doesn’t amount to much. Your whole present policy is one of hiding and sniping. I think
that I know why, but I want to be sure. Your vessels carry lots of fuel—why can the
hexans outrun you?”
“They can stand enormously higher accelerations than we can. The very
strongest of us loses consciousness at an acceleration of twenty-five meters per second
per second, no matter how he is braced, and that is only a little greater than the normal
gravity of our enemies upon Jupiter. Their vessels at highest power develop an
acceleration of thirty-five meters, and the hexans themselves can stand much more
than even that high figure.”
“I thought so. Assume that you traveled in a bath at forty-five. Would it disable
you permanently, or would you recover as soon as it was lowered?”
“We would recover promptly, unless the exposure had been unduly prolonged.
Why?”
“Because I can stand an acceleration of fifty-four meters for two hours, and
Breckenridge here tests fifty-two. I can navigate anything, and Breckenridge can
observe as well as any of your own men. Build a plane to accelerate at forty-five meters
and we will blow those hexans out of the ether. You will have to revive and do the
shooting, however—your gunnery is entirely beyond us.”
“That is an idea of promise, and one that had not occurred to any of us,” Czuv
replied, and work was begun at once upon the new flyer.
When the super-plane was ready for its maiden voyage its crew of three studied
it as it lay in the catapult at the portal. Dead black as were all the warplanes, its body
was twice as large as that of the ordinary vessel, its wings were even more stubby, and
its accommodations had been cut to a minimum to make room for the enormous stores
of fuel necessary to drive the greatly increased battery of rocket motors and for the
extra supply of torpedoes carried. Waving to the group of soldiers and citizens gathered
to witness the take-off of the new dreadnaught of space the three men entered the
cramped operating compartment, strapped themselves into their seats, and were shot
away. As usual the driving rockets were cut off well below the rim of the shaft, and the
vessel rose in a long and graceful curve, invisible in the night. Such was its initial
velocity and so slight was the force of gravity of the satellite that they were many
hundreds of miles from the exit before they began to descend, and Breckenridge
studied his screens narrowly for signs of hexan activity.
“Do you want to try one of your long-range shots when we find one of them ?” the
pilot asked Czuv.
“No, it would be useless. Between deflection by air-currents and the dodging of
the enemy vessels our effective range is shortened to a few kilometers, and their beams
are deadly at that distance. No, our best course is to follow the original plan—to lure
them out into space at uniform acceleration, where we can destroy them easily.”
“Right,” and Breckenridge turned to King, who was frowning at his controls. “How
does she work on a dead stick, Chief?”
“Maneuverability about minus ten at this speed and in this air. She’d have to
have at least fifteen hundred kilometers an hour to be responsive out here. See
anything yet ?”
“Not yet . . . wait a minute! Yes, there’s one now— P-I2 on area five. Give us all
the Xio and W27 you can, without using power—we want to edge over close enough so
that she can’t help but see us when we start the rockets.”
“Be sure and stay well out of range. I’m giving her all she’ll take, but she won’t
take much. With these wings she has the gliding angle of a kitchen sink.”
“All x—I’m watching the range, close. Wish we had instruments like these on the
IPV’s. We’ll have to install some when we get back. All x! Give her the gun—level and
dead ahead!”
Half the battery of rockets burst into their stuttering, explosive roar of power and
the vessel darted away in headlong flight.
“He sees us and is after us—turn her straight up!”
A searing, coruscating finger of flame leaped toward them, but their calculations
had been sound—the hexan was harmless at that extreme range. King, under the pilot’s
direction, kept the plane at a safe distance from the sphere while the satellite grew
smaller and smaller behind them and Czuv lapsed quietly into unconsciousness.
“He’s been out for quite a while. Far enough?” asked King.
“All x now, I guess—don’t believe they can see the flash from here. Cut!”
The rockets died abruptly and a blast from the side ports threw the plane out of
the beam—and once out of it, beyond range of the electromagnetic detectors as they
were, their coating of absolute black rendered the craft safe from observation. One
dirigible rocket remained in action, its exhaust hidden from the enemy by the bulk of the
vessel, and Captain Czuv soon recovered his senses.
“Wonderful, gentlemen!” he exclaimed, as he manipulated the delicate controls of
his gunnery panel. “This is the first time in history that a Callistonian vessel has escaped
from a hexan by speed alone.”
An instantaneously extinguished flare of incandescence marked the passing of
the hexan sphere into nothingness, and the cruiser shot back toward Callisto in search
of more prey. It was all too plentiful, and twenty times the drama was reenacted before
approaching day made it necessary for Czuv to take the controls and dive the vessel
into the wester-most landing-shaft of Zbardk. A rousing and enthusiastic welcome
awaited them, and joy spread rapidly when their success became known.
“Now we know what to do, and we had better do it immediately, before they get
our system figured out and increase their own power,” King reported to the Council.
“You might send a couple of ships to Europa and bring back as many of the
Tellurian officers as want to come and can be spared from the work there. They all test
above forty-five meters, and they can learn this stuff in short order. While they’re coming
your engineers can be building more ships like this one.”
The new vessel did not make another voyage until nine sister ships were ready
and manned, each with two Terrestrial officers and one Callistonian gunner. All ten took
to the ether at once, and the hexan fleet melted away like frost-crystals before a
summer sun. A few weeks of carnage and destruction and not a hexan was within range
of the detectors of Callisto—they were gone!
“This is the first time in years that Callisto’s air has been free of the hexans,”
Czuv said, thoughtfully. “With your help we have reduced their strength to a fraction of
what it was, but they have not given up. They will return, with a higher acceleration than
even you Terrestrials, powerful as you are, can stand.”
“Certainly they will, but you will be no worse off than you were before—you can
return to your own highly effective tactics.”
“We are infinitely better off for your help. You have given us a new lease of life . .
.”
He broke off as a flaring light sprang into being upon the portal board and the
observer of Exit One made his report—there was a hexan vessel in the air, location 425
over VJ-42.
“There’s one left! Let us get him! No, he’s ours!” Confused shouts arose from the
bull-pen; but the original super-plane was at the top of the call-board and accordingly
King, Breckenridge, and Czuv embarked upon an expedition more hazardous far than
they had supposed—an expedition whose every feature was relayed to those in the
portal by the automatic lookouts upon the rims and which was ended before a single
supporting Callistonian plane could be manned and .launched.
For the enemy vessel was not the last of the low-powered hexan vessels, as
everyone had supposed—it was the first of the high-powered craft, arriving long before
its appearance was expected. Before its terrific acceleration and savage onslaught the
super-plane might as well have been stationary and unarmed. After his long dive
downward King could not even leave the atmosphere—the hexan was upon them within
a few seconds, even though the stupendous battery of rockets, full driven, had roared
almost instantly into desperate action. Bomb after bomb Breckenridge hurled, with full
radio control, fighting with every resource at his command, but in vain. The frightful
torpedoes were annihilated in mid-flight; and nose, tail-assembly, and wings were
sheared neatly from the warplane by a sizzling plane of force. Side rockets and torpedo
tubes were likewise sliced away and the helpless body of the Callistonian cruiser, falling
like a plummet, was caught and held by a tractor ray. Captor and captive settled toward
the ground.
“This is a signal honor,” observed Captain Czuv when he had revived. “It has