Automatic seals
quickly stopped the leak and Lather sped on. The exultation he had felt
at having fired the final destructive bolt had instantly changed into a
cold dread at his narrow escape. Followed by the other pirate ships, he
sped on, back toward the great asteroid where Lurton Zimbardo awaited
news of their successful mission.
Commander Benjamin Bennett of the Space Command ship Ignis sat
motionless for ten minutes after the last freighter had blown up. He
was a topflight career space pilot who governed one of the few standard
Space Command Fleets of Twelve. His black hair showed no signs of gray.
Because of his unspotted record and eminent trustworthiness, he had
been given the responsibility for guarding the freighters. Usually
looking much younger than his forty-one years, now he appeared much
older.
No one approached him. Then he spoke, as if into the air.
"I suppose the pirates are gone now."
"So it would appear, sir," said a crewman.
"Obviously they weren't concerned with destroying us-just the
freighters. I suppose in the long run it amounts to the same thing,
though." No one responded. "Please raise headquarters and hand me the
communicator." A crew member complied. Commander Bennett took the
communicator. His message was terse but complete: pirates had attacked
the convoy and all seven freighters had been lost.
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