Turley held up a hand. “No. Though it is pretty damn suspicious, I’ll give you that, Ensign.” He turned back to the panel and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It might be some sort of modification some idiot contractor thought up to provide emergency power to the weapons. Or it might be a situation where there was a glitch in the plans that got corrected in the computer files, but only after these systems were set up.” He didn’t sound too convinced, though, and the way he was staring at the connection was unnervingly intense. Jacob cleared his throat a little nervously.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t seem to explain why they are all leading from the officer’s mess, though.”
“I know, Ensign, I know.” Turley’s head bowed a little, and he went on in a carefully conversational tone. “Another explanation could be that a junior officer who keeps getting himself into trouble might have cooked up this problem to get himself into the commander’s good graces. Especially just after being officially reprimanded for fighting with someone from Rigannin.” Turley looked back at Jacob, sizing him up for a moment. Jacob’s mouth went dry, but before he could stammer out a defense, Turley continued. “Not that I would believe that kind of nonsense, but it would seem like a better explanation for a lot of officers than that a contractor tried to sabotage a rear line patrol ship by running half the weapons power lines through a mess hall and none of the inspectors noticed.”
Jacob started to open his mouth to respond, thought the better of it, and nodded. There was a long pause as the both of them looked at the connection. Finally, Jacob couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Turley, you know I didn’t do this, right? There’s no way I would endanger the ship—”
Turley cut him off with a disgruntled wave of his arm. “Of course I don’t believe it, Hull. You’re a damn annoying ensign, but you’re not an idiot or a traitor.” The petty officer subsided into silence again. After another short while, he nodded to himself again. “Here’s how we’ll handle this. I’ll pass the word to the other crewmen on duty. We’ll check out the rest of the railgun power lines and make sure to clear them of the connections like this.” He scowled. “We won’t need to worry about Urleigh finding out because he’s a moron that I can keep distracted, just like most officers. After we’ve riftjumped, I’ll find a way to mention it casually to the commander, like it was something our routine repair jobs turned up. I won’t mention you at all.”
Relief bubbled up inside him, and Jacob nodded. “All right. Thanks, Turley. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Damn straight.” Turley reached out and grabbed Jacob by the shoulder. “You’re not a bad officer, Ensign, so don’t you worry about Urleigh and Morris and the rest. We’ll take care of you.” Then the petty officer released him and flipped upside down. He yelled back at Jacob as he pulled himself back toward the exit. “Now seal that hatch and get over to the next tunnel. There’s a malfunction in the computer grid lines that needs fixing.”
With an incredulous shake of his head, Jacob closed the access panel and began to pull himself after the petty officer. For a moment, he paused and looked back at the spot where the branch had been. Turley’s got to be right. How would the inspectors miss it all? Trying to convince himself, Jacob kept asking that question for the rest of the hour.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Jacob found himself face to face with the letter. He stared at the blank page, glaring at it as if he could will the thing into nonexistence. An unused pen lay next to his hand.
It should have been such a small thing. Just a simple letter of apology. The damn thing didn’t even have to be sincere, especially since most of the crew had to know the real story by now. Isaac would have suggested filling the page with a bunch of sarcastic swipes at the other ensign, but even that idea seemed to fall flat.
Jacob knew his reluctance went beyond mere resentment towards Schroder. What the Helm ensign, or anybody else, thought about him didn't matter. What did matter, and what always would matter though, would be what he thought of himself. By writing a letter he didn’t want to write, and by all rights shouldn’t have to write, he would be giving up a piece of his freedom and his dignity. Those were two things his father had instilled in him from birth, and he wasn't about to lose them now that his parents were gone.
Yet at the same time, he knew Laurie was right. Ephraim Hull had taught his son to never give up on anything without a fight, and by refusing a direct order he was likely to lose his dream of a naval career. The decision was too much like quitting for it to sit lightly with Jacob, and he could not picture either of his parents fully approving of it either. He reached over to pick up the photograph of his family, the last one taken before the accident had taken his parents from him, and searched their faces. Surely they wouldn’t want me to just lie down and get trampled on by Schroder. So what would they want me to do?
