Across the Great Rift

by Washburn, Scott;

  “Damnation!” snarled Crawford. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

  “The Man in Charge, apparently,” said Petre. “This could get a bit awkward.”

  “It’ll be damn awkward for him when we get aboard! Come on, I’ll rustle up a few marines and we’ll go pay the good doctor a visit.”

  “It’s not quite as simple as…”

  “Sir Charles! Lord Frichette!” exclaimed the sensor officer. “I’m reading multiple thrusters firing in orbit around the planet!”

  “The bombs?”

  “Yes, sir! But not just the thousand and ninety-two bombs with transponders. I’m reading nearly a thousand others!”

  “Good God. Can you plot their courses? Their impact points?”

  “Working on that now, sir.” The tactical display lit up and a steady stream of icons began to appear. Icons and lines connecting them to spots on the planet. After only a few seconds it became clear what was going on.

  “The magma pockets. Ramsey’s going after all the magma pockets!”

  “Going to blow up the whole planet, just like Jeanine said.”

  “We’ve got to stop them!”

  “Not from here,” said Petre, shaking his head. “We’re well out of point defense range and you have no long-range weapons on this ship. And from what I know about those penetrators, they’re damn-near indestructible anyway.”

  “They’re controlled from Bastet. If we went aboard we could abort them from there. Come on! Let’s go!” Crawford grabbed at Petre’s sleeve, but the young man didn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

  “Have you looked at Bastet’s specs, Charles?”

  “No, why the hell should I have? And what does that have to do with anything? We’re running out of time!”

  “I have, and it will be very difficult to board if Doctor Ramsey doesn’t want us to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With all the bombs she carries, Bastet is far better protected than any normal merchant ship. She’s got point defense, Charles! Only a half-dozen turrets, but more than enough to blast any shuttles trying to board.”

  “Working point defenses?” asked Crawford in amazement.

  “Yes, I noticed that when I was analyzing the fleet’s capabilities. If we hadn’t been able to get a few of the other ships up and running, I was going to see about drafting Bastet for the battle. Of course, I suppose we could try blasting their turrets…”

  Crawford cringed at the thought of firing at the ship with Regina aboard. “Surely Ramsey would never dare fire on a shuttle!”

  “Maybe not, but he might not have to. The internal security on the ship is impressive. Remember how much work it was to get on board Exeter when we went after Citrone? It could be worse here.”

  “Damn! We haven’t got much time!”

  “About twenty minutes until the first impacts, sir,” said the sensor officer.

  “I’m not sure what we could do with so little time,” said Petre. “If Ramsey just activated the anti-boarding routines, they could hold us off for far longer than twenty minutes. And even just blasting every com antenna from here wouldn’t do any good: the bombs are on their way, we need the facilities on Bastet to stop them.”

  Crawford tried to hold down the panic that was building in him. Regina would never have let this happen if she’d known about it. But apparently she had found out about it and that led to the desperate message from Jeanine. Would Ramsey have dared hurt her? But what could he do? If Petre was right about the security programs, then the ship would be as secure as any of the warships…

  The warships…

  The engineer in him instinctively looked for the flaw in any plan, the mistake in any train of logic. Now it found one. “That ship would be as hijack-proof as any of the warships, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes. Maybe more, so.”

  Crawford looked straight at Frichette. “So how did Citrone get aboard to reset the cold-sleep capsules’ timers?”

  Petre blinked in surprise. “I don’t know…” He hesitated one second longer and then turned. “Security! Get the prisoners up here! Now! This is an emergency!”

  * * * * *

  The terrible crushing weight was finally gone. Brannon Gillard breathed easily and thanked the Lifegiver for this merciful moment. He turned his head slightly and saw Carlina beside him, changing the air bottle for his breathing mask. He smiled at her and she smiled back, reached out a hand to touch his cheek. He was very glad she was here with him.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Much. I guess we have arrived at wherever we were going?”

  “Yes, the drive has shut down, this isn’t just a rest period. Do you want to sit up?”

  “Thank you, that would be good.” She put an arm under his shoulders and helped him upright. He’d already noticed how strong she was. “Where do you suppose we are?”

  “Well, since they didn’t bother to provide this cell with a window, I really can’t…”

  She stopped talking when they heard the cell door sliding open. Before either could react, a crowd of Anderans swarmed into the cell and seized both of them. Handcuffs were slapped onto wrists and they were hustled out.

  “What is this?” demanded Carlina. “What are you doing?”

  “Shut up, traitor!” growled one of them. “You’re wanted on the bridge—now!”

  Apparently they were wanted pretty urgently because they were half-dragged, half-carried to the huge control room of the ship. A crowd of people were waiting for them, but the only ones Brannon recognized were Lord Frichette, the Newcomers’ military commander, and Sir Charles Crawford, the man who slew Caspari’s son. They were taken right to Lord Frichette.

  “Miss Citrone, that’s the terraforming ship, Bastet,” he said, pointing to an image in one of the monitors. “We know you have the security codes to her computer. We need them urgently and you are going to give them to us.” The intensity on the young man’s face was frightening. He could see that even Carlina was shaken, but she still looked defiant.

