Henry Hasse

The unarmed freighter Vera was plowing through
space to meet the deadliest pirate of the
Void—rocketing into battle against a fighting
ship even the Space Patrol could not vanquish.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The man seemed too big for the single, cushioned seat of the tiny space cruiser. But he did not remain in the seat long, and when he moved it was with a swift surety that belied his bulk. He stepped over to the visipanel, peered into it and saw only a few pinpoints of stars. His eyes, as icy as those stars, narrowed until they, too, were but pinpoints. He grasped the directional finder and swung it in eccentric parabolas across all the heavens before him. The star pinpoints swung to and fro, in and out of the visipanel ... and then he saw it.

A vague, darker shape against the blackness, blotting out a few of the stars. Lucky! he thought, as he leaped back to the controls to change direction. Lucky to find it before the Earth Patrol got there. The news had already gone out. But he did not exult; his lips tightened into a thin hard line, and his throat tightened too, with the foreboding that crowded out all hope.

As he drew swiftly nearer, he could see the huge luxury liner helplessly drifting. He could see the black ragged hole in the hull. He could see the name on the prow, Martian Princess. He could see other things which he didn't want to see, which he didn't want to approach but knew he must. Numerous tiny white-faced things, staring and bloated and reflecting the leprous sunlight....

The tiny cruiser clanged against the larger bulk, and her magniplates held. The man was already in space-suit. With a trembling hand he brushed back his blonde hair, then pulled down the Crystyte-fronted helmet. He stepped out into space.

He did not immediately board the liner. Instead he moved among the scores of drifting corpses, using a propulsion pistol. He pulled each corpse to him, stared searchingly into its face, then thrust it away with a shudder. Before he had half finished he was sick; but he felt hope surging in him again, for he had not yet found what he was looking for. Perhaps, after all ... somehow ... she had not taken this liner....

He boarded it, moved along the corridors and into the staterooms. But all was a shambles. The pirates had struck as usual: sudden, ruthlessly ramming; had smashed completely through this liner like an eggshell! He saw corpses half encased in spacesuits, but it had been a futile effort. Many of the passengers had holes blasted through them, tiny pencil-thin holes of concentrated atom-blasts at close range, mute evidence of the pirates' deadly work. The once gorgeous salons were stripped of the silks and fineries. Staterooms thoroughly looted. Even the corpses stripped of all personal jewelry and other finery.

The grim-faced young man, the only moving and living thing aboard, noticed all this but secondarily. His heart was pounding with a newly rising hope. For in none of the staterooms had he found her.

He moved through the ragged gap and out the other side of the ship. More drifting corpses, hugging the hull because of the slight gravity. Methodically he moved among them, pulling them around, thrusting them away.

And then—one he did not thrust away. His face beneath the helmet stared, and became suddenly anguished. He hugged the body tightly to him. Using the pistol, he propelled his way back through the hull. He carried the girl back along the main deck, and there laid her gently down away from the others. He stared down, his face twisting helplessly, his fists clenching and unclenching.

She had been young, lovely. Her face was somehow still beautiful, as he remembered it. She had died quickly, he saw, and was glad of that. He would leave her here on the deck, for he knew the Patrol men would tow this liner back to Earth, where she would wish to be.

He looked long, so that the vision of her would remain in his mind always; then he turned and strode firmly back to his cruiser. His face as he looked out to the stars was wet beneath the glass—but there was no one there to see. There was no one there to hear—but his lips moved in a grim and terrible oath.

George Marnay, of Tri-Planet News Service, tugged at the big guy's arm.

"Come on, now, what do you say? Let's get out of here. You've had enough of that stuff, and you're talking too much. You're heading for more trouble than you've ever seen in one night!"

The big man peered at the smaller one through a tangle of blonde hair which fell over blue and bleary eyes. Then he slammed his glass down on the bar and jerked his arm away, staggering a little. Marnay caught him and steadied him.

