Gamma and atomic bombs were washing her in flame. The heavy blocks of paraffin between her walls were long since melted, retained only by the presence of the metal walls. Smoke was beginning to filter out now, and Kendall recognized a new, and deadlier menace! Heat—quantities of heat were being poured into the little ship, and the neutron guns were doing their best to add to it. The paraffin was confined in there—and like any substance, it could be volatilized, and as a vapor, develop pressure—explosive pressure!
The Miran seemed satisfied in his tactics so far—and changed them. Forty-seven million miles from Earth, the Miran simply accelerated a bit more, and crowded the Solarian ship a bit. White-faced, Buck Kendall was forced to turn a bit aside. The Miran turned also. Kendall turned a bit more—
Flashing across his range of vision at an incredible speed, a tiny thing, no more than twenty feet long and five in diameter, a scout-ship appeared. Its tiny nose ultra-violet beam was blasting a solid cylinder of violet incandescence a foot across in the hull of the Miran—and, to the Miran, angling swiftly across his range of vision. Its magnetic field clashed for a thousandth of a second with the T-253, instantly meeting, and absorbing the fringing edges. Then—it swept through the Miran’s magnetic shield as easily. The delicate instruments of the scout instantaneously adjusted its own magnetic field as much as possible. There was resistance, enormous resistance— the ship crumpled in on itself, the tail vanished in dust as a sweeping crumbler beam caught it at last—and the remaining portion of the ship plowed into the nose of the Miran.
The Miran’s force-control-room was wrecked. For perhaps a minute and a half, the ship was without control, then the control was re-established—and in vain the telescopes and instruments searched for the T-253. Lightless, her rockets out now, her fields damped down to extinction, the T-253 was lost in the pulsing, gyrating fields of half a dozen scout-ships.
Kendall looked grimly at the crushed spot on the nose of the Miran. His ship was drifting slowly away from the greater ship. Presently, however, the Miran put on speed in the direction of Earth, and the T-253 fell far behind. The Miran was not seriously injured. But that scout pilot, in sacrificing life, had thrown dust in their eyes for just those few moments Kendall had needed to lose a lightless ship in lightless space—lightless—for the Mirans at any rate. The IP ships had been covered with a black paint, and in no time at all, Kendall had gotten his ship into a position where the energy radiations of the sun made him undetectable from the Miran’s position, since the radiation of his own ship, even in the heat range, was mingled with the direct radiation of the sun. The sun was in the Miran’s “eyes,” both actual and instrumental.
An hour later the Miran returned, passed the still-lightless ship at a distance of five million miles, and settled to Phobos for the slight repairs needed.
Twelve hours later, the T-253 settled to Luna, for the many rearrangements she would need.
“I rather knew it was coming,” Kendall admitted sadly, “but danged if I didn’t forget all about it. And—cost the life of one of the finest men in the system. Jehnson’s family get a permanent pension just twice his salary, McLaurin. In the meantime—”
“What was it? Pure heat, but how?”
“Pure radio. Nothing but short-wave radio directed at us. They probably had the apparatus, knew how to make it, but that’s not a good type of heat ray, because a radio tube is generally less than eighty percent efficient, which is a whale of a loss when you’re working in a battle, and a whale of an inconvenience. We were heated only four times as much as the Miran. He had to pump that heat into a heat-reservoir—a water tank probably—to protect himself. Highly inefficient and ineffective against a large ship. Also, he had to hold his beam on us nearly ten minutes before it would have become unbearable. He was again, trying to kill the men, and not the ship. The men are the weakest point, obviously.”
“Can you overcome that?”
“Obviously, no. The thing works on pure energy. I’d have to match his energy to neutralize it. You knew it’s an old proposition, that if you could take a beam of pure, monochromatic light and divide it exactly in half, and then recombine it in perfect interference, you’d have annihilation of energy. Cancellation to extinction. The trouble is, you never do get that. You can’t get monochromatic light, because light can’t be monochromatic. That’s due to the Heisenberg Uncertainty—my pet bug-bear. The atom that radiates the light, must be moving. If it isn’t, the emission of the light itself gives it a kick that moves it. Now, no matter what the quantum might have been, it loses energy in kicking the atom. That changes the situation instantly, and incidentally the ‘color’ of the light. Then, since all the radiating atoms won’t be moving alike, etc., the mass of light can’t be monochromatic. Therefore perfect interference is impossible.
