The receiving set worked okay. At full volume it brought the characteristic sing-song static of space, held within definite wave bands. He turned on the transmitter. When he tried to broadcast he saw the trouble. The antenna kw meter jammed the needle. That meant the antenna was shorted against the shell.
He discovered something else he should have thought of at once. This ship of Stella's had no weapons.
He groaned. Damn her. She'll make the fool play of trying to get the robot to give itself up. If it's got half a brain it will pretend to until it can get hold of her—and it's got a good deal more than half a brain. It will have her and all the weapons. I should turn around and go back. I should radio a report and call for more help. But I've got to fix the transmitter first and keep her in sight so I know where she's going.
He cut the rockets and went outside to repair the antenna. He noticed with some satisfaction that Stella cut the SP47's rockets so as not to get too far ahead of him. He grinned to himself. She wanted her own way, but she wanted him there to pull her out of a pinch.
The Hell Bat's antenna couldn't be repaired. Most of it had been shot away by the mine blast, and Larry was quite sure that Stella didn't carry spare parts with her.
When he got back in the ship her voice was coming through the radio. "Larry. Are you all right?"
"Yes I'm all right, no thanks to you," he growled. But there was no radio to carry his voice to her. The suit radio! He went out again and tried to reach her. It was no use. She would be tuned to the ship radio wavelength and not think of the other. He gave it up.
Time passed slowly for him. He stared hour after hour at the rocket tail of the ship ahead.
"Larry!" Stella's voice exploded into his thoughts. "The trackers have run out of trail. What do I do now? What does it mean?"
He had an impulse to do nothing. She would realize in another minute what had happened though, and then she would decelerate too fast for him to keep pace.