"Quit pushin' me, dammit," the big man said thickly. "Lemme 'lone. Go 'way, go 'way!"

"All right, mister, it's your funeral," Marnay shrugged. But as the other man moved away, threading unsteadily among the tables, Marnay turned and continued to watch him worriedly. And he listened even more worriedly.

The fellow's voice was thick, but it was still loud over the din in the room. He had become increasingly voluble as the potent tsith took effect. Obviously this was his first trip to Mars, and he didn't know the Red Halo was named sardonically: it was the rendezvous for the worst cut-throats of three planets!

Marnay frowned. He hated men who became voluble under liquor, but there was something about this big, blonde guy he liked in spite of it! Something beyond the fact that he was an Earthman and an American. Now Marnay wished for the fellow's own sake that he'd shut up. But it was probably too late. Every outlaw in the place must have known by this time that the blonde Earthman was from the freighter, Vera—and that the Vera was leaving tomorrow on a sneak trip, with ten million dollars in supplies and mining equipment for the Callisto colonies!

One of the richest shipments ever to go out from Mars, and now, due to a few drinks and one bragging tongue it was a secret no longer. Marnay knew this information would soon be spreading through the criminal honeycombs of the Martian capital-city. He also knew if any of Prather's men were here—almost a certainty—the Vera would never get beyond the asteroids, much less to Callisto.

Through the haze of smoke he watched the motley little groups that filled the room. Tall, frail Venusians, pallid and dreamy-eyed and apparently docile, but who wouldn't hesitate to slit a throat on the slightest provocation. Leathery, heavy-lidded Martians, eternally sullen and quarrelsome. Earthmen, with that swaggering superiority and egotism which they'll probably retain to the end of time, making them the most hated men in the system. Marnay wondered how many in this room were Prather's men; probably a few of each race, but who could ever pick 'em out? Marnay had tried. That's what he was here for.

Suddenly he became tense. This was what he had feared. He saw the big Earthman stagger heavily against a table.

A mean looking Martian jumped up and shoved him violently away; the Martian's hand flew to his heat-gun, obviously awaiting an excuse to use it. But the Earthman only stared at him stupidly for a moment, swayed, and then bowed low, almost losing his balance. He mumbled a thick apology and moved away. The Martian glowered, called him something not very nice. Other Martians at the table laughed.

Marnay sighed in relief. The bartender, grinning, touched him on the elbow. "If he's a friend of yours," he said, "better get him out of here."

"He's no friend of mine," Marnay snapped. "But I think you're right, anyway." He moved across the room. Already he could see many of the spacemen listening to the words "Vera" and "cargo," a little too attentively.

Marnay grasped the fellow's arm firmly, said "Come on." He steered him back to the bar, easily. Then past it toward the door. But the fellow smelled the fresh air and rebelled.

"You damn fool," Marnay said, struggling with the Earthman's two hundred pounds, "I'm gonna keep you out of trouble in spite of yourself!"

"Aw-w, we're all friends here," the other said very loud, peering around happily. A couple of Venusians at the bar snickered at the naive words.

"Mister, if you only knew!" Marnay said. "Come on, now, I know a better place than this." He added: "I'll buy you a drink there."

"M-m-m ... nope. You gotta buy me a drink."

"That's what I said," Marnay sighed.

"Oh-h. Then whyn't you say so?" Leaning on Marnay affectionately, he allowed himself to be steered outside.

Marnay sighed with relief and quickened his pace, pulling the other along after him. His only thought now was to get him away from the dives of this spacerfront street.

"Mister, you sure spilled the beans," Marnay muttered, more to himself than to his friend. "I know I wouldn't want to be riding the Vera this trip. You've endangered the life of every man aboard! Why didn't you just send Prather an engraved invitation to come help himself to that cargo?"