It took a long moment before the answer finally presented itself. His mother’s voice came to him, reminding him of a time when she paid taxes despite her hatred of the local tax collector. Sometimes you have to do something for the idea, and not for the people. Otherwise everything goes south. Her words found an echo in the discussion Rodgers had had with him about his disobedience, and to his horror Jacob realized he was on the edge of failing the test for a third time.
Jacob nodded slowly to himself. After all, it was Commander Rodgers who had asked for the letter, not Schroder. Rodgers, unlike Schroder, he could give up a little freedom for. He reached for the pen and began.
A half hour later it was done and Jacob was on his way to the bridge, letter in hand. He knew both Schroder and Commander Rodgers would be there, supervising the jump to GRC 11597, and now was as good a time as any to be done with the task.
He’d left the Ensigns' quarters when most of his fellow ensigns were still asleep. As Jacob walked down the corridor toward the aft section of the ship, he wondered if the commander would make him read the apology aloud in front of the rest of the command crew. The thought made his skin crawl, but Jacob set his jaw and tried to shunt his stubborn pride away for a moment. Just get this done and we can all move on with life. Schroder will get what’s coming to him one way or another, but he won’t be taking me down with him.
He nodded to the pair of Marines standing at a small guard station and continued on his way. As he reached the elevator that led to the bridge, he paused in front of the closed doors. No, I might as well arrive the way I always do. Jacob opened the hatch to the access ladder next to the elevator. He paused to close the door behind him, and then began to pull himself up the rungs.
Partway up the ladder, Jacob paused. He heard some kind of commotion, a series of yelling and thumping noises, from the bridge. His brain tried to sort through the various sounds to identify them. What could they possibly be—
Without warning, a terrible roar echoed through the access hatch, nearly shaking Jacob from the rungs of the ladder. He held on grimly as the ship twisted and bucked around him. The shrieking of alarms flooded his ears and he heard the noises from above intensify, then fall eerily silent.
Driven by panic, Jacob pulled himself up the access ladder until he reached the bridge. He yanked the door partway open and heaved himself out into the antechamber just outside the command bridge.
For a moment, nothing in front of him registered. There were always at least two Marines on post outside the bridge, but both were gone. The short desk-like barriers they usually stood behind were marred by holes now, and Jacob felt his stomach clench as he spotted a bloody hand on the floor near one of them.
Jacob half-ran, half crawled to get around the waist high barriers. He found both Marines there, lying on the floor and covered in blood. Jacob crawled over to them, in shock. The alarms continued to wail. He checked the first for a pulse and recoiled when his fingers came away covered in blood. A look at the second Marine told him a similar check would be useless; the man had been shot in the head with a plasma torch. The melted remains of his helmet made the state of the Marine’
s head very, very certain.
The bridge. The thought shoved its way past the numbing fog in Jacob’ head. I have to make sure that the bridge is okay. Otherwise we’re dead. He reached over and picked up the Marine’s rifle, the bulky shape unfamiliar and heavy in his hands. He stood, clumsily bringing the muzzle of the gun around to point at the closed door that led to the bridge.
To his horror, the door slid open with a hiss. Immediately, he ducked back behind the low barrier, still clutching the rifle. Jacob froze as voices reached him; one of the men was Lieutenant Morris. The Marine seemed satisfied somehow, as if he’d eaten a delicious meal. “…the bomb should have killed most of them, so we shouldn’t have to deal with much in the way of organized opposition. After all, without any lieutenants to guide them and the bridge under our control, who’s going to lead them? The ensigns?”
One of Morris’ companions gave a bark of laughter, but another growled.
“We should still make sure the elevator’s down, maybe seal the access ladder shut too. We don’t want anyone popping up to surprise us after all.”
