Read Ebook: Preview of Peril by Coppel Alfred Houlihan Raymond F Illustrator

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Ebook has 149 lines and 11030 words, and 3 pages

Ensign Ward was unpacking his gear as he came through the valve, and listening to a commercial broadcast on short wave that crackled and faded with the vagaries of Terra's faraway heavyside layer. The reports, pieced together, gave a fairly comprehensive picture of the fighting that was going on in the Uranian quadrant.

"I don't like the way things are going, sir," said Ward.

Hartnett didn't either, but he could see no point in saying so. Besides, the Flotilla's patrol area was on the other side of the sun from Uranus, and the news there was bad enough to give him food for thought.

"I won't need you for a bit, Ward. Take off and get yourself settled," he suggested.

The aide saluted and left. Hartnett stripped off his blouse and shirt and settled himself comfortably on the acceleration bunk. He switched on the bank of solar lamps and let the warm rays sooth and relax his tired muscles. The tension of many harrowing days in the Pentagon began to leave him, and he felt a great pity for the desk-bound VIP who could not know the joy of a ship under them in deep space. Thank God he got past the last physical. They were getting tougher every patrol!

The radio was still on and as the news reports came in, his restless mind turned to consider the unfortunate tactical situation in which the Terran Space Force now found itself.

It was the old democratic failing. God Bless it! As old as Terra's history. Ship for ship and man for man the Terran Forces were better than the Martian. Terrans shot faster and straighter. Terran ships flew farther and faster. And Terra, for all its failings, was a free world fighting for a free space. But the Cats had more ships and a hell of a lot less reluctance about using them to enslave everybody in sight.

The first Martian war had ended the squabbling confederation of sovereign states that had been the UN. And the Martian war had brought about in five short years the advancement of space-flight that might otherwise have taken decades. It was ironic that the peace-loving peoples of the Universe always seemed to produce better under the harsh goad of war. The nastier the war the more magnificent the achievements. Hartnett wondered if that were not a very significant commentary on the true nature of the human organism.

But in the first Cat war the Solar System had been faced with the unfortunate situation of two races developing interplanetary flight within a decade of each other ... and both starting out to proselytize their own peculiar institutions among the outposts of the System. A clash was inevitable ... and Terra won the narrow margin of victory by a more comprehensive understanding of material science. While the war had begun with chemical fueled ships and bombs, it had ended up with atomic powered ships and proton cannon.

The primitive ships of the war's beginning were still vivid memories to Hartnett. He had spent many months in them, suffering the effects of free-fall for weeks while they coasted in half-computed orbits around the sun. The people of Terra had long had atomics, but it was not until the third year of war that a method had been found to utilize the power of the atom for a space drive. In those days a ship did not dare even a perihelion passage, for fear the terrible heat of the sun would detonate their precious reserves of fuel. Things were different now.

Ward reentered the room abruptly. "Message from Luna Control, sir," he said, passing over the note. "Came on tight beam, coded, and scrambled," he added unnecessarily.

The Commodore read it over slowly and pursed his lips. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and reached for the intercom. "Control."

"Control here," came the reply.

"Stand by for a change of course. Be with you in a moment."

There was a moment of surprised silence, and then: "Aye, sir."

Hartnett turned to his aide. "Reach me that space-bag, will you Ward? That's the one. Fish out Code Book 6589 and the A chart. That's the deal."

The assembled officers rose when the Commodore entered the room and he waved them back to their seats, taking a chair at the head of the mess table.

"Mr. Scott," he began without preamble, "What do you know about the new Cat superdreadnaughts?"

"What about armament?" asked the Flotilla Gunnery Officer, Wilson.

Scott shrugged. "We know very little about that. Mr. Horowitz could tell you more. I understand they mount some kind of new cyclotronic rifles."

"That's correct, sir," replied Horowitz. "I don't know exactly how the things work, but I could guess that they detonate the heavy metals used for fuel in atomic powered vessels."

"Range?" asked Lieutenant Orsov laconically.