"I would have, but didn't know where to reach him; besides that wouldn't have been very subtle, would it now?" The fellow's speech was no longer thick. He suddenly quit leaning on Marnay, straightened up and pulled him around a corner into a dim side street. He stood there grinning in Marnay's face.

Marnay's face was something to grin at. His mouth was hanging open as though on hinges.

"You can close it now," the other said, as he reached out and closed it for him.

"Say! You—you were just putting on an act back there!" Marnay finally managed to exclaim, inanely.

"A good one, I hope."

"No, I'm wrong." Marnay shook his head slowly. "Couldn't have been an act, I stood right there and watched you drink at least eight tsiths. My own record's four—and then they carried me out."

"You just thought you saw me drink 'em. Good trick, if you know how."

Marnay nodded. Then he looked at the man narrowly, grasped his arm and said, "Come on, let's get away from here. And listen! Whatever it is you've got up your sleeve, I want in on it! I'm George Marnay. Tri-Planet News Service."

"Bob Kennett," the other said simply, sticking out his hand. "And you are in on it. That wasn't an accident when I bumped into you there at the bar. I thought I'd like to know you, because I heard you were making a few undercover inquiries about Prather! Mind telling me just what your interest is in that pirate?"

Marnay replied, his voice suddenly gloomy. "Guess I should have said I'm formerly of Tri-Planet News. You see, it's an old, familiar story. I was on an assignment back on Earth, and I happened to uncover a huge spacer-contract graft ... you know, millions being side-tracked into private pockets...."

"Well?"

"Well," Marnay wailed, "how was I to know that one of the big-shots implicated was my boss's brother-in-law? So to shut me up I was given this assignment. Sent out here to get a line on Prather, or else. It's a cute side-track, often used; what we newsmen call the graveyard assignment."

Kennett was interested. "Uh-huh," he nodded. "And just how much of a line have you got on Prather so far?"

"I'll give you one guess! Precisely nothing. Oh, of course I know all the stories. In the past few years the Patrol has destroyed his base of operations on Io, and again on Mercury, and twice on Ceres. But that pirate's as elusive as the last pea on the plate! Always he's one jump ahead of them, because of his spy system." Marnay shrugged hopelessly. "I suppose some of his men were in the Halo tonight, but how would I know 'em? I hear they drift in and out like ghosts. And that, by the way, is why I was trying to shut you up with that story you were broadcasting."

"And that," Kennett said very grimly, "is exactly what I wanted to do, broadcast it. Subtly, of course."

"Yes, I gather that, now. And I think I see your idea. You deliberately want Prather to go after the Vera! But—what then?"

Kennett stopped and looked straight at Marnay. When he replied his voice was suddenly ice: "What then? Then I'll accomplish what the entire Patrol has been trying for five years. I'll get that pirate."

Marnay, looking at him, saw a sudden bitter look in his eyes, and grim lines around his mouth. He knew that the other men had said what Kennett just said—but Prather was still free in the spaceways.

"Mighty big order," Marnay ventured.

"I realize that! But it's taken me three years to evolve this plan, and I think it'll work." He looked steadily at Marnay. "Are you in with me?"

"Try and keep me out!"

"Good. But I want to make it plain it's more than a newsstory we're after. This will be all or nothing, Prather's life or ours, and if my plan misses there can't be a second chance. And remember Prather's clever, he can smell a trap a light-year away. Just now, everything depends on how good my acting was tonight."

"Then I'd say you've nothing to worry about," Marnay replied, "for you sure fooled me."

Kennett nodded. "We'll see. We'll know for sure tomorrow. Whether we go pirate-hunting or not...."

They obtained cheap lodging on one of the dark, rear streets bordering the spaceport. Marnay slept, but not Kennett. He paced the narrow room, nervously, smoking vile Venusian cigarettes and awaiting the dawn.

The Martian dawn was breaking when there came a knock at the door. Kennett muttered, "At last!" and sprang to the door to admit someone. A Martian.

