“Marines,” Jamil reported, reverting to his comm. “The door leading from our position on the drop ship’s bridge to the facility’s airlock is standing wide open. The Marines must be in the airlock itself. They have a clear shot at us through the door. Their weapons are not set on stun!”
The chair’s upholstery was starting to smolder.
“Can you reach the controls to shut the door?” Xris asked.
“I can try.” Jamil rose to a crouch, using the chair for cover. He made a tentative move.
A laser blast nearly took off his head.
He flattened back down. “They’ve got scopes, infrared.”
“Damn!” Xris sat back on his heels, tried to think. “Tycho, get down there. See what you can do.”
Tycho dropped lightly through the hole, carrying his favored sniper rifle. He was nothing but a blur in the shadowy darkness, yet laser fire zipped and crackled all around him. He dropped on all fours, crouched like a spider, and skittered for cover behind a navigator’s platform.
“They’ve got them pinned down,” Xris reported for the benefit of the rest of the team. “Probably jammed the door open. I’m going to have to try to shut it manually, using the emergency override. Doc, we’ll need some of those sleep-gas grenades—”
He was interrupted by sounds of a scuffle from down below. More laser blasts.
“Hold your fire!” Jamil shouted to the Marines, using Standard Military. “We’ve got a hostage! Talk to ‘em, kid.”
Xris heard a whimper.
“I said talk to ‘em!”
“Don’t .. . don’t shoot!” came a frightened croak.
Xris jumped into the hole. He remembered about the chair at the last moment, clumsily attempted to swing wide, and missed, but just barely. He ended up slamming his good elbow into the chair’s back.
“Doc, watch out for that damn chair when you come down. Tycho, turn on some light. They might as well get a good look at us. Who’ve we got?”
Jamil, on his hands and knees, had something by the throat up against a bulkhead. Tycho crouched back to back with Jamil, rifle raised, alert and watchful. Quong dropped onto the deck, flourished the sleep-gas grenades, and ducked behind the chair. At Xris’s command, Tycho scuttled sideways over to the console, found the switch, activated the lights.
The door was wide open. Beyond—the narrow tunnel of the airlock. At the opposite end, Xris counted five Marine sharpshooters. Anyone going anywhere near that door would be toast.
Keeping well clear, Xris edged his way around the bulkheads to look at their captive.
“Don’t ... don’t shoot me, mister!”
It was a kid, maybe eighteen, dressed in coveralls and carrying a torque wrench in his shaking hand. He was wretched and scared to the point of passing out.
“Artificer’s mate, third class,” Jamil said, indicating the rank on the uniform. “Mechanic. I found him hiding underneath the navigator’s platform.”
The kid’s eyes rolled in his head. “Don’t shoot me!” The torque wrench slid from nerveless fingers, fell on the deck.
“He was probably working in here, panicked when he heard our ship land, and froze.”
“I don’t care if the angels dropped him down from heaven,” Xris said. “It’s about time something went right for a change. Come here, kid. We’re going to take a walk. If everyone keeps calm”—Xris raised his voice for the benefit of the Marines—”no one’ll get hurt!”
Jamil shoved the unresisting boy at Xris, who caught hold of the kid by the arm.
Weapon hand raised, his other hand—his good hand—dragging the kid along, Xris edged toward the open door. He walked into the sights of the Marines, could almost see them scowl in disappointment and frustration when the interior lights reflected off Xris’s metal body parts.
“Yeah,” said Xris loudly, walking as he talked, keeping the hostage near him, “you sharpshooters might hit me and miss the kid, but what good will that do you? Very few parts of me bleed. And with your first shot, either I take out the kid here or one of my team shoots him.
“Believe it or not”—Xris was coming closer and closer to the door controls—”we’re on the same side. There’s been a little misunderstanding, that’s all. If you can get hold of the Lord Admiral, tell Dixter that Major Mohini’s no traitor. Neither are we.”
The Marines were watching every move. The barrels of their beam rifles followed Xris as he went. At his side, plastered against him, the hostage was sweating and gulping, but at least he hadn’t fainted.
