Bandit made another minute correction. White vapor shot from its tail and it began to move ahead.
"Using rocket power," Crag grunted. "Damn if I can figure that one out."
"Looks crazy to me. I should think—" Prochaska's voice froze. A minute pip broke off from Bandit, boring through space toward the silver drone.
"Warhead!" Crag roared the word with cold anger.
Prochaska cursed softly.
One second Drone Able was there, riding serenely through space. The next it disintegrated, blasted apart by internal explosions. Seconds later only fragments of the drone were visible.
Prochaska stared at Crag, his face bleak. Crag's brain reeled. He mentally examined what had happened, culling his thoughts until one cold fact remained.
"Mistaken identity," he said softly. "They thought it was the Aztec."
"Now what?"
"Now we hope they haven't any more warheads." Crag mulled the possibility. "Considering weight factors, I'd guess they haven't. Besides, there's no profit in wasting a warhead on a drone."