Relieved beyond words, I blurted, “Gregor, would you like me to appoint you cadet midshipman?”
He shot me a surprised glance, then shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve given my oath and I’ll obey orders, but that would be like volunteering. I’m no volunteer. I don’t want to force other men to follow orders against their will. It wouldn’t be honest, and if I don’t believe in what you’re doing, I wouldn’t make a good officer.” His gesture was placating. “I understand you meant it as a compliment, sir. Perhaps if I come to feel differently and you still want me ...”
“Very well.” Though I was hurt, I felt reluctant admiration for his honesty. “Mr. Attani, sit in that chair. Don’t get up. Don’t touch the hatch control panel. Touch nothing except this caller.” I keyed the corridor camera onto the console screens. “Watch these cameras. If they show anyone other than Mr. Tyre or me, or if you hear any attempt to cut through the hatch, or if any alarm goes off, thumb the caller, like this, and call me. Don’t move the caller key, it’s set for the entire ship. Do you understand?”
For the first time Gregor seemed a bit awed. “Yes, sir. How long do you expect to be?”
“A few minutes. Perhaps more.” I took my rifle. “Philip, release the safety on your pistol. Guard behind us; I’ll watch ahead.” I sealed the hatch; no one could enter without the code unless Gregor Attani opened it from inside. Even with the code, I couldn’t enter if Gregor activated the override on the hatch control.
I led Philip along the corridor, our weapons ready. We encountered only the looming gray bulkheads. My relief at reaching the arms locker was short-lived; its hatch panel was smashed, the keypad dangling. Without much hope I entered the code I’d set; the hatch remained closed.
I swore under my breath; while I’d made histrionic speeches in the dining hall the enemy had been busy. Had they gained entry? I scrutinized the armory hatch. It appeared solid; thank Lord God I’d sealed it properly. Once sealed there was no way to open an arms locker by shorting the wires; the thick alloy plate would have to be breached with heavy welding gear.
Philip waited patiently. I thought of retreating to my bridge stronghold, decided against it. Time would work against us. Three of us were not enough to man the bridge, guard the armory, and get a torch; it would take more than one man to hold the armory for any length of time. “Mr. Tyre, wait here until I return. Guard the arms locker.”
“Aye aye, sir.” His voice was tense.
I hurried around the corridor bend to the bridge and entered the code. The hatch slid open. Gregor Attani sat silently, hands clenching the chair arms. “It’s all right, Gregor.” I snatched the rifle I’d left behind, resealed the hatch behind me, ran back to the armory.
“Philip, put away your pistol and carry this. Go down the east ladder to Level 3. Watch for the rebels. Unseal the crew berth and get Walter Dakko. Reseal the berth, give him the rifle, and both of you report back here. Hurry.”
His footsteps faded. Checking to make sure the safety of my laser rifle was off, I leaned against the inner bulkhead, rifle cradled in my arms, turning my head left to right every few seconds. I could hear nothing.
An eternity passed. Finally I heard their returning footsteps from the west. Philip hummed under his breath. As they came round the corridor, my grin of relief vanished.
I was face-to-face with Seaman Clinger.
He had a cutting torch assembly strapped across his back. Behind him two other men stood frozen, as astonished as I.
I moved in slow motion to raise my rifle. Clinger backpedaled, clawing at his pistol.
He got off a shot. A bolt of lightning crackled past my head; a white-hot knife caressed my cheek with infinite pain. I screamed. My hair sizzled. I managed to fire just as he threw himself to the deck and rolled past the corridor bend. I missed. Where he’d lain a second before, a buckled deck plate smoked.
Clinger’s whisper was sharp and urgent. “Simmons, go round the other side, flank! Akkrit an’ me’ll hold him here!” The thud of running feet.
One rebel dashed around the circumference corridor to come at me from the east, while Clinger and his henchman menaced from the west. In moments I’d be under fire from both sides. I charged west, firing as I ran, but Clinger and his companion retreated, keeping out of sight around the corridor bend.
Unless I retraced my steps I’d be trapped too far around the bend to defend the armory hatch. I flattened myself against the bulkhead alongside the hatch, ear and scalp throbbing, my eye tearing. I resolved to fire at whoever came at me first.