Marnay, suddenly awake, saw that he was the same mean looking Martian whom Kennett had nearly had trouble with the night before!

"V'Norghi, of the Martian Secret Police," Kennett said, presenting him.

The fellow only nodded sullenly, addressed himself to Kennett: "It would seem it is working, your plan. Shortly after you left the Halo last night ... I made certain inquiries ... learned that the news of the Vera's secret trip had spread into the ... uh ... the proper channels...." The Martian seemed a little reluctant.

"All right, all right, V'Norghi," Kennett said impatiently. "What else? You know what I want to know!"

"Well ... yes, a small, fast cruiser did leave here. About an hour after midnight ... quite hurriedly it would seem. Now understand, Kennett, I couldn't say—"

"No, you couldn't say it was some of Prather's men. Like hell you can't! What destination? Where is Prather's new base? Mercury? Venus?"

V'Norghi started to shake his head negatively, but didn't. He looked distressed. Kennett paced up and down the room. He turned suddenly on the Martian and laughed mirthlessly.

"Oh, you don't need to answer! I know as well as you do where he is! Out on one of the Jupiter satellites somewhere—probably Io, his old base."

The Martian looked even more distressed, and Kennett nodded, satisfied. "Sure, I knew it all the time. That's why I let it be known the Vera was going out to Callisto." He clapped the Martian on the shoulder. "It's all right, V'Norghi, you've done me a mighty big favor as it is. Thanks, thanks a lot."

They shook hands solemnly. Kennett said, smiling a little: "Don't worry, V'Norghi; when you see me again there won't be any more Prather."

"Goodbye, Kennett. I wish you good luck." But the Martian's voice was sad, as though he thought Kennett wouldn't have it.

Kennett turned to Marnay when the Martian had gone. "The Martian Secret Police!" he said contemptuously. "They're very little above the outlaw scum of this city, themselves. I'm sure Prather buys them off, and I think V'Norghi almost hopes I won't succeed! But you see, I happened to save his life once; and whatever else you say of the Martians, you can't say they aren't conscientious toward their obligations."

"I see," Marnay nodded. "But what about that cruiser he says left here? You really think that was some of Prather's men, hurrying to tell him the Vera's on the way out there with a rich cargo?"

"I'm sure of it. That's the way Prather's always worked."

"But they're going where? Out around Jupiter you said. You can't be sure that's where Prather is!"

"Oho, but that's exactly what I can be sure of! You see, I've not only kept abreast of Prather's activities currently, but I've studied every available past record on him. His methods, his escapes, his shiftings. Not even the Patrol has kept tabs on him as I have. Admittedly, he's as clever as he is ruthless. But I know his system now."

"All right," Marnay conceded. "Your calculations tell you he's out around Jupiter now. Won't that be about like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack?"

"I guess so. That's why we're not going to look for him at all. He's coming right out into space after the Vera—I hope."

So he was coming out after the Vera! Marnay suddenly remembered the time when Prather had smashed through a cordon of Patrol ships, demolishing four and outrunning the rest. Marnay grimaced, but he merely said: "All right, when do we leave?"

"About noon, if I can wait that long! That cruiser that left here last night is probably very fast, and the Vera is just a slow old freighter; so if we give them about twelve hours' start, and Prather acts at once, he ought to meet us somewhere just the other side of the asteroids."

"Oh," Marnay said, pretty feebly. So the Vera was just a slow old freighter. And with it they were going to capture the most ruthless pirate of the century! That was certainly a bright picture. Marnay began to wonder, wryly, how the hell he had ever gotten into this, and why!

And his first sight of the Vera was nothing to inspire confidence. Shortly before noon they proceeded to the spaceport, past the Commercial locks, the Patrol locks, and on to the opposite side of the vast plaza.

There, in the farthest and most obscure lock, Marnay saw the Vera—long, heavy, clumsy looking. He recognized it when they were yet a hundred yards away, because the name Vera was emblazoned across the prow with a bold flourish that seemed somehow out of keeping with the crude ship.

