Part 4

"Not smart enough," he answered, his heart sinking. "The _Champ_ will accelerate and escape them within a few minutes. Then she'll circle and...."

"That's what you think, bud. Feel the hull."

* * * * *

Carlos was well aware of the danger, evidently. The great ship strained and heaved under them. Almost at Frank's feet a plate started its seams. The truth struck him like a blow. The _Champ_ was not built for close quarters maneuvering. Her mass was so great ... her skeleton was relatively so weak ... that she was physically incapable of dodging the flexible patrol boats. And, since her tubes were still comparatively cool, she did not have the power to outdistance them.

"Come on S.P. Come on, you sons of guns," he whooped, staggering to his feet as a torpedo caromed into one of the _Champ's_ jets and glanced off to explode harmlessly several miles away.

"You stinking Pumper!" He ducked as the words ripped through the phone. The bullet meant for his brain whined against the side of his helmet. "Luring me out here when I shoulda been gettin' a fix...."

There was no time to shift his shoes. He flung himself sidewise and just managed to grab the radar operator's wrist as she fired again.

The gun spiralled into darkness and they were fighting breast to breast.

Greta was strong as an ox; she got a grip on his air hose and wrenched at the connection. He jammed an elbow into her well padded solar plexus. As she relaxed with a grunt he reached down and tore her magnetized boots from the skin of the ship.

"Now, my lady...."

She smashed her helmet down upon his in an effort to break its glass front and suffocate him. With all his remaining strength he untangled her arms from his neck and hurled her into space. A scream rattled his earphones ... died slowly into silence!

Fighting for breath, he clung to the hull and gave his attention to the battle. A suicide dive by the nearest patrol boat ripped two more blazing tubes from the _Champ's_ side. A lucky torp struck amidships, boring completely through the _Champ_ and then driving on for several miles before exploding.... Those warheads must have deteriorated, he thought bitterly.

Nevertheless the _Champ_ was hurt, and hurt badly. But she was still accelerating. And she was beginning to fight back.

A torpedo tube twenty feet away swivelled and belched a wicked fish. Moments later a patrol ship disappeared in a flash which temporarily blinded the watcher.

That had been only a fission torp, he knew. But what if that crazy Carlos decided to chance one of the new disintegrators? A hit on one of the attackers would destroy the whole fleet. On the other hand, a miss.... As his sight returned he stared down at Venus in growing horror. If Hans had been right, a miss would explode the planet and might make the whole solar system go Nova!

He edged back toward the airlock with frantic, sobbing speed. As he pounded for attention with a spanner, he looked over his shoulder. The attackers were nearer, but they seemed to be slowing. Why? What was the matter with the fools? Then he realized that they were moving as fast as ever but that the _Champ_ was picking up speed. A few more minutes and she would be out of range.

The outer door closed behind him at last. Air pressure came up to normal. Then the inner door opened to admit him into pandemonium.

He flipped open his face plate, but shut it at once. This was the compartment punctured by the unexploded torp and most of its air was gone. Men screamed thinly and tore at their throats. Others were struggling into spacesuits. A handful were trying to patch the leaks. As he looked, one of the latter was sucked through the rent into space.

Cursing his twenty pound shoes, he pounded toward the control room, gun in hand. He had to stop Carlos.... Had to.... Had to.... He reeled through the door at last ... and skidded to a stop!

Fritz stood there, straddling the body of his captain. His smoking automatic was holding the rattled sentries at bay.

The gun centered on the newcomer's heart.

"I'm Captain Sage, S.P.," Frank yelled. It was a long chance.

"Right!" Fritz shot a charging sentry through the head. The others turned and fled. "I just stopped Carlos in time. Get over to that radio. Tell 'em we surrender. And then," he added as an afterthought, "go back outside and bring Greta in. The _Champ's_ mass has pulled her back to the hull. Saw her peeking through the blister a minute ago. She looked about ready to burst a bloodvessel with fury."

* * * * *

They found Sadie holding forth in style when they finally managed to jockey the crippled ex-_Champ_ back into its caisson. The girl had broken out cases of traskette and she led the Incors of the lab staff in making the half-hundred S.P. men welcome when they trooped in, grinning like the youngsters they were.

"The harder they fall!" she chortled. "Just hit the big fellows before they get their feet planted, my dad always said."

"But how?... When?..." Frank stared at her blankly.

"I took over this joint soon as we heard the _Champ_ surrendered. Mike has thrown in the towel. The war's over, so drink hearty. And there are steaks on the fire."

"Don't drink too hearty." Frank swept her pliant body into his arms, thankful that it, at least, was familiar. "I don't want to waste a minute hunting up that plastic surgeon so he can give you back that pug nose and those freckles."