From the east, a faint sound. I aimed. Nobody appeared.
It was all my fault, for letting them approach so near unchallenged. Cursing my carelessness, I leaped across the corridor to the far bulkhead, whirled to the east. I got off three quick shots at the retreating Simmons, then spun west to fire at Clinger, but he ducked back around the bend as he saw me turn.
As my beam sizzled past his head my rifle gave a warning beep. Its charge was nearly exhausted. Clinger gave a hoarse yell. He too had heard. “Now, joes! He’s almost out of bolts!” Not knowing what else to do I charged east, stamping loudly, then whirled and did the same heading west. I could hear footsteps scramble out of my way, but I knew the gambit wouldn’t work for long.
A bolt scorched the bulkhead. I retreated east. “You’re done, Captain,” Clinger crowed. “Give up now and we won’t—”
An agonized scream. It rent the air for terminable seconds. A gasp, a sobbing breath, and again a shriek. The thud of running feet.
I whirled to meet the new threat, finger poised on the trigger. Philip Tyre stumbled toward me, Walter Dakko close behind.
“Thank God!” I gestured toward the sounds of agony. “Simmons?”
“I shot him, sir.” Tyre’s face was green, his eyes glassy.
I squeezed his arm, guided him to rest against the bulkhead. “Steady, boy.”
“I’ll be all right.” His voice was thick.
I pointed back the way he had come. “Quick now, around the corridor, both of you. Catch the bastard from behind!” We’d give Clinger a taste of his own medicine. As they ran off I checked the charge indicator on my rifle; enough for two more shots, at best. Impatiently I waited for Dakko and Tyre to get into position. Time passed. I could hear nothing beyond the moaning and crying of the wounded man.
“Mr. Tyre?”
“Here, sir,” he called back. “About twenty-five meters from the armory.”
“Very well. Move forward a meter; I’ll do the same.” Very cautiously I inched forward, rifle poised to fire. Nothing. “Again!” This time I threw myself against the far bulkhead as I dashed forward. I thought I saw a flash of color at the edge of the corridor horizon. “One more time!” I yelled. I jumped forward. A shape leaped toward me; I nearly fired before I recognized Walter Dakko. Trembling, I lowered my rifle. We approached each other with caution.
“Where is he, sir?” Philip’s pistol was ready.
“The west ladder,” I said wearily. “They retreated below-decks as soon as they heard my order to cut them off. They were a lot closer to the west ladder than you were, going all the way around.”
Philip Tyre cursed long and fluently. I raised my eyebrow. I hadn’t thought the boy had it in him. He ground to a halt, glanced at me sheepishly. “Sorry, sir.”
“You said it well enough for both of us.” I followed the corridor past the armory to where Simmons lay writhing.
Horribly scorched, he was clearly beyond our ability to aid. A laser pistol is a nasty weapon. “Look away, Philip.”
“Wha—?” I saw his sudden look of comprehension and horror. For a moment he stared into my eyes, then obeyed. I lowered my rifle, put an end to the tormented moans.
When I turned back neither of them spoke. I said, “We need to cut through the armory hatch; my rifle has only a couple of bolts. You two hold the corridor here by the armory. No; better yet, hold the top of the ladders, east and west. Look over the railing and nail anyone who
tries to climb from Level 2. I’ll run down to the engine room and rummage up the gear we need to burn through the hatch.”
“Take the other rifle, sir,” Philip said. “It’s fully charged.”
“No, I can retreat if I have to, but I want you to hold Level 1 at all costs.”
“But you can’t defend—”
“Don’t argue with orders, Midshipman.” My face burned abominably.
It brought him up short. “Aye aye, sir. Sorry, sir. But please be careful,” he added in a rush.
I smiled; it hurt dreadfully. “Oh, yes. Very.” I nodded toward the west ladder and Philip went off. Walter Dakko accompanied me to the east ladder, took up his position at the rail. “Don’t shoot me when I come back,” I warned.
He grinned without mirth. “I’ll try not to, Captain. It would help if you give me a signal before you come into view.”
“Good idea. I’ll identify myself as Challenger, as I would coming aboard.” I paused. “And just in case, I’ll call myself Seafort if I’m under duress. You understand?”
