Chapter 18: Courtesy--With Claws

Sagittarius, constellation of the Archer, and Aquila, constellation of the Eagle, had given the two Federation patrol cruisers their names. The Eagle was commanded by a tough Scotsman, and the Archer by a Frenchman.

Commander MacFife spoke through the communicator. “Switch bands to universal, lad. Me’n Galliene are goin’ to talk this Connie into a braw mess. MacFife off.”

Rip guessed that the two cruiser commanders had been in communication while enroute to the asteroid and had cooked up some kind of plan. He turned the band switch to the universal frequency with which all long-range communicators were equipped. Each of the Earth groups had its own frequency, and so did the Martians and Jovians. But all could meet and talk on the universal band.

Special scrambling devices prevented eavesdropping on regular frequencies, so there was no danger that the Connie had overheard the plan. Rip wondered what it was. He knew the cruisers had to be careful not to cross the thin line that might lead to war.

The Sagittarius loomed closer, decelerating with a tremendous exhaust. The Connie couldn’t have failed to see it, Rip knew. He was right. The Consops cruiser suddenly blasted more heavily, rushing in the direction away from the Federation ship. The direction was toward the asteroid.

At the same moment, the Aquila flashed above the horizon, also decelerating. The Connie was caught squarely.

A suave voice spoke on the universal band. “This is Federation SCN Sagittarius, calling the Consolidation cruiser near the asteroid. Please reply.”

Rip waited anxiously. The Connie would hear, because every control room monitored the universal band.

A heavy, reluctant voice replied after a pause of over a minute.

“This is Consolidation cruiser Sixteen. You are breaking the law, Sagittarius. Your missile ports are open, and they are pointing at me. Close them at once, or I will report this.”

The suave voice, with its hint of French accent, replied, “Ah, my friend! Do not be alarmed. We have had a slight accident to our control circuit, and the ports are jammed open. We are trying to repair the situation. But I assure you that we have only the friendliest of intentions.”

Rip grinned. This was about the same as a man holding a cocked pistol at another man’s head and assuring him that it was nothing but a nervous arm that kept the gun so steady.

The Connie demanded, “What do you want?”

The two friendly cruisers were within a few miles of the Connie now, and their blasts were just strong enough to keep them edging closer, while still counteracting the sun’s pull.

The French spaceman spoke reassuringly. “My friend, we want only the courtesy of space to which the law entitles us. We have had an unfortunate accident to our astrogation instruments, and we wish to come aboard to compare them with yours.”

Rip laughed outright. Every cruiser carried at least four sets of instruments. There was as much chance of all of them being knocked off scale at once as there was of his biting a cruiser in half with bare teeth.

MacFife’s voice came on the air. “Foster, switch to Federation frequency.”

Rip did so. “This is Foster, Commander.”

“Lad, it’s a pity for ye to miss the show. I’m sending a boat for ye.”

“The sun will get it!” Rip exclaimed.

“Never fear, lad. It won’t get this one. Now, switch back to universal and listen in.”

Rip did so in time to catch the Connie commander’s voice. “ ... and I refuse to believe such a story! Great Cosmos, do you think I am a fool?”

“Of course not,” the Frenchman replied. “You are not such a fool as to refuse a simple request to check our instruments.”

The Sagittarius commander was right. Rip understood the strategy. Equipment sometimes did go out of operation in space, and Connies had no hesitation in asking Federation cruisers for help, or the other way around. Such help was always given, because no commander could be sure when he might need help himself.

“I agree,” the Connie commander said with obvious reluctance. “You may send a boat.”

MacFife’s Scotch burr broke in. “Federation SCN Aquila to Consolidation Sixteen. Mister, my instruments are off scale, too. I’ll just send them along to ye, and ye can check them while ye’re doing the Sagittarius!”

“I object!” the Connie bellowed.

“Come, now,” MacFife burred soothingly. “Checking a few instruments won’t hurt ye.”

A small rocket exhaust appeared, leaving the Aquila. The exhaust grew rapidly, more rapidly than that of any snapper-boat. Rip watched it, while keeping his ears tuned to the space conversation.

“Surely sending boats is too much of a nuisance,” the French commander said winningly. “We will come alongside.”

“It’s a trick,” the Connie growled. “You want me to open my valves, and then your men will board us and try to take over my ship!”

