by Phil Geusz
“The drive is hopeless,” my friend Pieter replied. “I’ve been chatting with the chief on my earpiece. The coils are all slagged—every last one of them. We’re totally helpless.”
The captain nodded. “And the other ships’ systems?”
Pieter’s eyebrows rose, then he shrugged. “Life support will be up and running again in twenty minutes—there’s no need to broach our bottled air. Our weapons will come back online about then, too. Such as they are, of course.” He shook his head. “And the battery was full-up when we switched over to it.”
Sir Leslie nodded gravely. “Your recommendation, Pieter?”
He shook his head, then winced as the motion joggled his wounded arm. “We’ll have to strike our colors, sir.” He looked away. “The Imperials don’t take prisoners. But it's said that sometimes they make exceptions for VIP’s…”
Blaine’s face hardened. “Belay that talk! And, belay it right now!” For an instant I thought that Sir Leslie was about to strike Pieter, but then he turned away. “We still have functioning weapons,” he declared. “We still have air. Most of all, we still have a fighting crew.” He turned to Sergeant Wells. “How are your marines?”
“Still in good shape, sir. Private Michaels was in sick bay with a fever earlier, but now he’s suited up and standing ready with the rest.”
“Excellent,” the captain replied. Then he scowled again and strutted back and forth, tapping his thigh with his silly little stick. “We’ll carry her by boarding, then,” he declared.
Pieter’s mouth dropped open, then he remembered himself and said nothing. Captain Blaine saw it, however, and strutted over just as quickly as his bandy little legs would carry him. “You don’t think we can pull it off, do you?” he asked.
Pieter scowled, then spoke the truth. “No, sir.”
Blaine smiled and nodded. “In fact, you think I’ve gone mad with the stress.”
“Perhaps, sir,” the first officer admitted.
“Excellent!” Blaine roared in reply, grinning fiercely. “Because then just maybe the Imperial bastard about to ram a light cruiser up our arse won’t see it coming either.” Then Sir Leslie’s face sobered. “Pieter,” he said gently. “I’m not a total fool, you know. I’m fully aware of what you’ve done for me throughout this entire commission. In my way I’ve tried to be properly grateful. Now I need you more than ever. Because, you see, no Baronet of Equatorial Tamboria has in the entire history of our House ever surrendered to the enemy. Not in four long centuries, and I can assure that I’ll not be the first!” He reached out and touched the first officer’s good shoulder. “So… are you with me, Pieter? Because without you we don't stand a chance.”
16
The Imperial cruiser was a good two hours behind us, so we had plenty of time to make our plan and ready ourselves to implement it. Or we should’ve had plenty of time, rather. The whole thing almost came unstuck when the captain learned that there wasn’t a single trained man left aboard the ship healthy enough to don a Field suit, nor any undamaged suits left for them to wear even if they could. For several long minutes Sir Leslie stared off into the distance as his skin turned a ghostly shade of white—attempting to grapple an enemy vessel without the protection of a Field suit was just a fancy way of committing suicide. And, of course, in the absence of proper gear it’d just about have to be Sir Leslie himself who made the crucial, lethal hookup—he could never ask anyone else to do that. Then Sergeant Wells reminded the captain that I still had a working unit, and suddenly everyone was shouting at everyone. “He can do it, sir!” Sergeant Wells declared over and over in the face of every objection. “I’ve seen him on EVA with my own two eyes. He’s a brave little bunny, that one is! And smart as a whip, too!” Finally I got tired of them all being so silly about it and told James that if anyone asked for me, I was off suiting up. Which proved to be easier said than done, because a lot of corridors were closed off and one unavoidable passage was half-flooded with drinking water. I tripped over something while trying to make my way down that one, so that I ended up sopping wet from my eartips to my toes. At first I was going to dry myself off, then I realized that I didn’t have any special conductive powder to dust myself with. Humans don’t need powder when wearing a Field suit, because their body-hair is practically non-existent. But we fur-wearing types were capable of building up quite a charge between our suits and skins. Dad had the stuff specially made for he and I, and the nearest bottle had long ago burnt up in re-entry over Marcus Prime. Maybe the wet fur would work instead? There was only one way to find out for sure. Besides, I didn’t have time to go back and find my blow-dryer anyway.