“Yes.” Dakko looked grim. I decided it wasn’t a good time to remind him of Naval courtesies, and went on my way.
At the foot of the ladder on Level 2, I poked my head cautiously into the corridor. No one was in sight I hurried around the ladder well and continued down toward Level 3. About halfway, the reaction hit me. My knees began to shake so badly I thought I would fall the rest of the way. Clutching the rail, I sat heavily on the step while my cheek throbbed with a fierce fire. I took several deep breaths to dispel my dizziness.
After a while I felt well enough to proceed. I glanced down the ladder to the deserted Level 3 corridor. Somewhere below lurked Clinger and his accomplices. I gagged, recalling the sweet stench of Simmons’s burning flesh.
My hand crept toward my pulsing cheek. I willed myself down the ladder, but my feet had a mind of their own. They didn’t move. With shock and contempt I realized I was terrified of what lay below.
The cool gray light of the corridor beckoned. I fought a silent battle with my fear, knowing that every moment I dawdled Philip and Walter Dakko’s danger increased, and the rebels would have more time to organize. I stared down the ladder a long time before I realized I was beaten. Slowly, reluctantly, I turned and trudged up the ladder.
I would have to devise some other plan. Guard the armory myself, perhaps, while I sent Mr. Tyre and Dakko to fetch the cutting tools. Or summon Gregor Attani from the bridge to help Dakko guard the upper deck, while Tyre and I forayed below decks.
I paused at the Level 2 corridor, groping for the words to explain my change of plan. It wasn’t fair. If only Clinger’s bolt had injured me more seriously, no one would expect me to go below.
I took the first step toward Level 1, stopped, reluctantly turned myself around. There was no way I could face Philip with my cowardice. Better even to die.
“God damn it!” I ran full tilt down the ladder, heedless of the danger and oblivious of blasphemy. I skidded into the Level 3 corridor, rifle ready, heart pounding.
No one was there. The terrors of hell pursuing me, I raced along the corridor to the engine room hatch. I passed crew berth one and thought wildly of unsealing it and getting help, before I remembered that the men inside were unarmed. I galloped on.
I reached the engine room, slapped the hatch control, hoping against hope it wasn’t sealed from inside. My back itched with anticipation of the impact of a bolt. None came. The hatch slid open. I dived in.
Chief Dray sat morosely at his bare table, eyes widening with shock as I tumbled in. “Jesus, Captain, I haven’t been drinking—I swear!”
“Never mind that,” I gasped. “Have you seen the rebels?”
He stared at me in surprise. “I heard noises, about an hour ago. Whoever it was, they didn’t come in here. What happened to your face?”
“I need a torch and crowbars to cut through the armory hatch. Where?”
“Engine room stores compartment would have two torches,” he said slowly. “There’d be others in the machine shop.”
I tried to recall where to find the storage compartment “Next hatch?”
“There’s an entrance off the corridor, and one through here, from the shaft room.” He got to his feet.
“Hurry, God damn you!” That got him moving, all right. If I made it home alive it would probably get me beached for blasphemy, as well. I no longer cared.
A few moments later we had a torch, gas bottles, and a big steel crowbar. I had him haul the gear while I led the way with the rifle. We moved slowly along the corridor toward the east ladder, the same direction from which I’d come.
I froze, hearing voices. They were behind us, a long way down the corridor. “Run!” I whispered, and we scrambled up the ladder.
As I rounded the Level 2 ladder well a figure loomed in the shadows. I yelled in horror and fired reflexively. I missed. Annie stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth working in terror.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” I cried.
“Why Cap’n shootin’ Annie?” She crouched against the bulkhead. “Annie no trouble ta Cap’n. No fight. Why?”
I swallowed. “You scared the hell out of me, girl. Go back to your cabin and lock the hatch. Hurry.”
“Why alia runnin’, alia shoutin’? Who’s—”
“Go!” I yelled, my temper irrevocably lost. She fled. I ran toward the ladder, Dray behind. Then I remembered, and stopped so suddenly he skidded into me and nearly pitched me over. “It’s Challenger,” I called hoarsely.