“You’re doing good, kid,” Xris said to the boy, to keep him going. If the kid went limp on him, it’d all be over. “You won’t get any medals for this, but with luck you’ll live to tell your grandkids about it.”
The controls were a lunge away. Xris braced himself for the jump. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jamil, Tycho, and Quong prepared to lay down covering fire.
“One last thing, kid,” Xris said quietly, “tell the Lord Admiral that the king’s life is in danger. Twenty-four hours from now. On Ceres. You got that?”
The kid stared at him, baffled, befuddled by fear. Xris doubted if what he’d said had made it through to the terror-crazed youngster. Not that it much mattered. NOROF wouldn’t be able to contact Dixter even if they wanted to. Still, it was worth a try.
“When I shove, you hit the deck. Keep your head down,” Xris advised, and, with all his strength, he heaved the boy through the door. In the same motion, the cyborg made the lunge for the door controls.
Either the boy took Xris’s advice or he had sense enough to know what was going to happen. He dove for the deck, hugged metal. Laser fire burned through the air above him.
Xris’s good hand yanked the emergency lever on the airlock, pulled it down. Screeching and grinding, the door began to swing shut. Xris had a final glimpse of the Marines attempting to rush it.
Quong tossed two sleep-gas grenades out the rapidly closing gap. An invention of Raoul’s, the grenades looked like the real thing, but instead of exploding, they emitted a gas that would send every oxygen-breathing person on a quick trip straight to the arms of Morpheus.
The last Xris saw, the kid, still lying on the deck, was valiandy attempting to kick one of the grenades back toward Xris.
Kid’s braver than he thinks. He might get a medal after all, Xris said to himself.
The door was only half a centimeter from closing. Groping for the controls to seal the door shut, Xris heard a hissing sound. He smelled a not unpleasant odor, was suddenly fuzzy and lightheaded. Everything on the other side of the door had gone very quiet.
The door shut, sealed. Xris locked it, then sagged onto the deck. Quong and the others hurried to him, their faces worried, anxious. He waved them off.
“I’m all right. Just caught a whiff of Raoul’s slumbertime concoction.” Xris coughed, shook his head, fighting an overwhelming desire to take a nap. “Jamil, you and Tycho see if there are any more nasty surprises hiding inside the landing module. Doc, get everyone else down here and then replace that hull plate.”
“I doubt if there’s anyone in here,” Jamil said.
Limping on his injured knee, he headed for the airlock that led from the command module to the launch module below. “This is the only access.”
He hauled the airlock open. He and Tycho disappeared below.
Quong touched his comm, but at that moment Rowan appeared, swinging herself from the hole, jumping lightly to the deck below.
“Toss my equipment down,” she ordered someone—probably Raoul—above.
A duffel descended with a thump, followed by Raoul.
“I’ve lost an earring,” he announced plaintively. “I don’t suppose anyone’s seen it?”
Xris struggled to get back on his feet, touched the comm.
“Harry, you finished up there?”
“The Schiavona’s programming is complete. She’ll fly back to Olefsky—”
“With my earring!” Raoul mourned. He stood ben
eath the hole, waiting to assist the Little One. “What good is one earring? I’m lopsided—”
“Start handing down the gear,” Xris commanded.
“Right.” Harry signed off.
Rowan was at the command module computer. Quong was searching the bridge for tools. Xris walked over to the airlock that led down into the landing module.
“Any problems?” he called.
“Nope. Looking good,” Jamil reported. “It hasn’t been unloaded yet. We’ve got one armored vehicle. Under wraps—”
“Computer reports indicate that it’s in good working order,” Rowan said, bringing up the files. “It’s a PVC-48 Devastator, if that means anything to you. It doesn’t to me.”
Jamil grunted. “Yeah. Well, it could or it couldn’t. I don’t suppose I have time—”
Xris shook his head.
“All right. Later. We have supplies and rations for a ten-day mission. Weapons, gas masks. Makes me feel nostalgic.” Jamil looked up through the airlock, grinned. “Like you said, about time something went right.”
