"Maybe we'd better phone for help, then."
We had already checked that. "They're jamming the broadcast."
"Can't we stop them?" She didn't have to ask what they would do once they got aboard our train.
"We could laser them down as they entered," I said. "If we could guard every lock. But they'll mate the whole train and could cross through any of a dozen locks. They're bound to get in sooner or later." I was answering her questions seriously, because at thirteen she was old enough to understand, and I didn't want her to be exposed to combat conditions without being prepared.
She was taking it well enough so far. "So we're holed up in here, in this sealed chamber, where they can't reach us, anyway?"
"That's part of it."
"But won't they just pry open the door and—"
"Yes. That will take them a little while, however, because they won't have heavy-duty equipment."
"But after that little while—"
"They would be in," I concluded. I suffered a momentary vision of one of the times in my own youth when pirates had boarded our refugee bubble, when Spirit and I had bracketed Hopie's present age. Violence, rape, and murder had ensued. This was not a vision I cared to share with my daughter, and I intended to protect her from ever experiencing it.
She glanced at me cannily. "But you're cooking something, aren't you?"
"I think you'd rather not know, honey."
"I think I'd rather not not know, Daddy," she countered. "I'm scared."
She spoke for those other than herself. It seemed better to reassure them all, especially Megan, who was sitting pale and tight-lipped. Again I was reminded that these were not combat personnel. Only Spirit and I had been toughened to this sort of thing, and Coral could handle it. The others were in trouble. "Mrs. Burton is arranging to shunt some steam inside," I said.
"Steam?" She didn't grasp the relevance.
"It will make them uncomfortable," I explained.
"Oh." She still didn't get it but did not pursue the matter further, and the others who did comprehend did not comment.
Our time passed. The other train could not connect to us because it could not see us. To enter the cloud blind would be to risk a collision that could cause both trains to implode, and obviously they didn't want to perish with us. But we knew they were outside, waiting.
Our smoke thinned. "Are you ready, Mrs. Burton?" I asked on the com.
"Not yet, boss. This thing's tough!"
"But our smoke is dissipating."
"Don't I know it!" she retorted. "But this baby's a stinker. I've got to have more time."
The enemy train was coming into view as the smoke continued to fade. "Casey, how sure are you about the implosion resistance of this train?"
Casey shook his head. "Not sure at all, Gov'nor. She's pretty old."
"Then the other train won't be sure, either."
"For sure. We all get nervous about going down."
"So if we go down, they may not."
Casey swallowed. "I'd sure rather go up, Gov'nor!"
I angled my head, peering up. "That contrail—isn't that a high-velocity plane?"
Spirit glanced up, nodding. "Navy surplus dual element fighter," she said. "I've been watching it."
I raised an eyebrow. "It was there before the smoke?"
"Dual-element" meant that it functioned in either space or thin atmosphere.
"Affirmative. Circling above us."
"So if we rise, we'll get strafed."
"Seems likely," she agreed. "And one bullet through our seal—"
"I got the message," Casey said. "They figured to drive us up, then hole us. We can't go up."
"We can't go up," I agreed. "They can't come down this deep, but they don't need to, as long as that other train's here. We must go down—until Mrs. Burton's ready."
"I hope she's ready soon," he said fervently. Casey was no coward, but the notion of implosion had him green about the gills. I suppose those who travel in atmosphere all their lives feel about implosion the way we who have traveled much in space feel about sudden depressurization. We all have our peculiar horrors. Still, I remembered the way that city-bubble had gone down during the storm a dozen years before, and I knew I was not immune to that fear.
The enemy train drew alongside us again, ready to lock on. We dropped suddenly as our gee-shields moved to quarter-gee. It took the enemy a moment to reorient; then it dropped, too, but we dropped faster. It took them another period to phase in on our rate; then they closed again.
The alarm klaxon went off on our train: pressure had reached six bars. Everybody jumped, and Casey stiffened. "God, I'm not a praying man, but if they don't stop soon, we'll have to."