They were still arguing about me when I arrived back at the auxiliary command center, though Chief Engineer Leeds was polite enough to cut himself off in mid-sneer when I stepped around the corner.
“We have no choice, Pierre,” Captain Blaine declared, his face once more flat and hard. “Your objections are duly logged and noted.” Then Sir Leslie turned to me and ran a critical eye up and down my gear. “Is he wearing that thing correctly?” he finally asked the engineer.
“Silly fellow’s soaking wet!” Pierre declared, shaking his head. He was sitting in a wheelchair, with both legs in splints. “What kind of fluff-brained idiot gets into a suit like that?” Then he scowled. “But otherwise… Yes.”
The captain scowled and began to speak, but I beat him to it. “The main barracks corridor is flooded, sir,” I explained. “There wasn’t time to dry off.”
“Sounds perfectly sensible to me, sir,” Sergeant Wells interjected.
Captain Blaine closed his mouth and looked away. “He’ll have to make the attempt,” he repeated. “There’s simply no other choice.”
Then Pieter smiled at me. “Do you know anything about superconductors and Field dynamics?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Any two objects connected by a superconductor effectively become one, so far as a Field is concerned.” I wrinkled my brows, and suddenly a light dawned. “You want me to hook a superconducting cable to the cruiser, then?”
Pieter’s smile widened. “That’ll anchor us together, sure as can be. Plus, the resulting Field geometry will be so unfavorable that their coils will be useless. So they won’t have any shield effect, either.”
I blinked. “But, if they try to energize anyway…”
Chief Engineer Leeds smiled up from his chair, his blue eyes like ice. “Then the connections’ll arc like Satan’s own fireworks display. Which will kill anything within ten or twenty yards, unless it’s wearing a Field suit. And even then, the splash effects won’t do them any bloody good.”
Then Sergeant Wells spoke up. “I’ll be right there with you, David. Just as close by you as I can stand to be.”
I shook my head, confused. “But why, sir?”
The sergeant’s face grew hard. “Because, son, it won’t take very damned long at all for the Imperials to realize that they can’t maneuver so long as they’re grappled. Which in turns means that unhooking the superconductor is going to be their prime objective.” He leaned over and laid his hand atop my helmet. “So… I bet you don’t know how to use a hand blaster, do you?”
I shook my head, still a bit confused. “No, sir.”
“No worries,” he reassured me. “It’s not that hard.” Then he turned to the captain. “Permission to leave the bridge, sir? For both of us? We’ve got a lot to do.”
17
Sergeant Wells was right—using a hand-blaster was easy. Or at least it was easy when you equipped it with a triple-magazine and set it to “full-power, wide-dispersion”. “This configuration is bulky as all hell,” the head marine explained as he handed me the kludged-together result. “And much too heavy for most purposes, as well. But since you won’t be boarding with the rest, you’ll be fine. It’s just the thing for fighting in null-gee.” He smiled and showed me how the trigger and safety worked. “Normally we spend a week training a recruit on one of these things, and even then he’s only
authorized to use low power. But in the end it’s all about common sense, see? Don’t point the weapon at anything you don’t mean to kill, ever. If you can manage to keep that straight in your mind, well… The rest will come naturally.”
The grapple itself didn’t require much explanation, either. It was simply a long, braided carbon-fiber rope with a superconducting core. As soon as we went EVA the sergeant would clip one end to Hummingbird’s hull; then he and I would leap together across space to connect the other end to the enemy cruiser. Then, it’d be our job to keep it connected for as long as was necessary. The sergeant half-filled each of our EVA pouches with spare rope-clips, just in case.
Then, it was time to go. There was quite a line at the main airlock when Sergeant Wells and I arrived there—everyone on the ship who both possessed a working suit and was able to wear it had been told off for the boarding party. Not a single able-bodied soul was being left behind save for James and Pedro, neither of whom had proper gear. “Oh, my heavens!” Pedro gushed when he saw me all gussied up and ready for vacuum. “Ship’s boys aren’t supposed to even touch the suits, Daniel! Put that back where it belongs, right now! Or else you’re going to get into terrible trouble!”