"It's just occurred to me," Marnay said. "Vera is an unusual name for a freighter! That's a girl's name. Sounds sentimental or something."

"Does it?" Kennett said. Marnay looked at him queerly, but Kennett said nothing more.

They came nearer, and Marnay began to see the ship clearer, and it suddenly seemed to him there was something wrong with the whole thing. It was more than merely clumsy. It was grotesque.

Marnay stopped. "Say! I never saw a spacer quite like that before. It looks kind of funny, yet I can't say exactly—"

"Come on, come on," Kennett said, taking his arm and hurrying him. "Never mind that. Supplies are all aboard, all we have to do is leave."

It was quiet around the spacer. No activity. They entered the bow lock. Marnay looked down a long, empty, silent corridor.

"What the hell!" he exclaimed. "Ain't there any crew?"

Kennett said: "Yes. You and me are the crew."

"Uh huh. But we are taking this misshapen piece of junk clear out to Jupiter? I got that part of it right?"

"That's right. I decided it would be a long grind all by myself. There are minor annoyances, such as having to sleep sometimes."

"Where's that ten million dollar cargo," Marnay grinned, staring around.

Kennett said very seriously: "Oh, we're carrying quite a cargo all right. And it's all for Prather if he wants it. But it's hardly the cargo he thinks he's going to get."

"The generosity of your information overwhelms me." Marnay stared around some more. Everything was stark and bare, save for the necessary controls. "Wish we had a couple of long range atom-blasts like the Patrol ships carry. Any aboard?"

"No weapons at all aboard," Kennett stated.

"How comforting! You sure make a fellow feel right at home."

"You don't sound very confident in me and the Vera," Kennett said. "Don't you believe we can get Prather?"

"Oh sure! I believe in fairies, and Santa Claus, and the Easter rabbit, and you and the Vera. Hell, don't get me wrong, Kennett. You can't shake me now, you've picked yourself a crew!"

Kennett permitted himself a smile as he moved swiftly to the controls. "Good! I knew you'd think that way."

Marnay said: "Don't flatter me, I never think. There's always been idiocy in my family and this proves it."

They'd been about twelve hours out when Kennett handed over the controls. He moved down the corridor into the middle part of the ship. Marnay heard him pounding and moving around back there for hours, but couldn't imagine what he was doing.

When he returned, Kennett pulled a lever and a heavy double door slid across, isolating the control room and part of the corridor from the rest of the ship. He volunteered no explanation, however.

On Marnay's off-duty he moved back toward those doors, experimentally. Kennett stopped him with: "Sorry, but this will have to be our quarters from now on."

Marnay nodded to himself. He was a newsman, a good one, and he knew people. He could see that Kennett was restless and impatient for action despite the fact that he was deliberately holding the Vera's speed down.

But Marnay said nothing, and on the second day out, Kennett seemed a little more talkative. He said: "I guess you've been wondering why I want so much to get Prather."

Marnay shrugged, but looked at his companion shrewdly. "Wondering? No, I'm not wondering. Only last month Tri-Planet Metals boosted the reward up to a half million."

"That so? I didn't know that. But then, I haven't thought much about the reward angle." Kennett sounded as though he meant it. He went on: "You know how Prather works, I suppose."

"Ramming?" Marnay said. "Yes, I know. His ship is supposed to be built of some tough new metal he found on Mercury. I've heard that even his tubes are made of it, and are slightly expansive under pressure, giving him greater speed than any tubes yet known."

"That's probably true," Kennett said. "But the important thing is, he can ram completely through any ordinary spacer. And usually does."

Marnay nodded. "I've heard such stories."

