Squadrons, in charge on the asteroid. Your landing party is in our hands, as prisoners, two wounded, none dead. If you agree to withdraw, we will send the wounded men back to you in one boat. The rest will remain here as hostages for your good behavior.”

“Stand by,” the voice said. There was silence for several moments, then a new voice said, “This is the cruiser commander. We make a counteroffer. If you release our men and surrender to them, we will spare the lives of you and your men.”

Rip listened incredulously. The commanding officer didn’t understand. He, Rip, held the whip hand, because the lives of the Connie prisoners were in his hands. He repeated his offer.

“And I repeat,” the commander retorted. “Surrender or die. Choose now.”

“I refuse,” Rip stated flatly. “Try anything, and your men will suffer, not us.”

“You are mistaken,” the harsh voice said. “We will sweep the asteroid clean with our exhaust, but this time we will be more thorough. When we have finished, we will hammer you with guided missiles. Then we will send snapper-boats with rockets to hunt down any who remain. We intend to have that thorium. You had better surrender.”

Rip couldn’t believe it. The cruiser commander had no hesitation in sacrificing his own men! And it was not a bluff. He knew instinctively that the Connie commander meant it. Instantly he unplugged the radio connection from his belt and spoke urgently. “Koa, get everyone under cover in the cave. Hurry! Collect all the Connies and take them with you.”

Then he plugged in again. “Commander, I must have time to think this over.”

“You have one minute.”

He watched his chronometer, planning the next move. When the minute ended, he asked, “Commander, how do we know you will spare our lives if we surrender?” Through the transparent shell of the snapper-boat he saw lights moving toward the horizon and knew Koa was following orders.

“You don’t know,” the cruiser answered. “You must take our word for it. But if you surrender, we have no reason to wish you harm.”

Rip remained silent. The seconds ticked past until the commander snapped, “Quickly! You have no more time.”