Fortunately James was standing right there. “This is special,” he explained, reaching around the lapine and offering a reassuring squeeze. “And David is a very special Rabbit.”
“I don’t know…” Pedro complained, shaking his head dubiously. I couldn’t help but smile—he hadn’t even recognized the bulked-up blaster among all my other gear. Which was just as well; if he had, the poor old bun might’ve had a heart attack and died on the spot.
Then James was looking at me. “I wish I could come help,” he said.
“I know, sir,” I replied, looking down at my feet. “If there was any possible way, I’m certain you would.”
“I’ll take good care of Pedro,” he promised. “My family developed slavebunnies, you know. Long, long ago. So nowadays we consider you all to be our special responsibility. Every last one of you.”
My head tilted to one side, despite myself. “Really?”
He nodded. “Really. And it’s a responsibility that we take quite seriously, I assure you. So we have another special connection, besides just being best friends.” Then he smiled. “I know better than to tell you to be careful, David. So..." He shrugged, clearly at a loss for words. “Good luck.”
Then out of nowhere Captain Blaine appeared, wearing a gleaming gold-ornamented suit. “My lord!” he complained. “You belong down in the hold, where it’s safe!”
James smiled, and for an instant I felt as if I could read his mind. Nowhere’s truly safe, he wanted to reply. But perhaps for the first time on the whole voyage, James bowed to the baronet with genuine respect. “Of course, sir,” he replied. “I just wanted to wish David here the best of luck. And you as well, of course. You’re both being very brave, and I’m sure my father would be proud of you. I only wish I had a suit so I could go with you.”
The captain’s eyes glittered in steely pride as he returned the bow, adding a graceful flourish. “Someday I’m certain that milord will make an excellent officer,” he replied. “You’ll command thousands if not millions, and if your bloodline runs true you’ll lead them well indeed.” He smiled and placed his gauntleted hand atop James’s head. “But for now, you’re much too young for combat. The heart may be willing, but the flesh has yet to grow strong.”
Once again I could see that James wanted to say something, most likely regarding the fact that he was a bit older than I was. But again he was able to see that it wasn’t the correct time or place, so he just bowed again, smiled at me, and left to go hide with Pedro.
“Bye!” the Rabbit cried out to me as James gently led him away. “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble for wearing the suit!”
The captain snorted at this, then looked down at me. His face was once more distant and cold. Then, self-consciously, he squatted down so that we were eye to eye. “Do you understand what you’re to do?” he asked eventually.
“Grapple the enemy cruiser, sir,” I replied. “As soon as Sergeant Wells gives the signal. Then keep us grappled.”
He nodded, scowling faintly. “I wish… I mean, this should be…” Then his scowl intensified and he stood up again. “It isn’t going to be easy for any of us,” he explained at last. “I mean… The odds are against us going in—no one’s ever pulled off a successful opposed boarding against a naval vessel, you see. Just merchies and pirates, and not very damned often even against them.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t really understand what he was getting at.
“Your job, well… It’s the riskiest of all. In some ways, the position of honor. And…” He shook his head again.
I looked away and shrugged. “Don’t worry, sir. I know full well who and what I am. And what I’ll always be, even if I survive.”
Sir Leslie blinked, then looked down and for the first time seemed to actually see me, instead of just another slave-bunny. “Many a long-time veteran, given the job I’ve assigned you, would be quivering in terror,” he observed. “Perhaps you deserve better than what life’s handed you. Though you’ve done amazingly well for yourself already, by Rabbit standards. I mean, you’re free! And unless I miss my guess, the House of Marcus will always see that you’re well cared for.”
I looked away—Sergeant Wells was approaching after briefing his marines one last time. “All I ever wanted was to be a ship’s engineer, sir,” I said softly. “Nothing else matters.”
