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Chapter 3
Baird sat tense in the frustrated and desperate composure of the man who can only be of use while he is sitting still and keeping his head. The vision screen was now a blur of writhing mist, lighted by the sun and torn at by emptiness. There was luminosity where the ships had encountered each other. It was sunshine upon thin smoke. It was like the insanely enlarging head of a newborn comet, whose tail would be formed presently by light-pressure. The Plumie ship was almost invisible behind the unsubstantial stuff. But Baird regarded his radar screens. Microwaves penetrated the mist of rapidly ionizing gases. "Radar to navigation!" he said sharply. "The Plumie ship is still approaching, dancing as before!" The skipper said with enormous calm: "Any other Plumie ships, Mr. Baird?" Diane interposed. "No sign anywhere. I've been watching. This seems to be the only ship within radar range." "We've time to settle with it, then," said the skipper. "Mr. Taine, the Plumie ship is still approaching." Baird found himself hating the Plumies. It was not only that humankind was showing up rather badly, at the moment. It was that the Plumie ship had refused contact and forced a fight. It was that if the Niccola were destroyed the Plumie would carry news of the existence of humanity and of the tactics which worked to defeat them. The Plumies could prepare an irresistible fleet. Humanity could be doomed. But he overheard himself saying bitterly: "I wish I'd known this was coming, Diane. I ... wouldn't have resolved to be strictly official, only, until we got back to base." Her eyes widened. She looked startled. Then she softened. "If ... you mean that ... I wish so too." "It looks like they've got us," he admitted unhappily. "If they can take our rockets away from us—" Then his voice stopped. He said, "Hold everything!" and pressed the navigation-room button. He snapped: "Radar to navigation. It appears to take the Plumies several seconds to take over a rocket. They have to aim something—a pressor or tractor beam, most likely—and pick off each rocket separately. Nearly forty seconds was consumed in taking over all twelve of our rockets. At shorter range, with less time available, a rocket might get through!" The skipper swore briefly. Then:
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