  “Yes, I have them. They came along with my orders. I have no idea how they were acquired, but it was considered important to secure the terraforming operation intact. Why should I help you?”

  “Because if you don’t, in about nineteen minutes, a million people—a million of your husband’s people—are going to die!”

  “What?” cried Brannon.

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Carlina.

  “Some… misguided individuals have initiated a radical terraforming program on the fourth planet. About two thousand very big nukes are going to blow the whole place to hell unless we stop them. We have to get aboard that ship quickly, and you are the only one who can let us do that.”

  Carlina looked as startled as he felt, but she did not quail. “Such… such an act would have serious consequences for your relations with the clans. I don’t see why I should help.”

  “Carlina!” cried Brannon, aghast.

  “Yes, Miss Citrone, this goes far beyond any political or military issues. A lot of innocent lives are at stake. With your help we can save them. Are you going to let them all die?”

  “Carlina! Give them what they need!” She looked at him, but through her uncertainty and indecision, he could see those eyes looking at him. The eyes that appeared whenever she talked about the Protector. Would she sacrifice all those people just to strike one final blow against the man she had never met but hated so?

  “We’re almost out of time, damn you!” spat Crawford. He took a step forward, his huge fists looked like hammers. Still, she didn’t flinch—until Brannon grabbed her arm.

  “Carlina! Don’t do this! Your family died not just because bad people acted. They died because good people did nothing to save them! Don’t become one of them! Please!”

  That got through to her, he could see it. Her mouth opened and closed and then opened again.

  “One condition,” she whispered.

  “What?” cri
ed Frichette and Crawford in unison.

  “My husband goes free.”

  “Done!”

  He flinched in surprise. “And you, too!”

  She just smiled and shook her head. “We’ll leave that to your Lifegiver, priest. All right, the overide code is GCQ-897-D34…”

  * * * * *

  “Sure hope this works.” Crawford looked nervously through the viewport of the shuttle at the point-defense turret on Bastet, which had been tracking them all through their approach. “How much time left?”

  “Thirteen minutes,” said Petre distractedly. Among his seemingly endless store of talents, the young man appeared to know computers very well. He was hunched over a terminal, getting ready to access Bastet’s computer and shut down the security system using the code Citrone had given them. Crawford glanced over his shoulder at the ‘marines’ crowding the shuttle. The order had been given to assemble them and get the shuttle ready even before Citrone had reached the bridge, so no time had been lost once they had the code. He noticed Citrone and Gillard stuffed into one corner, looking glum. Frichette had brought them along insisting that if they were aboard, then Citrone was less likely to give them a fake access code since she and her husband might end up blasted, too, if things went wrong. It was a rather dubious comfort in Crawford’s opinion.

  “Attention approaching shuttle. You will not be permitted to dock. Please back off…” The same message had been coming over the com for three minutes now. At least there had been no threats to fire—so far.

  “All right, I’m ready,” said Petre. “Here goes… Okay, the code works, and I’ve got access. Shutting down point defense… now.” Crawford looked out the viewport again and almost cheered when the turret froze in place and did not continue to follow them as they moved in toward the emergency air lock where they planned to dock.

  “It’s working, Petre!”

  “Good. Opening air lock outer door.” The hatch set in the side of the ship began to slide open.

  “Take us in—quick,” said Crawford to the pilot.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man took him at his word and a few seconds later the shuttle banged against the hull with a considerable jolt. “Hard docked, sir.”

  “You’re not kidding. Get the hatch open!”

  “It’s open, sir,” shouted one of the marines. “Air lock’s empty, and the inner door is closed.”

  “Opening air lock inner door,” said Petre. “And all interior locks and bulkheads, too. Done! Shutting system down; it should take them a good while to figure this out. Let’s go!”

  The marines were already moving into the ship and Crawford and Frichette joined them. Crawford had a small computer pad with the ship’s layout, although he nearly had it committed to memory. “The detention area is to the right and down two decks.”

  “You sure you want to get Regina first, Charles?” asked Petre. “We’ve barely got ten minutes.”

  “She’ll know how to abort the bombs in case Ramsey won’t cooperate. Can you do that?”

  “No…”

  “So we get Regina.”

  “Okay, lead on.”

  He tried to, but there were two marines, bulky in their combat armor, in front of him who refused to let him by. So, he was obliged to just tell them which way to go from behind. They all hurried, and with every hatch and bulkhead door standing wide open, it took them less than a minute to reach the detention area.

  Unfortunately, there were a half-dozen security men there waiting for them.

  They turned a corner and the two leading marines halted instantly, there were shouts and the buzz of stunners. The marine in front of Crawford grunted and fell back a step, bumping into Crawford, who didn’t budge. More shouts and more stunner bolts and then both marines stepped back, together out-massing Crawford and forcing him to retreat.

  “I got one of ‘em, sir, but the rest are under cover,” gasped one of the marines. “Damn, those stunners still hurt like hell even through this armor.”

  “All they’ve got are stunners,” said the other marine. “We could rush them, sir—if we had to.”

