“No———” He started a modest objection, but Hal Samdu and Giles Habibula added their voices; and Jay Kalam became captain of the Purple Dream.
The new officer gave his first orders immediately, with the same gravely quiet manner he always had.
“Then, Giles, please get the geodynes into operation as soon as you can—our only chance is to get away before one of these ships catches us in a search beam, and calls the rest of the fleet to wipe us out.”
“Very good, sir.”
Giles Habibula threw back his head, held up the flagon until the last drop had trickled from it, saluted too elaborately, and rolled out of the bridge-room.
“John, you may be plotting our course.
First we must outrun these ships around us.
We’ll keep above the asteroid belt, and well away from Jupiter and Saturn and Uranus, with their Legion bases—we can’t risk running into another fleet.
As soon as we get beyond the danger of their search-beams, we’ll head on out toward Pluto.”
“Very good.”
“Hal, if you please, check the big proton gun.
We must have it ready—though we can’t risk a fight.”
“Yes, Jay.”
“And I shall keep watch.”
“How many, now?” asked Jay Kalam, hours later.
They were still drifting helpless in the void.
Watching the betraying red sparks on the telltale screen, John Star answered slowly:
“Seven.
And I believe—I’m afraid, Jay, they’ve found us!”
“They have?”
Intently he studied the instruments, and he agreed at last, his voice edged with apprehension:
“Yes.
They’ve found us.
They’re moving in, all seven.”
Jay Kalam spoke into his telephone:
“Hal, stand by for action… Yes, seven Legion cruisers, all converging on us.”
He gave positions.
“Giles, the geodynes?… Not ready, yet?… And you can’t depend on the re-wound unit?… They’ve seen us.
We must move soon, or never.”
A few minutes, and the nearest cruiser came into range, or almost into range, of the proton blast.
Jay Kalam spoke into the telephone, and a tongue of blinding violet darted at it, from the great needle in its turret above.
“It’s drawing back,” whispered John Star, his eye fastened to a tele-periscope.
“To wait for the others.
But they’ll all soon be close enough to fight.”
“Ah, Jay, we can try them,” whistled Giles Habibula’s voice from the receiver, thin and shrill.
“Though this crippled unit is still a poor, uncertain crutch!”
Jay Kalam nodded, sharply, and John Star turned to the dials and keys.
The musical humming of the geodynes rose, filling the ship with a song of power.
Swiftly he advanced them to their utmost output; their sound became higher, keener, until it was a vibrant whining which quivered through every member of the ship.
“Away!” he cried exultantly.
His eyes on the dials, on the red flecks glowing on the telltale screen, he saw that the Purple Dream was moving, ever faster, away from the center of that hostile crimson swarm.
His own heart responded to the keening whine of the generators; he could almost feel the terrific thrust of the geodynes.
“We’re gone!” he cried again.
“Off for the Runaway Star! Away
His voice fell. Another note had broken the keen musical whine of the generators—a coarse, nerve-jarring vibration.
Giles Habibula’s voice came from the receiver, tiny and metallic and afraid:
“Ah, these wicked generators.
I re-wound the unit.
But they’re off-balance.
They won’t stay synchronized.