"You've heard such stories," Kennett repeated with a startling bitterness. "But I saw one—just one. Three years ago when I was a rookie on the Earth Patrol. We received a flash that Prather had rammed and looted a passenger liner enroute from Mars to Earth. The Salvage men were sent out to rescue any possible survivors. What headquarters really meant was that they were to do the mopping up—they knew there wouldn't be any survivors. I wasn't on Salvage duty then, but I grabbed a swift Patrol boat and got out there first, anyway...."

Kennett paused, and for a moment Marnay saw horror in the other's eyes. Then Kennett continued:

"You know, Marnay, when a Patrol man applies for leave after a job like that, and stays drunk for a week, nothing is thought of it. I didn't even apply for leave. I simply left duty, and I stayed drunk for a month, not a week. After which, headquarters told me I was relieved from duty permanently. I didn't care. Not any more."

Marnay waited. He knew Kennett hadn't finished. For a single instant, the space of a memory, Kennett caught his breath in his throat; then:

"You see," he said, turning away, "the girl I loved was on that liner; and I found her. She was returning to Earth and we were to be married. Her name was Vera, too."

The Vera lumbered along at about half speed. The fourth day they passed beyond the asteroid belt.

"Double duty now," Kennett pronounced grimly. "It may be only a matter of hours until Prather sights us—but I want to be sure of sighting him first!"

"Okay!" Marnay said.

From then on, one of the men stayed always by the visipanel, manipulating the dial which magnified space for a thousand mile radius. But all remained a vast swimming blackness. An occasional meteor flashed across, but no sign of any spaceship.

Once Marnay, at the controls, gave a few experimental blasts with the rocket speeds. The Vera jerked a little. At once Kennett was leaping to his side, spinning him around in the seat.

"What the hell!" he yelled, his face a little pale. "Do you want to—"

He didn't finish, but turned away, as the rockets purred smoothly again. Marnay smiled to himself. Had Kennett been about to say, "blow us up?" Was that the secret of the Vera?

Maybe. Marnay grew serious as he pondered on it—the rest of the ship back there which Kennett had shut off. Suppose the ship was full of Tynyte space-bombs? Marnay remembered the Patrol's encounters with Prather. They'd tried atom-blasts at first, but before they could take effect the tough pirate ship slid from beneath them like an eel in oil. Then they had tried Tynyte bombs. But the pirate ship was reputedly so fast that not one of the bombs could reach its mark with any effectiveness.

How could Kennett, then, in the plodding Vera, hope to succeed with Tynyte bombs?

A sudden fantastic thought flooded Marnay's brain—something about super speed—but he immediately dispensed with that idea. He was no spaceman, but he knew enough about Spacer construction to know that Kennett had no hidden speed here in the Vera. No, it was something else he must have up his sleeve....

Kennett went back into the middle of the ship a few more times, as though on trips of inspection, but didn't stay long.

At last Marnay said, in his impatience: "We'll be meeting up with Prather any minute now! Hadn't you better give me my orders?"

"No orders," Kennett replied with amazing calmness.

"But—damn it, man! At least I want to know what to expect!"

"I'm sorry, Marnay. Bear with me just a little longer now. If I told you any more you might become panicky at the last second and ruin everything. That absolutely mustn't happen. I will tell you just this much: there's never been a Spacer like this before, it's something utterly revolutionary in Spacer construction. I worked on it three years, building it almost single-handed, just for the sole moment when I'd meet up with Prather. It worked all right on a tiny model—but if the real thing doesn't work we won't be alive to know it. If only Prather would hurry!"

Kennett turned the visipanel dial nervously, watching the swimming, empty blackness. "Maybe he hasn't swallowed the bait!" he exclaimed. "Maybe those weren't even his men that left Mars, and he doesn't know we're out here at all! Say, if that dirty V'Norghi has double-crossed me...." Kennett stopped, laughed shortly. "Well, nothing we can do now. I feel it only fair to tell you, Marnay: we haven't enough fuel to take us on to Callisto, or back to Mars either. I was depending on Prather for our return fuel."