"No information ... but I would be willing to guess that it is not more than fifty miles no matter how tight their beam. There would be far too great a voltage loss."

"Mr. Blake," said Hartnett, "How good are you on the skeeter-boat?"

Blake looked perplexed, but he answered with some pride that he was considered quite passable.

"I'll bear that out, sir," said Scott drily. "Mr. Blake is something of a hotshot pilot."

"Good enough," returned Hartnett. "We'll see when we near Station 9." He looked over at Blake. "Do you think you can land a skeeter there and take off three passengers without arousing the Cats?"

"A skeeter is only meant for three people, sir, and four would be quite an overload," protested Blake.

"It will have to be done. If we try to land a ship there, every Cat in the quadrant will be on our necks. It's either the skeeter, or ..." he shrugged expressively.

"If we strip the boat down and remove all unnecessary mass it should do," suggested Orsov. "What do you think, Blake?"

Blake gulped. To strip the skeeter would mean removing all armor and guns. "I ... uh...." He squared his shoulders and grinned sheepishly. "It would," he declared finally.

"Good," said the Commodore.

"Just where is this Station 9, sir?" asked Morse.

Hartnett ignored the question, but by way of answer, he turned to his Flotilla Astrogator, Thorne and asked: "Do you remember the analysis of Oberon's surface, Thorne?"

"Vaguely. All four of the Uranian satellites are composed mainly of pitchblende and similar ores. Heavy metals. Very dense. I happen to remember because it's one of the coincidences of astronomy that the planet itself was given the name Uranus before the discovery that the whole of its system was lousy with uranium ores."

"What else can you tell us about it?"

"Well, Oberon is small ... about 800 miles in diameter. Ariel and Titania are about 1,000 and 600 respectively, and Umbriel is the baby at about 400 miles. Much of Terra's uranium was brought in from Titania back in the days of U-235 bombs and so forth. They are abandoned now."

"Gentlemen," said Hartnett, facing the others seriously. "There are ten Martian cruisers and a superdreadnaught in the vicinity of Oberon and Ariel ... you may have guessed by this time that our mysterious Station 9 is on Oberon. My orders are to rescue the three technicians and destroy their samples of Isotope X-R, which is, I understand, a very unstable Isotope of plutonium.

"If we could ... in some way ... destroy the bulk of the Cat strength in the Uranus system, it would be a great step forward toward the successful conclusion of this war that is still young enough to have killed relatively few people."

Scott looked around at his officers and read plain astonishment on their faces. To talk of destroying such a Martian fleet with four tiny ships was madness!

Scott paced furiously up and down the steel deck of the dark Control. Chavez sat before the panels, his saturnine face wreathed in demon-like curls of blue smoke from the short, black, Mexican cheroot he smoked so lovingly.

Chavez shrugged and smoothed his hairline moustache. "Quien sabe?"

"What the hell do you mean 'Quien sabe!' Are you trying to tell me you're thinking he can do it?"

The Latin smiled, showing animal white teeth. "I understand he's done a lot of things that people said weren't possible. Personally, I should be very glad if he did what he says so we could all get back to Ley City. Amigo, I have a little friend back on Luna that is." He smiled dreamily and kissed his fingertips.

"I think you're all going crazy. It's just having that man aboard."

"Ah, Ah!" cautioned Chavez, "Remember all those beautiful silver stripes."

"We'll get back, I think, Mr. Scott," said a casual voice from the Valve. The Commodore was standing in the arch, outlined against the ramp light. He stepped into Control and took a seat beside Chavez at the panels.

Scott and Chavez maintained an embarrassed silence. Hartnett looked up to study the now receding solar disk through the tinted visiplate. The Flotilla was now heading once again for deep space.

It was a few moments before Hartnett spoke. When he did, it was a command directed at Scott.

"Mr. Scott, the Flotilla will land for certain necessary readjustments on Hyperion. See that the other vessels are properly notified." Then he rose and left the Control.

Chavez laid a friendly hand on his commander's sleeve. "I don't think he'd take your ship from you just because...."

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