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THE MAGIC LABYRINTH by Philip Jose Farmer

“Okay, Admiral,” Sam said to Byron. “You take over the cannons.”

Byron said, “Yes, sir,” and he turned to the intercom. Sam heard him giving orders to the fore port-cannon lieutenant, but his eyes were on the launches. If the Gascon was operable, it could be used to harass the Rex with its small rockets. There wasn’t enough time to fit it with torpedoes.

Byron, standing by the intercom, was repeating the range as the gunnery lookout reported it.

“Forty-nine hundred. Forty-seven hundred. Forty-five hundred.”

“That’s going to be a hell of a shock to John,” Sam said to Joe Miller. “He doesn’t know we have cannons.”

“Fire!”

Sam counted the seconds. Then he swore. The first shell had missed.

The second struck, apparently just by the waterline near the fore. But the Rex continued steadily toward its enemy.

“Bring her around so we can give them a broadside from the port,” he told Detweiller.

Both cannons spoke now. Columns of smoke roiled out from the Rex. A large fire was burning on the flight deck. Still, the boat came on. And now it was close enough to launch its larger rockets.

“Enemy within twenty-six hundred feet,” the gunnery lookout said.

“Are the big birds ready?” Sam said to Byron.

“Yes, sir, all.”

“Tell the officers to fire as soon as the Rex does.”

Byron relayed the order. He had no sooner quit speaking than Sam saw a multitude of flames on the Rex. The coveys met about 450 feet away, headlong in the air. The explosions deafened Sam.

Joe Miller said, “Chehuth Chritht!”

Suddenly, shells struck the Rex. The starboard wheelhousing went up in flames, and smoke covered the pilothouse. Immediately following, gouts of flame arose along the starboard side. The shell had touched off a rocket battery, and the detonation of that had set off others in a series.

“Hot damn!” Sam said.

The smoke around the pilothouse cleared, though not so swiftly. The wind had died down, and the Rex had lost considerable speed.

“It’s turning its port side to us!” Sam said.

Another flight of missiles arose, this time from the opposite side. Again, the Not For Hire’s countermissiles struck, and the result was a blast in midair that shook the boat. But no damage was done.

By then Sam could see that the Rex was in serious trouble. Its decks on the starboard were blazing here and there, and it was turning away from them.

For a moment he thought that the Rex was fleeing. But no. It continued to turn. It was describing a small circle.

“The starboard wheel is malfunctioning or destroyed,” he said, “They can’t maneuver.”

That knowledge relaxed him somewhat. Now all he had to do was to get out of effective rocket range and blast the Rex out of the water with his 88-millimeter and compressed-air cannons.

He gave the orders to do so. Detweiller turned the boat to put the necessary distance between it and its victim.

“Well, we didn’t do so badly,” he said exultingly to Byron.

“Not so far, sir.”

“It’s practically over! Don’t you ever give way to human emotion, man?”

“Not on duty,” Byron said.

Joe Miller said, again, “Chehuth Chritht!”

“What’s the matter?” Sam said, grabbing Joe’s enormous arm.

The titanthrop, his eyes goggling, strangling noises coming from his open mouth, pointed up and out to the stern. Sam stepped in front of him to look, but he did not get there.

The explosion tore the bulletproof glass out of the frame of the rear window in a solid piece and slammed it against him.

34

THE MOUSE HAD SPRUNG THE TRAP ON THE CAT.

While the Not For Hire was still two days’ journey away, the crew of the Rex had removed from storage the envelope of a small airship made from the intestinal linings of dragonfish over two years ago. The hydrogen-generating equipment was set up on shore, and the envelope was inflated within the bamboo and pine hangar built two weeks ago.

The Azazel, as John had christened it, was a semirigid airship. The envelope depended upon the pressure of gas to fill it out, but a metal keel was attached to it. The control cabin and the two motor gondolas, salvaged from the wreck of Pode-brad’s blimp, were fitted to the keel. The electrical and mechanical connections between control gondola and motor gondola and the elevators and rudder were attached. The fuel tanks were filled with methyl alcohol. The bomb and the torpedo were fitted to the release mechanisms halfway along the underpart of the ship.

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Oleg: