"Think we'd better set her down on III?" O'Brien asked quietly.
"Guess so, Mike. We can take her down on anti-grav and maneuver with the bow jets." And then, slowly, "This puts us out of the war, you realize that...."
"Yeah. And we can't even holler for help or they'll swarm in on us like a pack of harpies."
"I don't know about that, Mike. Those boats that got away will probably alert other elements of the League fleet as to our location. It's only a matter of time anyway. So we might as well break radio silence and try to get some Federation ships here first. It'll be a race, but it's the only chance we've got."
Radio room sent the S.O.S. and rang back the bridge almost immediately. "Message away, sir, but our receiver was knocked out by the blast. We get no acknowledgment on S.O.S."
"Oh great," Harrigan groaned, "that's all we needed."
"Maybe we could make Anaton on the bow jets," O'Brien offered.
"Doubtful. Besides, we don't want to chance being caught in space with the Albion in this shape. If my guess is any good, those three ships were part of a fleet which has just attacked Anaton and by now the base is probably a smoking hole in the ground. No point in going to something like that."
It took superhuman maneuvering and quite a bit of luck, but at last the scarred battleship came to rest, in partial hiding, at the foot of a cliff wall on the rugged, boulder-strewn surface of Antares III. Space Directory termed the planet "Earth-type; diam. 9,300; atmosphere breathable for Terrans for a period not to exceed twelve hours."