“The way that relates to the problem in hand, is that we can’t possibly destroy his energy. We can, as we do in the crumbler stunt, change it. He can’t, I suspect, put too much power behind his crumbler, or he’d have crumbling going on at home. We get a slight heating from it, anyway. Into the bargain, his radio was after us, and his neutrons naturally carried energy. Now, no matter what we do, we’ve got that to handle. When we fight his crumbler, we actually add heat-energy to it, ourselves, and make the heating effect just twice as bad. If we try to heterodyne his radio—presto—it has twice the heat energy anyway, though we might reduce it to a frequency that penetrated the ship instead of all staying in it. But by the proposition, we have to use as much energy, and in fact, remember the 80% rule. We’ve got to take it and like it.”
“But,” objected McLaurin, “we don’t like it.”
“Then build ships as big as his, and he’ll quit trying to roast you. Particularly if the inner walls are synthetic plastics. Did you know I used them in the ‘S Doradus’ and ‘Cepheid’?”
“Yes. Were you thinking of that?”
“No—just luck—and the fact that they’re light, strong as steel almost, and can be manufactured in forms much more quickly. Only the outer hull is tungsten-beryllium. The advantage in this will be that nearly all the energy will be absorbed outside, and we’ll radiate pretty fast, particularly as that tungsten-beryllium has a high radiation- factor in the long heat range.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, ordinary polished silver is a mighty poor radiator. Homely example: Try waiting for your coffee to cool if it’s in a polished silver pot. Then try it in a tungsten-beryllium pot. No matter how you polish that tungsten- beryllium, the stuff WILL radiate heat. That’s why an IP ship is always so blamed cold. You know the passenger ships use polished aluminum outer walls. The big help is, that the tungsten-beryllium will throw off the energy pretty fast, and in a big ship, with a whale of a lot of matter to heat, the Strangers will simply give up the idea.”
“Yes, but only two ships in the system compare with them in size.”
“Sorry—but I didn’t build the IP fleet, and there are lots of tungsten and beryllium on Earth. Enough anyway.”
“Will they use that beam on the fort? And can’t we use the thing on them?”
“They won’t and we won’t—though we could. A bank of those new million watt tubes—perhaps a hundred of them—and we’d have a pretty effective heater—but an awful waste of power. I’ve got something better.”
“New?”
“Somewhat. I’ve found out how to make the mirror field in a plate of metal, instead of a block. Come on to the lab, and I’ll show you.”
“What’s the advantage? Oh—weight saved, and silver metal saved.”
“A lot more than that, Mac. Watch.”
At the laboratory, the new apparatus looked immensely lighter and simpler than the old. The atostor, the ionizer, and the twin ion-projectors were as before, great, rigid, metal structures that would maintain the meeting point of the ions with inflexible exactitude under any acceleration strains. But now, instead of the heavy silver block in which a mirror was figured, the mirror consisted of a polished silver plate, parabolic to be sure, but little more than a half-inch in thickness. It was mounted in a framework of complex, stout metal braces.
Kendall started the ion-flame at low intensity, so the UV beam was little more than a spotlight.
“You missed the point, Mac. Now—watch that tungsten-beryllium plate. I’ll hold the power steady. It’s an eighteen-inch beam—and now the energy is just sufficient to heat that tungsten plate to bright red. But—”
Kendall turned over a small rheostat control—and abruptly the eighteen-inch diameter spot on the tungsten-beryllium plate began contracting; it contracted till it was a blazing, sparkling spot of molten incandescence less than an inch across!
“That’s the advantage of focus. At this distance of a few hundred feet with a small beam I can do that. With
