He had thought there would be a pursuit. He kicked at the rudder pedalsand threw the stick; the scout ship rolled over and plunged toward theice cap at the north pole of the planet. At 16,000 m.p.h., the rocketwas little more than a guided missile and he knew that when he reachedthe ice cap, he'd have to throttle back - but then so would hispursuers.
Beside him, on the seat, Nick Danson's head rolled from side to side asthe ship streaked toward the earth. The four scout ships were fanned outbehind him and trying to close, yet he was holding them at bay with amere 16,500 m.p.h. He wished frantically that he could have figured outa way to stymie the chase, but starships were not built to be sabotaged.The designers had done a damned good job on them, fitting them withevery device known to prevent crippling, or damaging by the enemy,whoever it may be.
The four ships were hanging on him.
I've got to lose them, he thought feverishly. I've got to lose them longenough to get Danson back to the cabin and get the hell out again. Afterthat, they can have me. But not now. He looked behind him, trying todetermine whether or not they were getting set to fire on him.
They didn't look it, but he couldn't tell. Weapons were not a scoutship's strong point. Each ship was armed with a large rocket launcher,but it was seldom used. Speed was the greatest weapon they needed andthe military designers of the home planet had poured all their energyinto the fast maneuvering of the craft.
The heavy caps of ice that covered the continent of Greenland loomed upbefore him and he hoped that he could lose them in the white wilderness.He would have to throttle back when he reached the jagged waste of ice,but then so would the four behind him. They saw what he was attempting,and poured all the power they could into their ships.
Lors flattened the ship out in a shallow dive and pushed the throttlecontrol until it stopped. The needle on the airspeed indicator leapedviolently. 24,000 m.p.h. The ice rose against the windshield swiftly.One of the scout ships closed and fired a rocket.
He kicked at the rudder pedal and threw the ship to the left. The scoutship responded like a nervous horse and fluttered away as the rocketburned and arced beneath the underbelly.
He pulled the throttle control back, cutting the speed of the ship andshoving on the rudder as he hauled at the stick. The maneuver was toofast for the ships behind him. They tore past him in silver flashes,trying to correct their error. He streaked off toward the AzoresIslands, slicing into the atmosphere viciously, while he watched theother ships whirling off to come back at him. They would soon have tobreak radio silence, or they would never get him. It was almostimpossible to close on a quarry at these speeds, unless each man knewwhat his buddy was doing.
At 15,000 miles per hour, a micro-second of delay before acting, couldslam two ships together with a violence that would atomize everything.Still they refused to make radio contact with each other.
Lors watched them coming back at him, minute silver specks on the radarsweep. He shoved the stick forward and dived for the ocean in a shallowplunge. He had the biggest advantage, in that they had to anticipate_his_ moves, in order to get him into their sights. One of them got himin his sights and fired.
He watched the rocket spearing toward his ship and slammed the stickover to the right. The discus-like scout ship flipped over in a slowroll, the rocket barely missing the ship. Lors felt a little sick. Heeased the throttle back, flattening the ship out not fifty feet abovethe water of the Atlantic Ocean. Then he shoved the throttle to the walland raced north.
The Scout ship speed indicator swung crazily and stopped at 24,500m.p.h. Behind him, the other four were firewalling their throttles justto keep within range. They couldn't possibly fire at him, because goingaway at speeds like they were using, he could outrun any rocket made.Not only was that in his favor, but should one of them fire, they wouldfly into their own weapon.
He glanced at Danson. Nick had awakened and was staring wide eyed at theocean that was spinning past them as they streaked north. Then Nick'smouth opened and Lors looked ahead. They were almost on the freighter!
Lors lifted the ship and whipped over the spars of the ship in a rushthat had probably broken lines and smashed windows all over the vessel.Behind him, the others were streaking over the ship and Lors couldimagine the terrified crew-members who had probably been knocked flatby the wash from the scout ships.
Danson had fainted.
Ahead of him was a heavy cloud cover. He streaked for it, with his fourbuddies in hot pursuit. He hit the cloud cover and began dodgingrecklessly through it, changing his course constantly to throw hispursuers off. He burst out on the far side of the bank of clouds andcouldn't see the other four ships. He streaked for the cabin in themountain country of Pennsylvania, with Danson still out.
Lors throttled back and hovered over the cabin. It was deserted. In thesunlight, it looked like a child's toy house in a miniature clearing. Hesettled the ship in another small clearing, in the woods beyond thehouse and shut off the engines. He threw back the canopy and removed thebelt from around Danson.
He slung the Terran over his shoulder and headed for the cabin. Stillnothing moved about the place. Lors breathed a sigh of relief. All hehad to do now, was dump Danson and get out. Nick could tell his wifeeverything and get things straightened out. Brice could be reported asmissing in the woods and the wrecked scout ship could be covered up bythe men in Washington.
He eased his way into the house and flopped Danson's unconscious body onthe couch. He had started to pull off Danson's borrowed uniform when heheard the footstep. He whirled about!