The enemy train slowed its descent, evidently similarly wary of the pressure. We slowed, not going any deeper than we needed to. But then they tried to close again, and we had to drop farther. Six point five bars. Six point six. We were all getting uncomfortable.
"Resume forward motion," I ordered the engineer.
"Gotcha, Gov'nor." He sounded just like Casey. The train commenced forward motion, and as the vanes took hold, the gee-shields eased, allowing trace gravity to return. That was a comfort.
But the enemy matched velocity and closed again. We had gee but not freedom. "Ready yet, Mrs. Burton?" I inquired, keeping my voice calm.
"Almost," she replied. "I've got the bypass, but I don't have the stuff I need for the release. I'll have to rig a mechanical release, and that'll take time."
"We're down about as far as we dare go," I said. "If we go too far—"
"I know, boss. But without a remote-control unit—"
"Well, rig your chain," I said. "Then get over here as fast as you can—you and Jones. They're about to lock on and board."
"We can let them board at the tail end," Spirit pointed out. "There are five cars back there we won't be using. One guard at the back of the diner can hold them off for a while."
"And we can concentrate our force at engine, travel car, and diner," I agreed. "Between us we have six lasers; two lasers per person, one person guarding the rear, one the engine, and one the travel car—"
"Three, right," Coral said. "But you not one of them."
"But I'm trained," I protested.
"You the king. You die, all dead." She was right. My life could not be risked any more than that of the king in a chess game. It was the single nonexpendable piece.
The locks were four-way affairs, actually almost separate units, which clamped to the ends of the connected cars to provide access from either side and/or an open passage between cars. They could be closed, but we had the car access open for our own convenience. This meant that the enemy train could connect by one lock between each two cars, for, of course, it could only tie in on one side of us or the other. We had, in effect, a series of T-connectors to guard, with the enemy coming through the stem of the T.
Spirit went to the rear of the diner to guard the access from the back of the train; she would retreat to the home chamber when she had to. Coral went to the front, guarding the entrances to both diner and passenger car—a difficult position but one for which she was most competent. Ebony was ready to go to the engine, but Casey protested. "Can't send a little gal into that," he said. "That's a man's job. I'll do it."
"This isn't your quarrel," I reminded him. "You just come with the train."
"And it's my train they're raiding," he said. "And my pal Jones up there in the cab. Gimme that laser."
I had to acquiesce; he surely would be more effective than Ebony. I gave him two lasers and let him go. "But when I call you in, you and Mrs. Burton and Jones come in here fast," I told him. "You know what we're planning."
"Sure do," he said, and headed grimly out.
The enemy train closed the moment we stopped maneuvering. We tried to confuse it by jogging up and down, but they flung magnetic grapples, normally used for moving individual cars about, and captured us. Now we could see that the enemy cars were packed
with armed men; there must have been fifty of them. This was going to be rough, indeed.
Still, a single person with a laser could hold off an army at a narrow aperture, and all the locks were narrow. As long as the laser charges held out we could hold on, and we hoped that would be long enough for Mrs. Burton to complete her job.
We closed off the restaurant chamber, but the com kept us in touch with the rest of the train. We could see Spirit's post, overlooking the entrance to the sleeping car; she had good coverage of the locks there. Coral had similar coverage of the passenger car, but her job was more difficult because she could not risk firing toward the engine unless she was sure that Jones and Mrs. Burton were clear. Casey had the easiest post, backed by our own people, but it was also farthest from the security of the diner. When we contracted, Coral would have to protect the retreat from the engine; then she and Spirit would follow, leaving the rest of the train to the raiders.
The enemy connected with a series of clanks as each car lock mated with its opposite. These things were largely automatic; with five bars pressure outside, or more, it was foolish to risk the unreliability of human beings for the multiple couplings. It made sense, but I was struck by the similarity of this situation to the one we had faced as refugees in a bubble-ship in space, unable to prevent the entry of pirates. Surely these were pirates here!
