They watched the parabola it made in its trajectory as it flashed into space and then fell into orbit there beyond the planetary attraction of Venus. On the three-dimensional viso-screen it was uncannily real.
A flight that had taken many hours to accomplish, was shortened on the viso-screen to a matter of minutes. They saw the great, proud interplanetary transport speeding majestically through the starry void, and suddenly, they saw her swerve in a great arc; again she swerved as if avoiding something deadly in space, and point upwards gaining altitude. It was zig-zagging now, desperately maneuvering in an erratic course, and as if by magic, a tiny spot appeared on the transport's side.
Tiny on the viso-screen, the fatal spots must have been huge in actuality. To the Commander of the I.S.P., and to Captain Brooke, it was an old story. Atom-blasts were pitting the spacer's hull with deadly Genton shells. The great transport trembled under the impact of the barrage, and suddenly, the screen went blank.
Commander Bertram turned slowly to face the young I.S.P. captain, whose features were a mask devoid of all expression now, save for the pallor and the burning fire in his eyes.
"And that's the sixth one in a month. Sometimes the survivors reach Terra in emergency spacers, or are picked up in space by other transports ... and sometimes son ... well, as you know, sometimes they're never seen again."
"When do I leave, Commander!" Dennis Brooke's voice was like a javelin of ice.
"Right now, if you wish. We have a new cruiser armored in beryloid with double hull—a new design against Genton shells, but it's the speed of the thing that you'll want to know about. It just about surpasses anything ever invented. Get the figures and data from the coordination room, son; it's serviced and fueled and the crew's aboard." He extended his hand. "You're the best spacer we have—aside from your recklessness—and on your success depends far more than the capture of an outlaw." Bertram smiled thinly. "Happy landing!"
II