Med Ship

EMERGENCY SURGERY
The nearest-object indicator showed something moving toward the Med Ship. There was a small object headed toward the planet from empty space. Calhoun put on double acceleration to intercept it.
The spacephone growled: Med Ship! What do you think you're doing?
Getting in trouble, said Calhoun briefly.
Med Ship! the voice rasped. Keep out of the way of our missile! It's a megaton bomb!
Calhoun said irrelevantly: Those who in quarrels interpose, must often wipe a bloody nose. He added, I know what it is.
Calhoun aimed his ship. He knew the capacities of his ship as only a man who'd handled one for a long time could. He knew quite exactly what it could do.
The rocket from remoteness—the megaton-bomb missile—came smoking furiously from the stars. Calhoun seemed to throw his ship into a collision course.
The rocket swerved to avoid him, though guided from many thousands of miles away. There was a trivial time-lag between the time its scanners picked up a picture and transmitted it, and the controlling impulse reached the missile in response. Calhoun counted on that. But he wasn't trying for a collision. He was forcing evasive action.
He secured it. The rocket slanted itself to dart aside. Calhoun threw the Med Ship into a flip-flop and slashed the missile with his own ship's rocket flame. . . .