They did not come cautiously; they came with the abandon of grossly superior numbers, seeking to overwhelm us in an instant. Every lock opened simultaneously, and men came through each, holding their lasers ready.
They were met by the fire of our own lasers. One beam from Spirit, one from Coral, and two men fell, each holed efficiently in the throat. Casey, untrained in this, hesitated, but when a beam coruscated into the frame of the lock beside him, he fired back, winging an enemy. The man fell but fired again, and a second man appeared behind him.
"Shoot for the face," I told Casey. "One beam per man, no more; they outnumber us." Of course, the enemy could hear the com speaking, but that couldn't be helped.
Casey gulped and did it, taking out the second man and then the first. Casey was no killer, but it was his train he was defending, and he knew he was in a desperate situation.
After that initial round the enemy paused; no man came into our range. But they were boarding all along the rear of the train, and now they knew exactly where we were.
"Progress, Mrs. Burton?" I asked, still keeping my voice calm. I knew that our time was running short—very short.
"Close enough," she said. "I'm rigging a line; I can pull the cork from the diner; I think it'll work."
"Then unroll your line, Mrs. Burton," I said. "Get back here quickly—you and the engineers."
She strung her line, and the three of them retreated from the engine, entering the passenger car. But, as they reached the center, more men burst in at the now-unguarded engine lock, threw themselves into the crannies of the cab, and began firing into the passenger car. Casey whirled to face them but too slowly; a beam seared into his leg, and he cried out and fell, dropping his own weapon. Coral aimed her laser but could not fire at the enemy without striking our own people.
"Get under cover!" Coral screamed at them. "Behind the seats!"
Belatedly they obeyed. But now the enemy men had a direct line of fire down the center aisle of the car, making further retreat hazardous.
"Cover your heads," Coral called. Then she hurled something. It skidded along the floor, then rolled, fetched up at the far end, and exploded. A small grenade. "Now get into the diner—fast!" Coral ordered.
Jones and Mrs. Burton scrambled up, but Casey could not regain his feet. Jones grabbed him by the shoulders and started hauling him along.
Mrs. Burton lifted her spool of line. "It's been severed!" she exclaimed, horrified. "I've got to reconnect it!"
But already more men were piling into the cab and into the front of the diner. I saw that Coral could not hold off both groups simultaneously. "I'm going out there!" I cried. "Otherwise we're lost! Shelia, take over coordination." Then I wrenched open the lock and dived out. I had no laser, but I was combat-trained, and the old reflexes guided me.
Now I could not see what the others were doing, for the com was a spot-address system, but I knew Shelia would be advising Coral of my approach. Accordingly I did not concern myself about her; I assumed she would cover the far side of the passenger car and leave the near side to me.
I was right. I burst into the lock area between cars and plowed into two men. I clubbed one on the side of the neck hard enough to send him reeling into the wall and dived low at the other. I caught him by the knees and lifted, sending him to the floor. Thank God for gee; that maneuver would not have worked in free-fall.
The first man was not completely stunned. He started to bring his laser about. I grabbed his arm, straightened it against my body, and broke his elbow with a strike of the heel of my left hand. This isn't sanitary fighting, but it is effective. I took the laser from him, set it at his ear, and fired a half-second beam.
Steam boiled out of his ear, and he fell. I beamed the other in the throat, and he ceased operation. The messy throat shot is the one that holes the jugular vein; the neat shot merely cooks the spinal nerve. I had done it neatly. Then I moved on to check the passenger car.
To my surprise our people weren't moving; they were huddled in dialogue. "Get into the diner!" I yelled.
Without turning, Coral answered me. "Her line was severed by my grenade, but we can't restring it. Enemy's got the engine."
I saw the problem. We had to have that line intact or our retreat was pointless. "Jones, get your friend to cover," I snapped. "I'll take care of this."
Without a word Jones heaved Casey up on his shoulders and staggered toward the diner. It wasn't the weight that gave him trouble, for gee was fractional, but the lack of it; he had been braced for a much heavier load.
