Phantom Duel

That meant the other ship, or whatever it might be, was approaching the planet in something resembling a free fall. A crash was not inevitable--there was plenty of time to apply sufficient lateral thrust to insure a miss--but why? Time and fuel would be wasted before a landing would become possible.

The meters stopped clicking, the buzzer became silent, and the ring disappeared from the screen, which changed back to first position. The object had passed beyond accurate range.

Will Archer frowned and pressed a key to his left. After a moment, the face of the radio operator appeared on a small video plate: "Yes?"

"Any calls from outside in the last few minutes?"

The radio operator looked surprised. "No. Why?"

"Stay on audio." The pilot pressed another key, and the buzzer began droning again. This time, it would be heard in all parts of the ship. Captain's call. After perhaps ten seconds, the broad, placid face of Captain Rogan appeared on the screen: "Will? What's the trouble?"

The captain rested his claim to respect on an amazing percentage of sound decisions, and held formality very lightly.

"Cap, a ship just crossed our course in what looked like a free fall to the planet--too fast for a landing. No signals of any kind."

Archer added nothing to the simple facts, since Captain Rogan was as well qualified to speculate about them as anyone. He knew that the Vega system harbors few, if any, meteorites of the indicated size. There is no asteroid belt; apparently there have never been more than the present twenty-three planets.

The only answer which seemed consistent with the facts was an ugly one. The object was a ship out of control--its occupants either dead or helpless.

"Modify thrust to hold course and cut acceleration," he said quietly. "I'll send Berry up to make the layout." The video plate blanked out.

Berry, the navigator, had turned in shortly after the fix and was probably asleep by now. Archer would need him--it was going to be tricky to plot a follow-course this close to the planet with enough leeway to match velocities. And they would have to pour it on a little, in all probability, to insure a safe margin--he wondered how the paying guests would like that. Not that it would matter to Captain Rogan--the Space Code came first.

Will Archer pressed a key, and a high-pitched gong began to sound at one-second intervals. It would warn the ship's occupants of a change in acceleration, and would continue until the change was completed.

Berry came in, walking quite steadily with the flat-footed gait of one wearing magnetic shoe-plates. He nodded sleepily, ran a hand through his tousled blond hair, and strapped his slight frame into the seat at the computing table.

"I can tell you right now," he said glumly, "it's going to be rough. At 3 G tops, it'll take five elements and seven hours, at the very least. We won't get within 50 percent of optimum."

Archer read between the lines. Berry was a confirmed pessimist, and if he specified seven hours, it meant there was a fair chance of overtaking the other ship in less.

On the trip "down," Will Archer did not mind the roller-coaster effects nearly so much as his gradual loss of orientation. It was not his first experience with incrementing a free descent, but it was by all odds his longest one. In succession, the planet was "up," "down," sideways and all over the place. Only the screen remained relatively unconfused. Certainly no planet-evolved organism could hope to match its gyroscopic single-mindedness.

Some six hours later, the planet's projection occupied virtually the whole screen. The locator ring, now in shadow for contrast, picked out the other ship, which presently became visible as a black speck somewhat above the screen's center.

It grew, and became recognizable as a small ship of not more than six-man capacity. There was now little question of its being out of control--it was dropping toward the planet at an odd angle, and its jets were dead. The question was whether there would be sufficient thrust available to divert it from the planet's atmosphere. Unless power were applied within the next hour, Archer surmised, no reasonable amount of acceleration would do the trick.

Archer grinned. The same thing applied to this ship. How would the scientists react to the choice of jettisoning some of their heavy equipment and specimens or burdening their own frames with artificial avoirdupois to the point of black-out?

The final jockeying to match velocities was a delicate and nerve-wracking task, since overshooting even once would have meant considerable loss of time. There was a tense moment as they slid abreast of the smaller ship and Archer applied the last few pounds of thrust. It was precisely enough, and the two ships floated relatively motionless, though somewhat askew. The smaller ship showed no external signs of damage, yet no light showed through any of the visible portholes.

An extending rod, blackly silhouetted against the looming planet, stretched slowly across the field and touched the smaller ship's hull. Another moved out, farther away, and then a third, forming a magnetically clinging tripod which locked the two ships together.

The buzzer sounded intermittently and a blue light flashed on Archer's left. He flipped a key, and Captain Rogan's face appeared on the video plate.

"Will, get into your suit and come to the lock. Berry will take the controls. You're to go over with Stokely and see what can be done. And--better bring your gun, just in case."

It was a notion that had already occurred to Archer, and he toyed with it further while donning his pressure-suit. People occasionally go berserk in space--its awesome immensity affects some minds that way--and a few had been fairly successful in liquidating their fellows wholesale. Among those ships which had simply disappeared forever into the void, there were probably a few such cases. Yes, it was entirely possible that there might be one living occupant of the other ship--a madman.