The slender six-hundred-meter long ship shuddered and protested as the heavier-set interloper approached and took the offensive.

“How’d they come up to us so fast?” Herb asked, bracing himself. Klaxons raised hell about atmospheric containment failures on the lower decks. “There’s no stealth in space!”

“They approached from half an arcsecond of the Sun!” Zigler replied. “The CCDs missed them!”

Something swayed. Looking out the window, they all saw one of the primary radiators gyrating wildly.

“That is not good!” voiced Herb. Turning to Tom, he ordered, “Get down to ship’s aft! Make sure they don’t get to the bombs—or worse!” Tom did as he was ordered, disappearing through the hatch.

Cheryl propelled herself down an access tube. “I’m going to check on the hydroponics!” she shouted back.

Banging noises came from the hull. Zigler tried in vain to bring up the camera feed of the area, but these attackers, whoever they were, had disabled them.

Airlock open, the computer intoned.