The utility's approach to the cylindrical Sandbox closed in on the port side. Brad, at the controls, increased viewer magnification and inspected the ship closely. k.u.miko, looking at the same image, reached under Brad's arm and adjusted k.n.o.bs and levers, zeroing in on one gun turret after another along the Sandbox's length. She whistled softly.

"They're loaded for bear," she said. "Circle them, Brad, let's see what's on the other side."

Brad took the utility around to starboard, then topside and below.

Scarf again. "OK, you've looked her over. Now, what's the problem?"

"The ship has four laser-quads and a couple of explosive decompressors. She's a heavily armed attack transport, that's all."

"So what? Can you do the job?"

k.u.miko looked at Scarf, her normally soft features twisted, pa.s.sive but icy. "Oh, yes," she said.

"I can do it. May take a little time, though."

Scarf leaned back.

"Well, let's not fool around with these jokers. If they don't cooperate, I'm for back to the Dragon and let our guns talk for us."

"Listen, Scarf," Brad said, exasperated, "our job is to disable the armament, not destroy the ship.

Also, if you recall, Drummer wants to get through this exercise without using force. That's why we're here: to fix the Sandbox so they and any other ship commanders of like mind won't get ideas about resisting us. It's a psychological play that will make the rounds of the Outer as well as the Inner Region. It's to our advantage to show we do our job with minimum fuss. So, let's get on with it."

Brad opened the inter-ship comm-line.

"Calling Sandbox. This is Curtin on Dragon Utility One, approaching from your starboard. Are you prepared to receive us?"

"Ready," came back. "Your air lock is number 4, starboard. Go there now. We will extend umbilical and catwalk as soon as you're matched up."

Brad guided his craft around and along the Sandbox to a portal bearing a large painted "4." Slowing the utility, he closed with the Sandbox, gently fingering controls until they were matched precisely to the heavy transport's bearing and drift.

"Now," he said.

k.u.miko hit a switch, and the utility beam-anchor connected to a triangular plate above the airlock, immobilizing and fixing the utility to the huge transporter's axis.

The number 4 clamsh.e.l.l panels drew back and slipped aside. A yellow and white-striped catwalk snaked out and suckled up to the utility's hatch.

k.u.miko took in the overhead dials and lights.

"On track," she said, and after a moment, "connected and secure."

Brad closed a bank of switches, opened another.

"We'll take no unnecessary chances," he said. "I'm setting the thruster to cut in at twenty percent as soon as we're back in and slam the hatch. Five seconds and into forty, another three and we go max. That's for just in case. So, if we need to move fast when we board, hit the accello-nets p.r.o.nto. Got it?"

"Right," from k.u.miko.

"Scarf?"

"Sure, sure. I got it."

"Next. I want 'em to be able to see that the power settings on our sidearms are low enough so as not to kill or cause serious injury. Is that clear?"

"If they start anything, I'd just as soon take a few of them out for good." Scarf postured his belligerence.

"Nothing doing, Scarf," Brad shot back. "Using our weapons on this mission is bound to delay the schedule, if not much worse. It's been fouled up already by this little sortie. So don't provoke 'em; set your weapon in the lower levels."

Brad set his weapon at the extreme low setting and noted that k.u.miko did the same. Scarf set his at the highest level in the non-lethal category, and with a sneer at Brad, returned the weapon to its sheath.

k.u.miko looked thoughtful. "We should wear suits while we're on board the Sandbox, Brad," she said.

"It may slow us down a bit, but we'll need to look at gun emplacements that have minimal air or none at all."

"Sounds reasonable. OK, keep your suits on."

They rigged their sidearms for control from within their suits and transferred them to outer sheaths.

They donned the suits, checked each other's suit security, seal pressure, inter-suit communications, and reported.

"Move out," Brad said.

Chapter NINETEEN

The Sandbox's receiving officer observed Brad and his party's approach through a clear pane in the air lock's pressurized section. The four husky deckhands and the officer-in-charge hefted snub-nosed rifles.

A pressure-suited deckhand responded to Brad's hand signal that his crew was aboard by conducting a visual safety check of the ship-to-utility connections. He turned away, and Brad felt the deck vibrate as the clamsh.e.l.ls slammed shut. k.u.miko and Scarf moved up to stand behind Brad as pressure equalizers hissed. Moments later, the air lock's inner door slid aside and they pa.s.sed through.

Opening their helmet faceplates, they returned the glares of the receiving party.

"Rimov, and gunnery is my business," said the officer, "what in h.e.l.l are you gonna do to my guns?"

Brad wished he were beside the grizzled s.p.a.cefarer facing their common adversary, rather than confronting him.

"Curtin, and my business is to make sure your guns don't get you all killed. I want to check your weapons control center, and every gun emplacement.

First, central control."

"Hey," chimed in Scarf. "How about a drink with the ship's commander? Courtesies of the s.p.a.ce-ways, and all that? I'd sure like to sample some Inner Region booze."

"You guys ain't invited guests, no way," Rimov flashed back. "The Commander is fussy about the people he drinks with."

"Well, you tell him..." Scarf raised a fist to add gesture to his words, but Brad waved him off, his eyes holding on Rimov.

"To h.e.l.l with that," he snapped. "We're here to do a job and get back to our ship. I repeat: first, the fire control center, then each gun emplacement.

Now."

"Our fire control center has been deactivated. Why do you have to see each gun?"

"You know d.a.m.n well, Rimov," Brad said, putting as much harshness into his tone as he could muster.

"Your pieces can be fired independent of central control; I'm going to make sure they won't be.