"Blast!"
The nose swung into the Connie again with a jar that sent Rip sliding into the clear plastic of the astrodome. His nose jammed into the plastic but he didn't even wince, because he saw the Connie's steering tubes buckle under the Aquila's sudden shove.
And suddenly the picture was clear. The two Federation cruisers hadn't cared about getting into the Connie ship. They had only wanted an excuse to tie up to it so they could do what had just been done.
They had sheared off the enemy's steering tubes, first at the stern, then at the bow, leaving him helpless, able to go only forward or back in the direction in which he happened to be pointing!
MacFife had a broad grin on his face. As Rip started to speak, he held up his hand and pointed at a wall speaker.
The Connie commander came on the circuit. He screamed, "You planned that! You—you—" He subsided into his own language.
Galliene's voice spoke soothingly. "But my dear commander! How can I apologize enough? Believe me, the man responsible will be reward—I mean, the man responsible will be disciplined. You may rest assured of it. How unfortunate! I am overcome with shame. A terrible accident! Terrible."
MacFife picked up a microphone. "Same here, Connie. A terrible accident. Aye, the man who did it will hear from me."
"It was no accident," the Connie screamed.
"Ah," Galliene replied, "but you cannot prove otherwise. Commander, do you realize what this means? You are helpless. Interplanetary law says that a helpless spaceship must be salvaged and taken in tow by the nearest cruiser, no matter what its nationality. We will do this jointly, the Aquila and the Sagittarius. We will take turns towing you, my friend. We will haul you to Terra like any other piece of space junk."