“Don’t break out the champagne. We’re not out of this yet,” Xris advised. He was wondering why the Marines weren’t continuing their attempt to retake the drop ship. It wasn’t like them to give up. “Make sure everything’s secure down there.”
Straightening, he saw the Little One—arms outspread, legs dangling—being lowered through the hole.
“You got him?” Harry called from above.
“I’m not tall enough!” Raoul returned. He glanced around. “Xris, could you—”
The cyborg clumped over, reached up. Harry let go and the Little One fell into Xris’s arms. He stood the empath on his feet. Raoul straightened the Little One’s hat, which had been knocked askew on landing.
“I’ve lost my earring,” Raoul told his friend.
The Little One shook his head.
Xris, shaking his head, caught and stowed the rest of the gear. He had just finished when he heard Rowan give a low whistle. In the old days, Xris had come to hate that sound.
“Trouble,” said Rowan.
Xris hurried over. “What? The Marines trying to blast open the door?”
“Huh?” Rowan stared at him. “Oh, that. No.” She waved her hand airily. “I managed to break into their computer, shut the door that leads to the airlock. Then I changed the codes. And because of the new safety standards that were instituted after the disaster two years ago on board Valiant, they’ll have to—”
“Then what’s the trouble?” Xris broke in impatiently.
Rowan turned to face him. “We have no fuel. In other words, we’re out of gas.”
Chapter 33
Take calculated risks. That is quite different from being rash.
General George Smith Patton, Letter to Cadet George S. Patton, June 6, 1944
“No fuel pod? Standard operating procedure,” said Harry. He as red in the face and puffing, having unloaded all the gear, weapons, flight suits and helmets, the medical supplies, and what was left of the food.
“Safety measure,” added Rowan. “It’s the first thing they do when a ship goes into dry dock. According to the manual, all fuel pods are to be—”
“Fuck the manual!” Xris swore in bitter anger. “You mean to tell me we took over this bloody ship and now we can’t go anywhere in it? And you two knew about this?”
“Not exactly,” Harry said, shamefaced. “I mean, I did, but I didn’t, if you know what I mean.”
“In all the excitement, it never occurred to me,” Rowan admitted, her cheeks burning. “Sorry, Xris. I should have thought ahead—”
“Don’t think, damn it! Do something!” Xris was shouting. He knew he was shouting, knew he was losing it, but he couldn’t help himself.
Jamil poked his head up out of the landing module. “What’s the problem?”
Harry and Rowan looked at each other. Rowan bit her lip, turned back to the computer. The Little One had shrunk to almost nothing, was cowering behind Raoul.
“Excuse me, Xris.” Quong was attempting to refit the hull plate. “Could you lend me a hand with this? Your tool hand, preferably.” He chuckled, looked around, grinning. “That’s a joke.”
Xris, grim-faced, strode over.
Quong was perched on the infamous chair, holding the hull plate in place with one hand.
“Calm down, my friend,” he said in a low voice. “We are all doing the best we can under very trying circumstances.”
“Yeah, Doc, I know.” Xris took out a twist, stuck it in his mouth. “What do you need me to do?”
“I have shut the airlock on the Schiavona. Now we must—”
“The Schiavona!” Rowan cried.
“That’s it!” Harry said excitedly.
“What’s it?” Xris demanded.
They spoke simultaneously. “We can use the fuel pod from the Schiavona!”
“Will it fit?”
“Of course!” Harry sounded nonchalant, but he wiped his forehead and heaved a relieved sigh when he thought Xris wouldn’t notice.
Rowan issued orders to the drop ship’s computer, told it to tie in to the Schiavona’s onboard computer.
“You’re positive this will work.” Xris had come to expect trouble. “The Schiavona’s nowhere near the size of this command module—”
“Doesn’t matter. All fuel pods for all ships are interchangeable,” Harry explained. “They’re made that way on purpose so that the Navy can rescue ships that run out of gas. It’s been standard Naval policy for years.”
“Safety measure,” said Rowan in a solemn tone.
Xris looked over at her.