The captain’s eyebrows rose. “You? A ship’s engineer?” Sir Leslie sighed and shook his head. “Help me take that ship, and I’ll do everything I can for you. I mean every bit of that—I’ll pull strings to get you into overseer school, or databunny training, or any other appropriate field you might choose. My word of honor on it! But…” He shook his head again as he began walking away. “A Rabbit as a ship’s engineer? David, you simply must be reasonable about certain things!”
18
Sergeant Wells and I were among the first through the airlock, since we had special equipment to set up. There were any number of eye-hooks on Hummingbird’s outer hull to anchor our grapple to, and one was pretty much as good as another since the line wasn’t expected to come under much in the way of physical stress. The marine seemed surprised, however, when I snaked the line to three more anchor points and added connectors at each one. Yes, one single connection would indeed be enough to do the trick, most likely. But if all went well both the cable and the anchors were soon going to be carrying most of the power output of a medium-sized warship’s engineering plant, and more drain-points the better.
From then on our job mostly consisted of waiting, though our crewmates had plenty to do. Hummingbird’s lights went out sector by sector as the engineers shut down even emergency lighting, while the space-adept marines helped their less-nimble crewmates locate odd niches here and there to conceal themselves in. One place they didn’t hide, however, was inside the airlocks—open airlocks on a warship were an official signal of surrender, which was the last thing on Captain Blaine’s mind. Finally, as crippled and busted up as they were, the ship’s mechanical staff improvised a big, showy electrical arc not far from where the enemy’s last, most critical hit had penetrated our hull. They even set up a slow air leak to make it visible in the vacuum—it was a work of art, really. It must’ve made tons of radio noise on virtually any frequency one might name, while at the same time generating enough heat to mask the presence of functional life-support in those few areas of Hummingbird we’d left habitable. The thing was a masterpiece, in short, and I had to admire the skill and tenacity of the men who’d pulled it off despite having sustained so much damage to their own persons. Even if I still didn’t like them very much. Sergeant Wells punched my shoulder in glee at the sight, and I thumped him back twice by way of reply. Then something ripped through our souls as the enemy cruiser popped through into normal space, and th
ere wasn’t any more time for casual jibber-jabber.
I’d spent hours studying our antagonist through the ship’s computer, just as every other man aboard probably had. She was a Revolucion-class vessel, equipped with a battery of eight medium-powered naval blasters mounted in twin turrets and crewed by perhaps two hundred men. Fifty years ago the Revolucions, as befitted their class-name, had been truly revolutionary vessels. They’d introduced a new, previously top-secret control-rod configuration, and in their day had been the fastest things in deep space. They were still damnably quick by any measure, but otherwise their time was long past. Their blasters took too long to recharge, their Fields were finicky and established themselves slowly, and worst of all there were incurable developmental bugs in the control-rod geometry. While practically every high-performance ship in the sky today used an improved version of the new setup, including both Broad Arrow and Hummingbird, the Revolucions remained prone to sudden, massive engineering-plant failures—indeed, three of the class had vanished without a trace during translation. Most likely this particular example of the type had suffered a similar breakdown.
Certainly her translation was a miserable and poorly-synched one. She popped through a good fifty miles away from where Hummingbird lay seemingly inert in space, which was about as sloppy as the physics of the situation allowed. Space absolutely screamed at the insult; for a moment my vision blurred and twisted demons seemed to march against the stars. Then it was over, and my heart began to thump-thump-thump in excitement. Would the cruiser come and investigate? Would she take the bait? I snugged myself even closer to Hummingbird’s hull and waited as the enemy vessel zoomed along, seemingly ignoring us. Then, just when the vessel was about to fade from sight entirely…
…she came about to check us out!
Thump-thump! Sergeant’s Wells’s fist went on my shoulder, almost hard enough to hurt through the thick fabric. He’d been terribly disappointed to learn that my suit’s communications gear wasn’t compatible with RN stuff, but so far I thought we’d gotten by plenty well. I thumped him back, then watched as my fellow crewmen, some of whom hadn’t been able to find hideouts as good as ours, slithered through the shadows to take up positions out of line of sight.