  “Wait!” said Frichette, pushing his way through. He went to the corner and stopped. “You men over there! Hold your fire! I’m coming out to talk.” He unbuckled his belt and dropped his stunner to the deck. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out. Crawford gasped, but there was no fire.

  “You men, take a look! You know who I am?”

  “Shit, it’s Lord Frichette!” came a startled voice.

  “That’s right, and I’m telling you to put up your weapons. Whatever orders you’ve been given are invalid. I’m here to claim Dame Regina Nassau, who’s been improperly detained.” Frichette glanced in his direction, made a ‘stay put’ motion with his hand, and then moved forward, out of sight. Crawford pushed up to the corner and looked around it. Petre was boldly walking right past the startled security men. An instant later, Regina and Jeanine appeared. Crawford nearly dashed forward, but he had the sense not to. They didn’t need to tempt any itchy trigger-fingers out there! Petre collected the two women and escorted them back in his direction. “Sergeant, I assume your commander is on the bridge?”

  “Uh, the main control room, sir. With Doctor Ramsey.”

  “Good. Contact him and tell him I am on the way up there. Tell him I have direct orders from Governor Shiffeld and he is not to offer any resistance. Understand?”

  “Yessir!”

  Without another word, Petre moved on. An instant later, Crawford had Regina in his arms. “Thank God you’re safe!”

  “Thank God you’re here!” countered Regina. “Are we in time?”

  “We’ve got about eight minutes,” said Petre. “So we’d better hurry.”

  “Blessed excrement, let’s move!”

  They moved. Bastet was a large ship, but like most, it had the majority of its inhabited spaces concentrated forward, so it was a thirty-second jog to the main control room. Several security men were in the corridor outside and Crawford tensed, but their stunners were holstered and they stepped back as the party approached. From inside came angry voices.

  “He’s lying, I tell you!” shouted someone who sounded like Doctor Ramsey. “I have my orders from the governor and I’m telling you to keep them away!”

  “Too late, we’re here,” said Petre as they trotted in the door. Everyone turned to face the new arrivals. The commander of the security detachment was there with several more men, but none of them made any move. Petre stepped out in front. “And now that we are all here, there are stories to tell. Doctor Ramsey, you first: what are you doing and why?”

  “What are you talking about, Petre?” cried Regina. “We’ve got no time for stories! Let me at those controls!” She started to move forward, but Petre put out a hand.

  “Sorry, but stories first. Keep it short, Doctor.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I am carrying out Governor Shiffeld’s orders.” Ramsey drew himself up and glared at pretty much everyone in the room.

  “Which are?”

  “To carry out the Protector’s mandate to terraform the habitable planet in this star system! What else?”

  “What else indeed? Dame Regina?”

  She looked as confused and dazed as Crawford felt. What the hell was Petre doing? Suddenly Regina was furious. “Petre! If we don’t stop those bombs a million people will die! I am going to stop them! Right now!” She boldly moved toward the main control console.

  An instant before she got there, the back of the chair she was reaching for exploded in a spray of fragments. Crawford shouted and Regina stumbled back in shock. Frichette had left his stunner lying on the deck in the detention area, but he now held a small, very lethal-looking, slug-thrower of some sort—and it was pointed right at Regina. “Don’t,” he said. “And I mean it, Regina. You would not be the first person I’ve killed.”

  “Petre, what are you doing?” she moaned. Crawford’s hand went to his stunner, but Petre had posit
ioned himself to cover both of them, and a stern glance in his direction warned him not to move. He felt so stunned, he wasn’t sure he could move.

  “My duty. Now, I want to know what you are doing? You sent a message implying that treasonous activities were going on here. I was forced to investigate. Doctor Ramsey appears to be acting within his authority. Convince me to let you intervene.”

  “All those people will die!”

  “Yes. So?”

  Regina’s mouth hung open and she couldn’t seem to get any sound to come out.

  “The…the Frecendi are our allies!” said Crawford. It was the first thing he could think of.

  “A point, although they are contributing nothing to the Gate Project,” conceded Petre. “Any more?”

  “The Protector’s orders are ten years old!” said Regina, apparently regaining her wits. “They were written without knowing about these people!”

  “Another point. Not necessarily relevant, but proceed.”

  “If we kill them, it wrecks the trade agreement and jeopardize the gate construction!” cried Crawford.

  “Better. But I’m still not convinced. The clans are not a unified entity and the trade agreement could survive this.”

  Crawford looked at Regina and she looked back frantically, her eyes wide.

  “Uh…”

  “Uh…”

  “Time’s running out…”

  “It… it will only be two years until the gate’s done!” blurted Regina. “The terraforming project will take decades! If the Protector wants to massacre these people then, he’s got plenty of time later, damn it!”

  “An interesting observation. There would appear to be more slack in the time-table than the present activities might account for.” Frichette looked thoughtful, but his gun was still trained on Regina. Crawford tried to think to something else to say. Frichette had talked of his duty… duty to who? The Protector?

  “If… if we begin our relations with the clans like this—with mass murder—it will taint all future dealings! The Protector wants to expand throughout this whole arm. With the clans as enemies, it will make that vastly harder. It’s in the Protector’s best interest to spare these people!”