no longer
stable ... it was lurching back and forth like a rowboat on a heavy sea,
and they grabbed the shock-bars along the bulkheads to steady themselves.
"What happened?" Greg yelped. "I saw a ship...."

As if in answer there was another crash belowdecks, and the lurching
became worse. "They're firing on us, that's what happened," Johnny
Coombs growled.

"Well, they're shaking us loose at the seams," Greg said. "We've got to
get this crate out of here." He reached for his helmet, began unsnapping
his pressure suit.

"Leave it on," Johnny snapped.

"But we can't move fast enough in these things...."

"Leave it on all the same. If they split the hull open, you'll be dead
in ten seconds without a suit."

Somewhere below they heard the steady _clang-clang-clang_ of the
emergency-station's bell ... already one of the compartments somewhere
had been breached, and was pouring its air out into the vacuum of space.
"But what can we do?" Greg said. "They could tear us apart!"

"First, we see what they've already done," Johnny said, spinning the
wheel on the inner lock. "If they plan to tear us apart, we're done for,
but they may want to try to board us.... We'll wait and see."

An orbit-ship under fire was completely vulnerable. One well-placed
shell could rip it open like a balloon.

Tom and Greg followed Johnny to where the control cabin was located. In
control they found alarm lights flashing in three places on the
instrument panel. Another muffled crash roared through the ship, and a
new row of lights sprang on along the panel.

"How are the engines?" Greg said, staring at the flickering lights.

"Can't tell. Looks like they're firing at the main jets, but they've
ripped open three storage holds, too. They're trying to disable us...."

"What about the _Scavenger_?"

Johnny checked a gauge. "The airlock compartment is all right, so the
scout ships haven't been touched. They couldn't fire on them without
splitting the whole ship down the middle." Johnny leaned forward,
flipped on the viewscreen, and an image came into focus.

* * * * *

It was a Class I Ranger, and there was no doubt of its origin. Like the
one they had seen berthing at the Sun Lake City racks, this ship had a
glossy black hull, with the golden triangle-and-J insignia standing out
in sharp relief in the dim sunlight.

"It's our friends, all right," Johnny said.

"But what are they trying to do?" Tom said.