The Inheritors - A. Bertram Chandler [46]
Grimes ordered, "Use your sixty millimeters again, Mr. Saul. Tracer, time fused. I want every shell bursting directly over her—not too close, but close enough so they can hear the shrapnel rattling around their control room."
"Aye, sir!"
The automatics rattled deafeningly, the tracer streaked out from the muzzles in a flat trajectory, the bursting shells were spectacular orange flowers briefly blossoming against the dark sky.
Not at all surprisingly Dreebly's voice came screaming from the transceiver. "Stop firing! Stop firing, you idiots, before you hurt somebody!"
"Then shut down your engines!" commanded Grimes. "I am grounding you."
"By what authority? You have no authority here. This is not a Federated world."
"Shut down your engines!"
"I refuse."
Dreebly did more than merely refuse. Winking points of blue flame appeared from a turret on Southerly Buster's side. The streams of tracer from the two ships intersected, forming a lethal arch. Freakishly there were explosions at its apex as time-and impact-fused projectiles came into violent contact with each other—but the majority of Seeker's shells still burst over Southerly Buster, and those from the Buster's guns burst directly over Seeker.
"The bastard's hosepiping!" exclaimed Saul.
Yes, Dreebly was hosepiping, slowly and deliberately lowering the trajectory of his stream of fire. Would he have the nerve to fire at rather than over a Federation ship? Grimes knew that he did not have the nerve to fire directly at Southerly Buster. Should he do so there would inevitably be casualties—and those casualties might well be among the Buster's innocent passengers.
He said to Saul, "Cease fire."
"But, sir, I could put that turret out of action . . . ."
"I said, cease fire."
Seeker's hammering guns fell silent. There was a last burst from the Buster's automatics, a last noisy rattle of shrapnel around Seeker's control room. From the transceiver came Dreebly's taunting voice, "Chicken!"
"She's lifting," said Pitcher.
"She's lifting," echoed Saul disgustedly.
"Secure all," ordered Grimes, hurrying to the pilot's chair. "Secure all! There will be no further warning!"
He heard the coded shrilling of the alarms as he belted himself in. He checked the telltale lights on the control panel before him. By the time that the inertial drive was ready to lift Seeker clear of the ground Southerly Buster would be beyond pursuit range.
Was everything secure? It would be just too bad if it wasn't. The trained spacemen he could trust to obey orders promptly, the scientists were a different kettle of fish. But he couldn't afford to worry about them now, could not afford to indulge in the archaic, time-consuming, regulation ritual of the countdown.
He pushed the button for full emergency rocket power—and almost immediately tons of reaction mass exploded from the Venturis in incandescent steam. The giant hand of acceleration slammed him deep down into the padding of his seat. Seeker was lifting. Seeker was up and away, shooting skyward like a shell fired from some gigantic cannon. She overtook the slow-climbing Southerly Buster, roared past her as though she were standing still, left her well astern.
On the console the telltale light of the inertial drive was now glowing green. Grimes cut his rockets and the ship dropped sickening until the I.D. took hold, then brought up with a jar. She shuddered in every member as Grimes applied lateral thrust, as she lurched sideways across the sky. Pitcher, who had realized what the captain was trying to do, was doing, had stationed himself by the radar. "A little more, sir," he called. "Easy, now, easy . . . ." Then, "hold her at that!"
"Hold her!" repeated Grimes.
The ship shuddered and groaned again, but he was holding her in position relative to the ground below, to the still-climbing Southerly Buster. Then—slowly, but