A pirate face showed above a seat. Coral skated a metal star at it, and it disappeared.
I joined her. "I'll cover you. Toss another grenade."
She ran on to the cab while I watched, laser poised. When she was beside the lock, I moved up. There were two bodies there, but a laser beam speared out from the cab. I fired back, forcing the man to duck away, and fired again as Coral readied her grenade. Then she hurled it in.
We were shielded from the direct blast, but the concussion rocked me. We jumped into the lock, guarding it from approach from the other train, while Mrs. Burton stepped through.
"No good," she said as soon as she saw the cab. "My attachment's been broken off. Can't use the line now."
"Can't set it off?" I asked, dismayed. The enemy force, numerous as it was, was spread throughout the train; four men dead had depleted this region, but I heard more charging forward in the other train. We could close the lock, but they would just open it again. Without that device of hers, we would be finished.
"I'll set it off," she said. "You scoot back to the diner. I'll give you thirty seconds."
"But—"
"Better do it, boss," Shelia said on the com. "They're moving against Spirit; she'll have to retreat in a moment. Another's in the lock behind you; he doesn't know where you are yet, but—"
I had a hard decision to make in a hurry. "You want it this way, Mrs. Burton?"
"I'm old, boss," she said. "You gave me a good retirement. Now move!"
"Move," I echoed, knowing it was the only way. We closed the lock to the other train, which I hoped would delay entry for thirty seconds. Coral preceded me down the length of the passenger car, running fleetly.
A beam speared out from the next lock. Coral returned the fire, but then she stumbled. I knew she had been hit. I vaulted over her body, landed beside the lock, started my beam, and poked my hand around the corner, spraying the entire chamber without looking. I heard the noise of someone falling. Then I jumped back to Coral, heaved her up, and careened on through, stepping over the bodies. Gummy blood adhered to my soles; one of those killings had been m
essy. Our thirty seconds was up, and we weren't safe yet.
I heard a loud hissing from the cab. I knew what it meant. "Farewell, Mrs. Burton!" I gasped as I launched myself at the door to our chamber. It opened as I reached it; I stumbled in, and it closed behind me. I saw that Hopie was operating it; she had been alert and timed it perfectly.
Now we watched what happened beyond our sanctuary. The screen showed it clearly. A great rush of steam was pouring from the cab, billowing out, funneling through the locks from car to car in both trains, spreading throughout the length of both. We heard the screams of the men being burned. They could not escape; the steam quickly permeated every crevice of both trains, and it was super-hot. It was the steam that normally drove the propulsion propellers; Mrs. Burton had tapped into one of its lines, routing it into the passenger section. This was, of course, an abuse of valuable water, but a necessary device on this occasion.
I checked Coral. She had been burned through the abdomen. She was alive but unconscious. We gave her a sedative to keep her that way; she would live but would only be in pain while conscious, until we got her to a competent medical facility.
"She did her job," Spirit murmured.
Indeed, she had. Coral had taken the shot that might otherwise have caught me.
After a few minutes the trains were quiet. We waited for the steam to cool; in due course it condensed to water. No more came from the engine; we had exhausted its limited supply.
Spirit and I emerged to find globules of water floating about the cars; naturally we had returned to null-gee when the drive power of the engine was sabotaged by the loss of steam pressure. Such was my distraction, I hadn't even noticed. We could no longer use this engine, but fortunately we had another available, from the other train.
There were dead men everywhere; the steam had suffocated them all. I exchanged a glance with Spirit. Yes, we remembered the bubble in space! We had been attacked once too often by relentless pirates and had killed them all by depressurizing the ships. Had anything really changed?
Mrs. Burton was dead, too, of course—and that also echoed the past. "Helse," I murmured. There was no similarity between the young, beautiful girl of my past and the old woman of the present, except this: each had knowingly sacrificed her life in horrible fashion to save mine.
Anthony, Piers - Tyrant 3 - Politician Page 31
