Randall Garrett

“ The steel hull of the Number Four had crumpled and torn like cardboard around the hole where the impact of the ship had melted and volatalized the metal. But the hull of the alien spaceship wasn't even dented.
"What now?" asked the major.
"Take the RJ-37 in carefully, and lock on with magnetic grapples," MacIlheny ordered.
Blake glanced at him. "What if the pilot or crew of that ship is still alive?"
"They probably are," MacIlheny said. "But we've got an H-bomb in our ship; if they try anything funny...."
"What makes you think they're alive?" the major asked as he eased the ship in. ”

“ Anyway, he was out of fuel."
"What do you think he used for fuel?"
"The most efficient there is," said MacIlheny. "Pure energy. Imagine some sort of force field that will let energy in, but won't let it out. It would be dead black on the outside, just like that whatever-it-was in the alien's ship. He just set off the H-bomb inside that field; what little radiation did get out made the field look gray—and that's a damned small loss in comparison with the total energy of that bomb."
"You know, Fitz, I'm going to have a hell of a job explaining where that bomb went," said the President. ”

“ Lower and lower the satellite dropped, as it spun around Earth in its elongated orbit. At a hundred and fifty miles altitude, the air is thin—thinner than the air in any but the very best vacuum tubes. But it is still dense enough to slow down anything traveling as fast as the satellite. The slight friction would be enough to alter the course of the flying moon.
Major Hamacher sat in the control chair, his hat off and his sleeves rolled up. As soon as the satellite started up again and her new orbit stabilized, the major would take off the RJ-37 and guide it to Number Four. ”

“ The alien closed the door in the side of his ship and came back down to the camera. He bowed again. Then he pointed to the weapon that he had been carrying and waved his hands. He picked it up and brought it around the RJ-37. From the microphones inside the ship came a faint scraping sound. Then the alien reappeared in front of the ship. His arms were empty; he had put the weapon inside the open cargo hold.
"A fair trade is no robbery," Blake said softly. ”

“ MacIlheny turned to Major Hamacher. "Be ready to take that bird up as soon as we get orbital readings and bearings. There's something screwy as hell going on up there, and I want to find out what it is! Those jets shouldn't be working at all. What could have turned them on at exactly the right moment?" He was talking more to himself than to the major, who was busily making last-minute adjustments on the instruments.
The computations on the new orbit came in, were run through the computers, and then fed into the autopilot section of the remote controls for the RJ-37. ”

“ Blake, who was nearest, answered.
"Yes. Good! Okay, thanks, Dr. Vanner!" He cradled the receiver and turned to MacIlheny. "The Observatory. They've spotted Number Four. She's slowed way down and dropped. They're feeding the orbit figures to Orbits Division now, by teletype. She evidently hit a fast meteor, head on."
MacIlheny nodded. "It figures. Tell Orbits to feed us a computation we can sight by—feed it directly into the Brain first, so we can get things going. We've got to get that satellite back up where she belongs!" ”

“ On one of the ships, there was a near panic when one fool screamed: "We're going to crash! Get parachutes!"
Not until the flight captain caught the hysterical passenger on the chin with a hard right uppercut and explained that everything was in good order did the passengers quiet down. ”

“ What do you plan to do?"
"I want to take an RJ-37 up there to Number Four and use it to put the satellite back in a safe orbit. It'll have to be done quickly or we'll lose the satellite and a few thousand square miles of Earth."
Loch paused again, turning the idea over in his mind. MacIlheny said nothing; he knew how the mind of Paul Loch worked. Finally, Loch said: "Tell you what; get the Government to underwrite the insurance, and we'll give you the RJ-37 at cost. Fair enough?"
MacIlheny nodded. "Get her ready. If the President won't okay the insurance, we'll have to pay the extra tariff. ”

“ Inside the CGC Building, completely filling the upper twenty floors, were the sections of the vast electronic brain that computed and integrated the orbits of the small artificial moons and kept the communication beams linked to them. And below the brain, occupying another four floors, were the control and monitoring rooms, in which the TV communications of a world were selected and programmed.
In Johannesburg, South Africa, the newly-elected President spoke in front of a TV camera. His dark, handsome face was coldly implacable as he said: "They wanted apartheid when they were in power ”

“ Nobody wants something like that falling down on their heads. We may have to send up a hydrogen bomb and blow it out of existence if you can't get it back into a safe orbit."
"I know." He paused. "Mr. President, I have an idea. Suppose we load the RJ-37 with a thermonuclear warhead. If we can't change the orbit of the satellite, we'll blast her."
A slow grin spread across the face of the Chief Executive. "Very neat, Fitz; it'll also mean the government will have to underwrite the full insurance cost of the RJ-37 if you have to detonate the bomb."
MacIlheny grinned back. "It will, at that. ”

“ He didn't worry them by explaining that there were no parachutes aboard; at eighty thousand feet of altitude and a velocity of over forty miles per minute, a parachute would be worse than useless.
Each of the stratoliners had to be taken over by the flight captain and eased down manually.
MacIlheny had a pretty good idea of what was going on all over the United States, and he didn't like it. He pushed open the door of the Beam Control Section and strode in. Blake met him halfway across the room. ”

“ MacIlheny considered for a moment, then nodded. "Give him a direct beam on what's coming over this screen. Then give me a pair of earphones connected to his office. I want to be able to hear what he says, but I don't want him countermanding my orders to Major Hamacher."
The alien was still making his meaningless signals when Blake brought in a pair of earphones and clamped them on MacIlheny's head. A throat mike around his neck completed the communication circuit. "Can you hear me, Mr. President?" MacIlheny asked. ”