The Hard Way Up - A. Bertram Chandler [38]
"It could be a mine . . ." said Beadle, who was standing with Grimes at the viewport.
"It could be . . ." agreed Grimes. "And it could be fitted with some sort of proximity fuse . . ." He turned to address von Tannenbaum. "You'd better maintain our present distance off, Pilot, until we know better what it is." He stared out through the port again. Space mines are a defensive rather than offensive weapon, and Adder carried six of the things in her own magazine. They are a dreadfully effective weapon when the conditions for their use are ideal—which they rarely are. Dropped from a vessel being pursued by an enemy they are an excellent deterrent—provided that the pursuer is not proceeding under interstellar drive. Unless there is temporal synchronization there can be no physical contact.
Out here, thought Grimes, in a region of space where some sort of interstellar drive must be used, a mine just didn't make sense. On the other hand, it never hurt to be careful. He recalled the words of one of the Instructors at the Academy. "There are old spacemen, and there are bold spacemen, but there aren't any old, bold spacemen."
"A sounding rocket . . ." he said.
"All ready, Captain," replied Beadle.
"Thank you, Number One. After you launch it, maintain full control throughout its flight. Bring it to the buoy or the mine or whatever it is very gently—I don't want you punching holes in it. Circle the target a few times, if you can manage it, and then make careful contact." He paused. "Meanwhile, restart the Mannschenn Drive, but run it in neutral gear. If there is a big bang we might be able to start precessing before the shrapnel hits us." He paused again, then, "Have any of you gentlemen any bright ideas?"
"It might be an idea," contributed Slovotny, "to clear away the laser cannon. Just in case."
"Do so, Sparks. And you, Number One, don't launch your rocket until I give the word."
"Cannon trained on the target," announced Slovotny after only a few seconds.
"Good. All right, Number One. Now you can practice rocketship handling."
"Beadle returned to the viewport, with binoculars strapped to his eyes and a portable control box in his hands. He pressed a button, and almost at once the sounding rocket swam into the field of view, a sleek, fishlike shape with a pale glimmer of fire at its tail, a ring of bright red lights mounted around its midsection to keep it visible at all times to the aimer. Slowly it drew away from the ship, heading towards the enigmatic ball that hung in the blaze of the searchlight. It veered to one side to pass the target at a respectable distance, circled it, went into orbit about it, a miniscule satellite about a tiny primary.
Grimes started to get impatient. He had learned that one of the hardest parts of a captain's job is to refrain from interfering—even so . . . "Number One," he said at last, "don't you think you could edge the rocket in a little closer?"
"I'm trying, sir," replied Beadle. "But the bloody thing won't answer the controls."
"Do you mind if I have a go?" asked Grimes.
"Of course not, Captain." Implied but not spoken was, "And you're bloody welcome!"
Grimes strapped a set of binoculars to his head, then took the control box. First of all he brought the sounding rocket back towards the ship, then put it in a tight turn to get the feel of it. Before long he was satisfied that he had it; it was as though a tiny extension of himself was sitting in a control room in the miniature spaceship. It wasn't so very different from a rocket-handling simulator.
He straightened out the trajectory of the sounding rocket, sent it back towards the mysterious globe and then, as Beadle had done, put it in orbit. So far, so good. He cut the drive and the thing, of course, continued circling the metallic sphere. A brief blast from a braking jet—that should do the trick. With its velocity drastically reduced the missile