The Magic Labyrinth by Farmer Philip José

Author:Farmer, Philip José [Farmer, Philip José]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adventure, Personal, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Retail
ISBN: 9780765326553
Amazon: 0765326558
Goodreads: 8174188
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 1980-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

31

The Rex Grandissimus was visible by now, a white indistinct mass moving toward him. As minutes passed, it became sharper. For a moment, Sam Clemens felt a pain in his breast. The Rex had been his first boat, his first love. He had fought to get the metal for it, killed, even slain one of his colleagues for it—where was Erik Bloodaxe now?—helped plan it down to the least bolt, and all that killing and battling and struggle had been negated when King John had stolen it. Now it was his greatest adversary. It was a pity to have to destroy that craft, one of the only two of its kind on the whole planet.

He hated John even more because he was forcing him to sink the beauty. Maybe, though, just maybe the Rex could be boarded and taken. Then both boats could sail on up The River to its headwaters.

Sam had always seesawed from deepest pessimism to wildest optimism.

“Two and a half miles now,” the radar operator said.

“Any blips on the Goose?”

“No…yes, sir! Got some! It’s three miles to the starboard, just above the hills!”

“Sir, the enemy vessel is turning to starboard,” the radarman said.

Sam looked out of the fore port. Sure enough, the Rex was swinging around. And as the Not For Hire plowed toward it, the Rex presented its stern.

“Vhat in hell’th he doing?”

“He can’t be running away!” Sam said. “Whatever else the sneaky bastard is, he’s not a coward. Besides, his men wouldn’t let him. No, he’s up to something devious.”

“Perhaps,” Detweiller said, “the Rex has some mechanical difficulty?”

“If it does, we can catch it,” Sam said. “Radar, check its speed.”

“Enemy vessel is making thirty-five miles per hour, due west, sir.”

“Against the current and wind, that’s top speed,” Sam said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing I can see, anyway. Why in blue jumping blazes are they running? They haven’t got any place to hide.”

Sam paused, rolling his eyes as if they were looking for an idea. He said, “Sonar! Do you pick up any foreign object? Say, something that could be a mine?”

“No, sir. All clear underwater except for some schools of fish.”

“It’d be just like John to make some mines and scatter them in our path,” Sam said. “I’d do it myself if the situations were reversed.”

“Yeth, but he knowth ve have thonar.”

“I’d try it anyway. Sparks, tell Anderson to hold off until we’re engaged or until further orders.”

The radio operator transmitted the message to the pilot of the Goose, Ian Anderson. He was a Scot who had flown a British torpedo-bomber during World War II. His gunner, Theodore Zaimis, was a Greek who had been a tail-gunner in an RAF Handley Page Halifax on its night raids over France and Germany in the same war.

Anderson reported that he understood. Radar followed the Goose as it maintained a more or less level course eastwards.

As the sun slowly arced downwards, the Not For Hire decreased the gap between it and the Rex.

“Maybe John doesn’t know how fast this boat can go,” Sam muttered as he paced back and forth.

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