“Right,” Dakko’s voice was tense. I ran up the ladder, Dray puffing behind me. Dakko covered us as we ran.
I stopped for breath when I was finally out of sight from the corridor below. “Stay on guard, Mr. Dakko, while we see to the armory.”
“Yes, sir.” As I ran forward Dakko corrected himself, “Aye aye, sir.” Despite myself I smiled, but my amusement vanished when I had to step over the grisly remains of the deckhand Simmons.
I had Chief Dray assemble his equipment outside the armory, while I checked the west ladder. Philip Tyre stood grimly, pistol braced on the rail pointed at the corridor below. “All’s well?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. No sign of trouble.”
I tried to contain my impatience while Chief Dray methodically cut his way through the heavily reinforced hatch. The armory and the bridge were the two most fortified points on the ship. Slowly the white-hot line advanced.
The bulkhead speaker crackled to life. Gregor Attani’s panicked voice filled the corridor. “Captain, an alarm’s ringing!”
Cursing, I dashed to the bridge hatch and entered the code. I dived through as the hatch was sliding open and slapped it closed behind me.
“I didn’t touch anything, I swear!” Gregor blurted over the clamor of the bell and Kerren’s urgent warnings. “It just started—”
“Belay that, sailor!” I stared at the flashing light on the console.
Kerren blared, “Engine room hatch structural failure! Hatch circuitry compromised! Seal code inoperative—”
I sagged into my chair, the bridge whirling about me. Wearily I flicked a switch and the alarms fell silent. Beside me, Gregor Attani sat hunched in his seat, turned half away from the console.
“It’s all right, Mr. Attani.” My voice was dull. “There’s no danger.”
He was near panic. “Christ, when that went off I thought it was those things—those fish attacking us! I thought—” His eyes filled with tears.
“Easy, sailor. You’re all right.” For his benefit I forced my voice to remain steady while I tried to think our problem through, my brain stuffed with soft cotton.
The rebels were seizing the engine room. Kerren’s alarms hadn’t gone off when they’d attacked the armory because the rebels had dismantled its hatch control panel first. Now, pressed for time, they’d used brute force and cut through the engine room hatch. The heat from their torch had set off the alarms.
I had to attack them before they c
ould take over the engine room, but how? The rebels still had the rifle and the stunner they’d taken from Philip in the hold. My forces had a fully charged rifle, a pistol, and my own rifle, which had at most one shot left. Not enough weaponry to overpower them, unless I was very lucky, and I couldn’t count on luck.
I’d have more weapons once we breached the armory. But that would give them time to take and fortify the engine room. The rebels would control the ship’s power lines. I’d have most of the rest of the ship, including the bridge and the food.
I could starve them out; they could cut us off without heat and power. A standoff. I couldn’t allow that.
“Hold the bridge again.” I slapped open the hatch, bellowed, “Mr. Tyre!” Philip scrambled around the bend from the west. I beckoned toward the east ladder, where Walter Dakko stood guard. “Both of you, follow me!” I pounded down the ladder. “They’re forcing the engine room,” I panted. “We’ve got to stop them!”
We reached the foot of the ladder, on Level 3. I charged recklessly down the corridor, my troops at my heels. As I skidded around the bend the engine room hatch came into view. A leg was disappearing into a sizable hole cut in the hatch. My aim was off; I hit the hatch rather than the leg but the reflected heat brought a yelp of pain. I’d used the last bolt in my rifle.
Two cutting torches lay abandoned in the corridor. I heard a commotion inside the engine room. From within, a slab of deck plating appeared and was thrown over the gaping hole in the hatch. Infuriated, I threw my shoulder against the makeshift barrier. It gave way. I glimpsed a startled face, reaching hands, before the plate was slammed back into place. I lowered my shoulder and charged again, but somebody had shoved a wedge against the hatch; this time it didn’t budge.
Too late. The engine room was taken.
I flinched at the cool touch of the medipulse against my blistered cheek. Walter Dakko pursed his lips but said nothing. His hand was rock steady; already I could feel the pain lessen under the humming ministration of the disk. Perched on a utility table in the corner of the infirmary, Philip Tyre watched anxiously.
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 24
