The Chaos Weapon by Colin Kapp Page A

keep the manifold implications of the phrase out of his voice. He checked his weapons’ belt, but knew that in the lifecraft they were at such a disadvantage as to be virtually helpless. If the approaching craft werealien, they were already as good as dead.
    Since there was no longer any point in keeping the scanner switched off, he watched the approach of the smaller ship with some trepidation. The expertise of the pilot was such that in a single maneuver he checked velocity and so accurately matched the lifecraft’s speed and direction that the two ships soon hung relatively motionless at about a hundred meters separation.
    When the vessel entered optical range, Wildheit had been using the limited lens system of the lifecraft to try and establish its identity. Though small by space standards, it was immense in comparison to the tiny lifecraft. It had a very strange design, being more squat and angular than any the marshal had ever before seen. As with the drive mechanisms of completely unfamiliar pattern, so with the formidable armed blisters, whose sinister muzzles protruding from the pods suggested devices of great power yet of unguessable range and effect. Since by training and profession the marshal’s knowledge of galactic weaponry was necessarily nearly complete, his inability to identify these wicked-looking tubes and projectors gave him the feeling of a cold lump of iron forming in his stomach. There were no emblems or identifying symbols on the scarred hull, and the only thing that eased the marshal’s growing fears was the fact that his close-range observations had suggested the curious vessel to be of human design and construction.
    Roamer, viewing the vessel intently, gave a little gasp.
    “What do you read in her, little frog?” asked Wildheit.
    “That ship—is very old. Its patterns go a long way back in time.”
    “Not before the Big Bang, I hope.” He was gently teasing.
    “No. Six—seven thousand years.”
    “I think we’re going to have to have you recalibrated. All history ofman in space doesn’t go back much beyond two thousand years.”
    “I know that. I can’t explain about the ship, but what I tell you is true.”
    The hiatus since the ship had come to rest tended to confirm Wildheit’s notion that this vessel was not an alien ship which would have carried out an immediate extermination run. Then the FTL communicator channel broke into life.
    “Survivors on lifecraft—we are applying tractors. Prepare to be hauled in.” The voice was human and the language pure Delta Intergalactic.
    Wildheit leaped for the communicator. “Who are you? Please identify yourselves.”
    “Time for questions later, friend. We intend to leave this system fast, and you’re coming with us. Now prepare!”
    The warning came a fraction of a second too late. The savage grasp of tractor beams caught the lifecraft in a gravitational clamp which spun the vessel sharply through ninety degrees to match the beam’s orientation. So sharp was this maneuver that Wildheit was thrown against the communications rack and hit his head on a projection with a force that stunned him momentarily. He recovered a few moments later with blood streaming down his temple to find the lifecraft hurtling into the maw of the strange ship’s craft-lock.
    The whole operation had been rapidly executed. Before the lifecraft had even come to rest on the ramp, the spacelock doors closed behind them, and the strong song of some unknown drive immediately began to thrust the host-ship on its way. They had to wait through a long acceleration period before the lock finally was filled with air and they could leave their little ship.
    The man with brown coveralls who came into the lock to receive them had a weapon in his hand, and a strange glint of amusement in his eyes as they climbed out.
    “Well, what have wehere? A space-marshal and a thin chicken. Curious what things one nets in space! Drop all your armaments, Marshal, nice and slowly.