Rowan caught his eye, smiled, and winked. Then she went back to work. “I’ve initiated fuel pod ejection. . ..”
Xris fitted on his tool hand, climbed onto the chair, began to weld the hull plate into place.
“I thought Rowan said this blasted ship could heal itself,” Xris muttered.
Quong watched the job with a critical eye. “It will. When activated, the drop ship’s internal damage systems will detect any air leak in the hull. Once you have the plate welded into place, the ship will check it out for the tiniest leaks and cracks—those we couldn’t even begin to see, but which can grow and split a plane apart in hyperspace. The ship will inject sealing fluid on the outside of the hull around the breach. This way we don’t have to spend six days crawling over the hull with fancy equipment looking for cracks the size of one of Raoul’s false eyelashes.”
“If it works,” Xris said gloomily.
“It will work, my friend,” Quong said gently. “It will work. Can you take over from here? I’ll go initiate the repair program.”
Xris nodded, grateful for the opportunity to be left alone. He let his mind drift and odd thoughts came into it, the oddest being that Rowan was certainly pretty and that this fact irritated and bothered him. Xris didn’t like to think of his friend as pretty. He didn’t want to think of Rowan as womanly in any way, shape, or form. Rowan wasn’t a woman....
Any more than I’m a machine, Xris said to himself.
A heavy thud shook the vessel. Xris shut down his welder, looked over to Harry for an explanation.
“Fuel pod dropping into place.”
Harry had taken his seat in the pilot’s chair—right next to the chair on which Xris was standing. Rowan moved to the navigator’s position, was forced to squeeze past Quong, who had to sidestep Raoul, who tripped over the Little One. Everybody was tumbling over the gear.
The bridge hadn’t appeared small until now. Jamil, watching from below in the launch module, his head poking up out of the deck, had a suggestion. “All those not needed up there can ride down here. It’s meant to work that way, in fact.”
“We’re certainly not needed,” Raoul said thankfully. “And I have to redo my makeup.”
Meaning he had to remove the poisoned lipstick before he accidentally poisoned himself. Retrieving his handbag, he helped the Little One to his feet. The two of them descended
, with Jamil’s assistance, through the airlock. Quong remained to finish his computer work, then he, too, departed.
Xris inspected the hull plate, climbed down off the chair. He took off his tool hand, stowed it away, replaced it with a hand fitted with smaller tools, designed for more delicate work—in case any of the computers went down or needed adjusting.
“We have fuel enough in the command module for the jump to Ceres,” Rowan reported, completing the calculations. “And maybe a short hop after that.”
“Just get us to Ceres,” Xris said. Chewing on the twist, he sat down in the copilot’s chair, glanced back up at the hull plate. “I hope to hell that thing holds. Don’t shake this baby around too much, will you, Harry?”
Harry gulped, glanced sideways, cleared his throat loudly.
“What now?” Xris demanded.
“NOROF’s locked us out of the docking computer. I can’t retract the mooring clamps.”
“What can you do?” Xris asked resignedly. He was, he realized, almost past caring.
“Well . . .” Harry ruminated. “I can try to rip us free, using full engine power. But that hull plate might give—”
“I don’t think so,” Rowan reported, studying her screen. “According to the stress factor calculations—”
“Do it,” said Xris. “Put on vacuum suits and helmets, just in case.” He stood up, went to the airlock, peered down into the launch module. The rest of the team were settled into their seats. “I’m going to shut this, seal you guys off. This may be a bumpy ride. Hold tight.”
The last he heard, Tycho was asking worriedly, “Where’s the head?”
Xris shut and sealed the airlock, then began struggling into the bulky and cumbersome flight suit.
“Of course, once we get free”—Harry eyed Xris nervously— “we have to dodge that tractor beam. And then—”
Xris held up his hand. “Just answer me this.” He put on his helmet. “Has anyone ever made the jump with a hole in his spaceship?”
“If they have, they haven’t come back to talk about it,” Harry replied.
Xris nodded, settled himself in his seat, strapped himself in. “Just checking. All right. Let ‘er rip.”
The Knights of the Black Earth Page 35
