Free The Star Fox by Poul Anderson

sucked down a breath, and punched. Coquelin’s weary features came to view.
    ‘Gunnar! What is this? News of your girl?’
    Heim told him. Coquelin turned gray. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. He had children of his own.
    ‘Uh, huh,’ Heim said. ‘I see only one plausible way out. My crew’s assembled now, a tough bunch of boys. And you know where Cynbe is.’
    ‘Are you crazy?’ Coquelin stammered.
    ‘Give me the details: location, how to get in, disposition of guards and alarms,’ Heim said. ‘I’ll take it from there. If we fail, I won’t implicate you. I’ll save Lisa, or try to save her, by giving the kidnappers a choice: that I either cast discredit on them and their movement by spilling the whole cargo; or I get her back, tell the world I lied, and show remorse by killing myself. We can arrange matters so they know I’ll go through with it.’
    ‘I cannot – I—’
    This is rough on you, Michel, I know,’ Heim said. ‘But if you can’t help me, well, then I’m tied. I’ll have to do exactly what they want. And half a million will die on New Europe.’
    Coquelin wet his lips, stiffened his back, and asked: ‘Suppose I tell you, Gunnar. What happens?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

    ‘S PACE yacht
Flutterby
, GB-327-RP, beaming Georgetown, Ascension Island. We are in distress. Come in, Georgetown. Come in, Georgetown.’
    The whistle of cloven air lifted toward a roar. Heat billowed through the forward shield. The bridge viewports seemed aflame and the radar screen had gone mad. Heim settled firmer into his harness and fought the pilot console.
    ‘Garrison to
Flutterby
.’ The British voice was barely audible as maser waves struggled through the ionized air enveloping that steel meteorite. ‘We read you. Come in
Flutterby
.’
    ‘Stand by for emergency landing,’ David Penoyer said. His yellow hair was plastered down with sweat. ‘Over.’
    ‘You can’t land here. This island is temporarily restricted. Over.’ Static snarled around the words.
    Engines sang aft. Force fields wove their four-dimensional dance through the gravitrons. The internal compensators held steady, there was no sense of that deceleration which made the hull groan; but swiftly the boat lost speed, until thermal effect ceased. In the ports a vision of furnaces gave way to the immense curve of the South Atlantic. Clouds were scattered woolly above its shiningness. The horizon line was a deep blue edging into space black.
    ‘The deuce we can’t,’ Penoyer said. ‘Over.’
    ‘What’s wrong?’ Reception was loud and clear this time.
    ‘Something blew as we reached suborbital velocity. We’ve a hole in the tail and no steering pulses. Bloody little control from the main drive. I think we can set down on Ascension, but don’t ask me where. Over.’
    ‘Ditch in the ocean and we’ll send a boat. Over.’
    ‘Didn’t you hear me, old chap? We’re hulled. We’d sink like a stone. Might get out with spacesuits and life jackets, or might not. But however that goes, Lord Ponsonby won’t be happy about losing a million pounds’ worth of yacht. We’ve a legal right to save her if we can. Over.’
    ‘Well – hold on, I’ll switch you to the captain’s office—’
    ‘Nix. No time. Don’t worry. We won’t risk crashing into Garrison. Our vector’s aimed at the south side. We’ll try for one of the plateaux. Will broadcast a signal for you to home on when we’re down, which’ll be in a few more ticks. Wish us luck. Over and out.’
    Penoyer snapped down the switch and turned to Heim. ‘Now we’d better be fast,’ he said above the thunders. ‘They’ll scramble some armed flyers as soon as they don’t hear from us.’
    Heim nodded. During those seconds of talk
Connie Girl
had shot the whole way. A wild dark landscape clawed up at her. His detectors registered metal and electricity, which must be at Cynbe’s lair. Green Mountain lifted its misty head between him and the radars at Georgetown. He need no longer use onlythe main