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But neither of the Atlanteans was  scragged , and at six P. M. an allegedly honeymooning couple
parked their big roadster in the garage at Norgrad Field and went through the gates. Their papers, tickets
included, were in perfect order; they were as inconspicuous and as undemonstrative as newlyweds are
wont to be. No more so, and no less.
Strolling idly, gazing eagerly at each new thing, they made their circuitous way toward a certain small
hangar. As the girl had said, this field boasted hundreds of super-sonic fighters, so many that servicing
was a round-the-clock routine. In that hangar was a sharp-nosed, stubby-V d flyer, one of Norheim s
fastest. It was serviced and ready.
It was too much to hope, of course, that the visitors could actually get into the building unchallenged.
Nor did they.
 Back, you! A guard waved them away.  Get back to the Concourse, where you belong - no visitors
allowed out here!
F-f-t! F-f-t! Phryges air-gun broke into soft but deadly coughing. Kinnexa whirled hands flashing down,
skirt flying up - and ran. Guards tried to head her off; tried to bring their own weapons to bear. Tried -
failed - died.
Phryges, too, ran; ran backward. His blaster was out now and flaming, for no living enemy remained
within needle range. A rifle bullet w-h-i-n-g-e-d past his head, making him duck involuntarily and
uselessly. Rifles were bad; but their hazard, too, had been considered and had been accepted.
Kinnexa reached the fighter s port, opened it, sprang in. He jumped. She fell against him. He tossed her
clear, slammed and dogged the door. He looked at her then, and swore bitterly. A small, round hole
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marred the bridge of her nose: the back of her head was gone.
He leaped to the controls and the fleet little ship screamed skyward. He cut in transmitter and receiver,
keyed and twiddled briefly. No soap. He had been afraid of that. They were already blanketing every
frequency he could employ; using power through which he could not drive even a tight beam a hundred
miles.
But he could still crash that missile in its tube. Or could he? He was not afraid of other Norheiman
fighters; he had a long lead and he rode one of their very fastest. But since they were already so
suspicious, wouldn t they launch the bomb before seven o clock? He tried vainly to coax another knot
out of his wide-open engines.
With all his speed, he neared the pin-point just in time to see a trail of super- heated vapor extending up
into and disappearing beyond the stratosphere. He nosed his flyer upward, locked the missile into his
sights, and leveled off. Although his ship did not have the giant rocket s acceleration, he could catch it
before it got to Atlantis, since he did not need its altitude and since most of its journey would be made
without power.
What he could do about it after he caught it he did not know, but he d do something.
He caught it; and, by a feat of piloting to be appreciated only by those who have handled planes at
super-sonic speeds, he matched its course and velocity. Then, from a distance of barely a hundred feet,
he poured his heaviest shells into the missile s war- head. He couldn t be missing! It was worse than
shooting sitting ducks - it was like dynamiting fish in a bucket! Nevertheless, nothing happened. The thing
wasn t fused for impact, then, but for time; and the activating mechanism would be shell and shock-
proof.
But there was still a way. He didn t need to call Artomenes now, even if he could get through the
interference which the fast-approaching pursuers were still sending out.
Atlantean observers would have lined this stuff up long since; the Officer would know exactly what was
going on.
Driving ahead and downward, at maximum power, Phryges swung his ship slowly into a right-angle
collision course. The fighter s needle nose struck the war-head within a foot of the Atlantean s point of
aim, and as he died Phryges knew that he had accomplished his mission. Norheim s missile would not
strike Atlantis, but would fall at least ten miles short, and the water there was very deep. Very, very
deep. Atlantis would not be harmed.
It might have been better, however, if Phryges had died with Kinnexa on Norgrad Field; in which case [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]