"Send them this message, Roger," he said. "From Starlight, to command
ship, Squadrons B and C--approach enemy ships from position of chart
nineteen, sections one through ten."
"Right!" said Roger.
Strong smiled. Tom was driving his heaviest force between the invading
fleet and its objective--forcing the aggressors into a trap.
Tom gave more crisp orders to his squadrons. He asked Roger for an
estimated range, and then, rechecking his position, turned again to the
intercom.
"Astro, how much could you get out of this baby by opening the by-pass
between the cooling pumps and the reactant chamber? That'd mean feeding
the stuff into the motors only half cooled."
Strong turned, started to speak, then clamped his lips together.
"Another quarter space speed, roughly," replied Astro, "about fifteen
hundred miles more an hour. Do you want me to do that?"
"No, not now," replied Tom. "Just wanted to know what I could depend on,
if I get stuck."
"O.K.," said Astro. "Let me know!"
"Why use emergency speed, Corbett?" asked Strong. "You seem to have your
enemy right where you want him now."
"Yes, sir," replied Tom. "And the enemy knows I have him. He can't
possibly attack Luna City now. But he can still run away. He can make
his escape by this one route."
Tom walked to the chart and ran his finger on a line away from the
invader's position into the asteroid belt.
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