The Black Widow turned and streaked from Venus Equilateral as Don Channing mopped his forehead. "Walt," he said, "that's once I was scared to death."
"Me, too. Well, we got a respite. Now what?"
"We start thinking."
"Right. But of what?"
"Ways and—Hello, Wes. What's the matter?"
Farrell entered and said: "They broke up my job. I had to set it up again, and I'm temporarily free. Anything I can do to help?"
"Can you dream up a space-gun?"
Farrell laughed. "That's problematical. Energy guns are something strange. Their output can be trapped and used to good advantage. What you need is some sort of projectile, I think."
"But what kind of projectile would do damage to a spaceship?"
"Obviously the normal kinds are useless. Fragmentation shells would pelt the exterior of the ship with metallic rain—if and providing you could get them that close. Armor-piercing would work, possibly, but their damage would be negligible since hitting a spacecraft with a shell is impossible if the ship is moving at anything like the usual velocities. Detonation shells are a waste of energy, since there is no atmosphere to expand and contract. They'd blossom like roses and do as much damage as a tossed rose."