Part 11 (2/2)

Waters straightened from his task. ”That will do it, Mr. Haljan.” He met me in the center of the cubby. ”When you locate the enemy, do you think they'll destroy us as they did those other s.h.i.+ps?”

Grantline laughed grimly. ”Maybe so, Waters. But let's hope not.”

Fat little Waters was anything but a coward, but being closed up here all these hours with a stream of dire messages from Earth had shaken him.

”What I mean, Mr. Grantline, is that prudence is sometimes better than reckless valor. The _Cometara_ is no wars.h.i.+p. If Earth had sent an international patrol vessel....”

Grantline did not answer. He joined me at the Benson projector. ”Can we operate it from here, Gregg, or will you mount it in the bow?”

”From here. Drac's swinging. When he's on the course I gave him, I can throw the Benson-ray through the bow dome-port. Waters, you're all done in. Go below and sleep awhile.”

But he stood his ground. ”No, sir; I don't want to sleep.”

”We've had ours,” said Grantline. ”We'll call you if anything shows up.”

We sent Waters away. ”Ready, Gregg?”

”Yes. I've got the range.”

The coils hummed and heated with the current, and in a moment the Benson curve-beam leaped from the projector.

The Benson curve-light was similar to an ordinary white searchlight beam, except that its path, instead of being straight could be bent at will into various curves--hyperbola, parabola, and for its extreme curve, the segment of an ellipse--gradually straightening as it left its source. It was effective for police work, with hand torches for seeing around opaque obstructions. It had also another advantage, especially when used at long range: the enemy, when gazing back at its source, would under normal circ.u.mstances conceive it to be a straight beam and thus be misled as to the location of its source. Or even realizing it to be curved, one had no means of judging the angle of the curve.

A narrow white stream of light, it flung through our window-oval, forward under the dome and through the bow dome bullseye, into s.p.a.ce.

I saw the men on the deck spring into sudden alertness with the realization we were using it. The bow lookout on the forward observation bridge crouched at his 'scope-finder to help us search.

From the control turret came an audiphone buzz, and Drac's voice: ”Am I headed right? The swing is almost completed.”

”Finish the job and don't bother me now.”

I bent over the field-mirror of the projector. On its glowing ten-inch grid the s.h.i.+fting image of my range was visible, a curving, brilliant limb of the Moon, with the sunlight on the jagged mountain peaks; everywhere else was the black firmament and the blazing dots of stars.

Grantline crouched beside me. ”I'll work the amplifiers. Going to spread it much, Gregg?”

”Yes. A full spread first. We're in no mood for a detailed narrow search.”

I gradually widened the light. Three feet here at its source, it spread in a great widening arc. With the naked eye we could see its white radiance, fan-shaped as an edge of it fell upon the Moon. And though optically it was not apparent, the elliptical curve of it was rounding the Moon, disclosing the hidden starfield to our instruments.

”Nothing yet?” I murmured.

”No.”

”I'll try a narrower spread and less curve.”

Grantline was searching the magnified images on the series of amplifier grids. There was nothing. For an hour we worked; then suddenly Grantline cried: ”Gregg! Wait! Hold it!”

I tensed, stricken. I held the angle and the spread of light steady.

”Two seconds of arc, east; try that. The d.a.m.ned thing is s.h.i.+fting.” He gripped me. ”It's at the eastern edge of the field; it s.h.i.+fts off. It must be in rapid motion.”

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