“What is it?” Broghuilio fumed.
Estordu swallowed. “It’s . . the Shapieron. It’s pulling away from Jevlen and turning this way.”
Broghuilio stared at him as if he had just gone insane, then snorted and pulled two of the technicians out of the way to see the screens for himself. For a second his mouth clamped tight, and his beard quivered as his mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing. Then another screen came to life to show a magnified view from the long-range optical imagers that left no room for dissent. Broghuilio spun around to glare at Wylott, who was watching numbly from a few feet back. “HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THIS?” he shouted.
Wylott shook his head in protest. “It can’t be. It was destroyed. I know it was destroyed.”
“THEN WHAT IS THAT COMING AT US RIGHT NOW?”
Broghuilio whirled to the scientists. “How long has it been at Jevien? What is it doing here? Why didn’t any of you know about it?”
The captain’s voice came from the raised section of the bridge above them. “I’ve never seen acceleration like it! It’s vectoring straight after us. We’ll never outrun it.”
“They can’t do anything,” Wylott said in a choking voice. “It’s not armed.”
“Fool!” Broghufflo snapped. “If it wasn’t destroyed, it must
have been transferred to Thurien. And Terrans could have been transferred to Thurien. So it could have Terrans on board it with Terran weapons. They could blow us apart, and after your bungling, the Shapieron’s crew won’t lift a finger to stop them.” Wylott licked his lips and said nothing.
“Stress field around the Shapieron building up rapidly,” the long-range surveillance operator called from one of the stations above. “We’re losing radar and optical contact. H-scan shows it’s maintaining course and acceleration.”
Estordu was thinking furiously. “We may have a chance, Excellency,” he said suddenly. Broghuillo jerked his head around and thrust his chin out demandingly. Estordu went on, “The Ganymean ships from that period did not possess stress-field transmission correction, and h-scan equipment was unknown. In other words they have no means of tracking us while they’re under main drive. They’ll have to aim blind to intercept our predicted course and slow down at intervals to correct. We might be able to lose them by changing course during their blind periods.”
At that instant another operator called out, “Gravitational anomaly building up astern and starboard, range nine eighty miles, strength seven, increasing. Readings indicate a Class Five exit port. H-scan shows conformal entry-port mapping to vicinity of Shapieron.” The tension on the bridge rocketed. It meant that VISAR was projecting two beams to create a linked pair of transfer ports-a “tunnel” through h-space from the Shapieron to the Jevlenese vessels. A Class Five port would admit something relatively small. The operator’s voice came again, rising with alarm. “An object has emerged at this end. It’s coming this way, fast!”
“A bomb!” somebody screamed. “They’ve exited a bomb!”
Consternation broke out around the bridge. Broghuilio was wideeyed and sweating profusely. Wylott had collapsed onto a chair.
The operator’s voice came again. “Object identified. It’s one of the Shapieron’s robot probes . . . matching us in course and speed. The exit port has dissolved.”
And the long-range survefflance operator: “Shapieron closing and still accelerating. Range two-twenty thousand miles.”
“Get rid of it,” Broghuilio barked up at the level above. “Captain, shake that thing off.”
The captain gave a set of course-correction instructions, which the computers acknowledged and executed.
“Probe matching,” came the report. “Evasion ineffective. S/iapieron has corrected to a new vector and is still closing.”
Broghuilio turned a furious face toward Estordu. “You said they’d be blind! They’re not even slowing down.” Estordu spread his hands and shook his head helplessly. Broghuilio looked at the rest of the group of scientists. “Well, how are they doing it? Can’t any of you work it out?” He waited for a few seconds, then pointed a finger angrily at the screens showing the tracking data of the Shapieron. “Some genius on that ship has thought of something. Everywhere I am surrounded by imbeciles.” He began pacing back and forth across the bridge. “How does this happen? They have all the geniuses, and I have all the imbediles. Give me-“