“Fine, fine, we’ll make sure it’s taken care of. We just need to get the ship to the rendezvous without incident, and then the crew will have plenty more to worry about besides us.” Morris’ words were tinged with impatience now, and Jacob gritted his teeth. Their ship was being hijacked. The treacherous lieutenant kept speaking. “Are there any other concerns before we continue?”
A woman’s voice spoke up. “What about the secondary target? If he gets involved in the fighting and gets himself shot, Dianton will—”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that. Rich boys like that always run for cover when the shooting starts.” Morris’ dismissive tone was unchanged. Jacob began to shift position slightly, getting close to the far edge of the barrier. By leaning against the low wall and peeking out from behind it, he could see the four people with Morris, all in Navy uniforms. The Marine lieutenant wore body armor, but Jacob caught sight of a crude patch on his shoulder. It showed the symbol of a skull, split down the middle by a bolt of lightning that struck down into a pool of blood beneath it. It was a symbol any frontier spacer would have recognized. Telosian pirates.
Jacob felt rage tear through him like a storm, but he held himself back for a moment. The pirates had not yet noticed him, and he needed to know the rest of their plan if he was going to warn the rest of the ship. It would do him no good to be shot dead in a frontal assault here. He started to move back around the corner of the barrier, intending to wait for reinforcements from below.
Then his heart nearly stopped when one of the pirates spoke up. “Hey, why’s the access ladder open?” The pirates turned as one to regard the oddity, all except for Morris. For one terrible instant, the traitor looked back toward the dead Marine whose rifle Jacob had taken. The dark eyes swept past the Marine’s outstretched, empty hands and beyond, possibly searching for the missing gun. Morris’ eyes widened when he saw Jacob instead, and the lieutenant started to bring the plasma torch in his hand up to fire.
He was too late. Before Morris could bring his weapon to bear, Jacob swung around the corner and pulled the trigger on the dead Marine’s weapon. Time seemed to slow as the scene played out. The rifle was a terrible engine of destruction, a railgun that sprayed magnetically charged, hollow point rounds at high speeds, and it jerked against Jacob’s grip as he swept it across the group. The slugs roared as they met the air outside the muzzle, and each shot filled the antechamber with a terrible flash of light and heat.
The first slug struck the man next to Morris, blasting through his Navy uniform as if it were nothing but paper. A second hijacker, this one a woman, was caught turning to face Jacob, and the slug smashed through her elbow and deep into her side. Two rounds slammed into Morris’ breastplate, knocking him back against the bulkhead. The movement triggered a burst of plasma from his weapon that burned through the floor. One of the other two pirates caught a slug in the shoulder; while he spun under the force of the impact, a second burst through his skull and he dropped. The last man managed to fire back. His pistol rounds skipped off the bulkhead next to Jacob while the rifle’s slugs marched a ragged, bloody line across the pirate’s torso.
Morris, stunned by the sudden ambush, tried to push himself off the bulkhead, but Jacob swung the rifle back to train it on him. He kept the trigger pulled, knowing that if the short range didn’t make up for the protection Morris’ armor provided, he wouldn’t last long against an armored ex-Marine. Round after round slammed into Morris, knocking him off his feet. Fragments of shattered rounds littered the floor, but Jacob refused to let up.
Then the rifle stopped firing. Jacob stared at it in horror. A red light burned to life on the rear portion of the weapon. Terrified realization wormed its way into his mind. Out of ammo. I’m dead.
Morris was still alive. His armor battered and broken, the cerrafiber plates slick with blood, the traitor struggled to rise. As Jacob backed away, Morris tried to bring the plasma torch around to fire. Jacob could see the hatred in Morris’ eyes and knew that if the man succeeded, he would die. Then the gun slipped away from the dying man as he grew pale with pain and blood loss. Morris snarled at him, his face now filled with desperate rage. “Damn you, you bastard! Damn you to hell…”
Jacob lay the rifle down on the floor next to the Marine the pirates had killed and walked over to where one of their pistols had been dropped. “Not today, traitor.” He picked it up, aimed and fired. The Lieutenant jerked once, and went still.