Marnay looked up with a wry grimace. "D'you know, Kennett, that's one thing I like about you. You're always telling me such comforting things at the most unexpected moments!"

But Prather showed up. It was hours later, and startlingly sudden. Kennett called from the visipanel:

"There he is, I almost missed him! I told you he's clever, he's got his ship painted solid black! Now listen, Marnay. I'm going to keep him in the panel, you stay at the controls and obey my instructions."

"Okay, but how close is he?" Marnay asked nervously.

"Dial shows a thousand miles—off the starboard bow, and he's approaching fast. Maintain your present speed."

Marnay did, but wished he was at the panel instead of Kennett.

"Click on the radio," Kennett called a minute later. "But don't answer if he sends a message through. He doesn't seem to be suspicious of anything yet, but I know he's sighted us."

Kennett continued to watch. He called: "Cut speed to one quarter. One quarter, damn it!" as Marnay fumbled with the tube control. "There, that's it, good. That'll show him we've sighted him, but he mustn't suspect we're too anxious to meet up with him."

"I'm not anxious to," Marnay replied. And then he jumped as a cold, strange voice came through the open radio.

"The Vera? Hello! This is Prather. You will please go into a drift while I board you. You have a cargo I should like to inspect." The voice was mocking, but at the same time anticipatory.

So the bait had worked! Marnay reached automatically for the shut-off control, but Kennett's voice stabbed at him: "Leave 'em alone! You will maintain one-quarter speed. And leave our sender off, don't answer; let him think we've got no radio at all, so he'll ram us."

So he'll ram us! That was a nice pleasant thought, Marnay thought, wiping sweat from his brow. But he obeyed Kennett's orders.

Again came Prather's voice: "Attention Vera! You will go into a drift immediately or take the consequences. Last warning."

Marnay had an overwhelming desire to shut off the tubes, but he didn't. He maintained their one-quarter speed. Then through the speaker the two men heard:

"They have no radio. We'll ram. It's just as well." Marnay could almost imagine Prather's shrug.

From the panel Kennett said "Okay! Fine! He's still coming at us. You can lock the controls now, and come over here."

Marnay did that willingly. He peered into the panel. Then he gasped. The huge, black pirate ship was looming up terrifyingly large, filling half of space, speeding straight at them. It couldn't have been a hundred miles away, Marnay thought, and in another minute it would smash through the Vera like an eggshell!

Marnay waited for Kennett to make some move. He made none.

Then, in a sudden flood of horror, Marnay realized the other's purpose. Revenge, of course, he had known that! But he was going to sacrifice both their lives for it!

Kennett shook him away angrily. "Keep cool! You'll see something in a minute—get ready!"

Still they watched and waited. The detector dial registered the swiftly diminishing distance—fifty miles, twenty miles, ten....

Then Kennett was on his feet, moving with swift surety to the wall, opening a small iron locker. There Marnay glimpsed a complete set of odd looking controls. Swiftly Kennett plugged in a bank of connections, electric cables. He grasped a heavy lever. He stood there, looking over at the detector dial. It showed three miles.

"All right," Kennett yelled, "hold tight!... Now!"

His hand came down on the lever.

For a moment Marnay thought the pirate ship had rammed them, or that they had exploded, or both. He and Kennett were suddenly hurtling outward ... at terrific speed ... their tiny compartment away from the rest of the ship!

He looked in the panel and his heart leaped. They had indeed exploded—very systematically! He saw fully a score of miniature Veras speeding away from each other in a perfect, ever widening circle! Each was a tiny spacer with its own motivating blast. He recalled the puzzling construction of the Vera as he'd first seen it, and now suddenly he understood; it had been segmented!

Where the huge original Vera had been was now only a huge steel framework, from which the score of miniature Veras were speeding away in their widening circle. The pirate ship was blasting violently with its forward rockets, but it was too late. It crashed into the framework, crumpling and tangling it and carrying it forward on the momentum.