“My friend, you have a suspicious mind,” Galliene replied smoothly. “If you wish, arm your men. Ours will have no weapons. Train launchers on the valves, so our men will be annihilated before they can board if you see a single weapon.”

This was going a little far, Rip thought, but it was not his affair, and he didn’t know exactly what MacFife and Galliene had in mind.

The Aquila’s boat arrived with astonishing speed. Rip saw it flash in the sunlight and knew he had never seen one like it before. It was a perfect globe, about twenty feet in diameter. Blast holes covered the globe at intervals of six feet.

The boat settled to the asteroid, and a new voice called over the helmet circuit, “Where’s Foster? Show an exhaust! We’re in a rush.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hurried to the boat and stood there, bewildered. He didn’t know how to get in.

“Up here,” the voice called. He looked up and saw a hatch. He jumped, and a space-suited figure pulled him inside. The door shut, and the boat blasted off. Acceleration shoved him backward, but the spaceman snapped a line to his belt, then motioned him to a seat. Rip pulled himself up the line and got into the seat, snapping the harness in place.

“I’m Hawkins, senior space officer,” the spaceman said. “Welcome, Foster. We’ve been losing weight wondering if we’d get here in time.”

“I was never so glad to see spacemen in my life,” Rip said truthfully. “What kind of craft is this, sir?”

“Experimental,” the space officer answered. “It has a number, but we call it the ball-bat because it’s shaped like a ball and goes like a bat. We were about to take off for some test runs around the space platform when we got a hurry call to come here. The Aquila has two of these. If they prove out, they’ll replace the snapper-boats. More power, greater maneuverability, heavier weapons, and they carry more men.”

Rip looked out through the port and saw the two Federation cruisers closing in on the Connie. Apparently the Connie commander had agreed to let the cruisers come alongside.

The ball-bat blasted to the Aquila, paused at an open port, then slid inside. The valve was shut before Rip could unbuckle his harness. Air flooded into the chamber, and the lights flicked on. The space officer gave Rip a hand out of the harness, and the young Planeteer went through the hatch to the deck.

The inner valve opened, and a lean, sandy-haired officer in space blue, with the insignia of a commander, stepped through. Grinning, he hurried to Rip’s side and twisted his bubble, lifting it off.

“Hurry, lad,” he greeted Rip. “I’m MacFife. Get out of that suit quick, because ye don’t want to miss what’s aboot to happen.” With his own hands he unlocked the complicated belt with its gadgets and equipment.

Rip slipped the upper part over his head and stepped out of the bottom. “Thanks, Commander. I’m one grateful Planeteer, believe me!”

“Come on. We’ll hurry right across ship to the opposite valve. Lad, I’ve a son in the Planeteers, and he’s just about your own age. He’s on Ganymede. He and the others will be proud of what ye’ve done.”

MacFife was pulling himself along rapidly by the convenient handholds. Rip followed, his breathing a little rapid in the heavier air of the ship. He followed the Scottish commander through the maze of passages that crossed the ship. They stopped at a valve where spacemen were waiting. With them was an officer who carried a big case.

“The instruments,” MacFife said, pointing. “We’ve tinkered with them a bit, just to make it look real.”

“But why do you want to board the Connie?”

MacFife’s eye closed in a wink. “Ye’ll see.”

There was a slight bump as the cruiser touched the Connie. The waiting group recovered balance and faced the valve. Rip knew that spacemen in the inner lock were making fast to the Connie, setting up the airtight seal.

It wasn’t long before a bell sounded, and a spaceman opened the inner valve. Two men in space suits were waiting, and beyond them the outer valve was joined by a tube to the outer valve of the Connie ship. Rip stared at the Connie spacemen in their red tunics and gray trousers. One, an officer with two pistols in his belt, stepped forward.

Rip noted that the other Connies were heavy with weapons, too. None of his group had any.

“I’m the commander,” the scowling Connie said. “Bring your instruments in. We’ll check them; then you get out.”

“Ye’re no verra friendly,” MacFife said, his burr even more pronounced. He led Rip and the officer with the instruments into the Connie ship.

A handsome Federation spaceman with a moustache, the first Rip had ever seen, stepped into the room from a passageway on the opposite side. The spaceman bowed with exquisite grace. “I have the honor of making myself known,” he proclaimed. “Commander Rémy Galliene of the Sagittarius.”