Almost fearing what he would see, Jacob turned towards the still-open door to the bridge. A scene of devastation greeted the ensign’s eyes. Commander Rodgers lay sprawled at his command station in the center of the bridge, bleeding from a pair of holes in his chest. Lieutenant Commander Piebald lay at the auxiliary stations along the side of the bridge where he probably supervised the piloting of the ship. A petty officer at the Sensor station on the right and another at the Communications console on the left both lay face down in pools of blood.
Sickened, Jacob staggered into the bridge, searching for someone, anyone who had survived. The Helm console was slightly below and in front of the command station; his desperation to find anyone alive meant that even seeing Schroder unharmed would be a relief. He made his way to where the command station sat and looked down to find the console empty. There was no sign of blood.
He only had a heartbeat to realize what that meant before a blow to the back of his head pitched him forward. The pistol fell from his stunned hands, and Jacob barely kept himself from falling straight on his face. He twisted around to find Schroder, alive and smiling with a pistol in his hand.
“Well, well, well. Jacob Hull. I told you I would get you, didn’t I?” Schroder’s smile widened, and he motioned with the pistol. “Your hard, common skull was harder than I thought though. Interesting. Stand up.”
Jacob glanced at his pistol, but it had bounced too far out of reach. He stood slowly, still a bit stunned by the blow to the head. “You won’t get away with this Schroder. You’re alone now, and I won’t be the only one to check the bridge.”
“Oh, so you think you’ve won, Jacob? We have more people coming. Morris and the others were useful for taking the bridge, but they really just needed me to drive it and let the rest of the crew in.” Schroder laughed. “The new crew I mean. The old ones will just have to go.”
Jacob kept his gaze fixed on the ensign, watching for an opening to charge, or to dive for the gun on the floor. There was none. “You’re going to kill them?”
“You catch on quick for a fool, Hull. We’ve already started with the command crew, but I guess I could be persuaded to sell some of the rest off to slavery rather than kicking them all out an airlock. Except maybe a few. Laurie, maybe. And Isaac.” Schroder’s voice had turned hard and cruel now. “You don’t have much of a chance, though frontier scrub. You see, Morris was the leader’s right hand man. His blood brother, in fact. You’ll have a lot
of explaining to do. Or screaming, at least.” He smiled. “Then again, if I kill you now it might make up for the mess you’ve made. That, and it would be so very, very sweet…”
The words trailed off, and Schroder’s finger began to tighten on the trigger. Jacob’s heart filled with dull resignation. He’d done all he could; the rest would be up to the others.
A flash of light, a roar of sound, and Jacob closed his eyes, waiting for the impact to knock him from his feet. He waited in vain. Schroder groaned, and Jacob opened his eyes to find the traitor wavering on his feet. A patch of red was spreading on the chest of his ensign’s uniform, and as Jacob watched, the traitor looked down at the wound, then up at Jacob. Their eyes met for a moment, and then the traitor collapsed.
There was a clatter of noise as a pistol fell to the floor, and Jacob turned. Commander Rodgers coughed and tried to pull himself up, still covered in blood and wounds. Jacob dropped his rifle and raced to his side. The commander was still breathing, but his pulse was thready and weak, and each breath was labored. “Hang on, Commander. I’m going to signal the ship’s medical officer.” Jacob ran to the Communications station. He struck a switch to broadcast ship wide. “Marines and medics to the bridge immediately! We have wounded!”
Running back to the commander’s side, he did his best to try and staunch the wounds, ripping off his dress uniform’s coat to make an improvised set of bandages. So much blood. He fought to keep panic from his voice. “They’ll be here soon, sir. Just stay with me.”
“Jacob.” Commander Rodgers' voice was barely audible over the alarms wailing in the background, and Jacob leaned closer to hear what the man was saying. Rodgers whispered to him, his voice broken and choked with pain. “Command code… Rodgers… 542…695…AGU47.”
Wolfhound Page 10
