And then, they all suddenly found themselves on the floor as the first explosion sounded.
12
"GODDAMMIT!" THE CAPTAIN ROARED, CURSING AS HE fell and hit the floor, and again as he scrambled back to his feet. When his officer had first approached the table, the captain had tried to minimize any panic that might ensue. Now, with the lights flickering and people screaming all about him, his only thought was to get down to tactics. His personal link in his hand before he was standing, he barked, "Swelver! Status—now!"
"We've got a single ship off the port. Distance . . . mark eighty-seven kilometers and closing."
As the captain began to cross the room, he noted a panicked knot of people in front of the door, banging frantically on it and clawing at its controls. Realizing what that had to mean, he stopped instantly, asking, "What the hell'd they hit us with? Flash pulse?"
"Yes, sir," Swelver's voice responded over the hand-link. "Planted it right in front of us. Precision spread. Caught our attention right off."
"Can we hit them back?"
"Sorry, sir. It was a right proper hit. External weapons have been shorted. Their pulse fried about a third of the electrical systems shipwide."
"At least," agreed the captain. Moving across the dining room to an unassuming console in the corner, he said, "People can't get out down here. Rather than waste any time on the door I'm going to plug in command from station D-four."
"Acknowledged, sir. We'll transfer all command control immediately."
While the captain moved off to the auxiliary post, Glenia Waters wailed, "Mr. Ambassador, what's happened? What was that explosion? What's going on?"
Hawkes debated whether he should tell the woman the truth, wondering if she could handle it. Not seeing any real option, he said, "Apparently, we've attracted visitors."
"Pirates?" The woman asked the question with fear measurably thick in her voice.
The ambassador merely moved his eyes to suggest that, yes, this was a possibility. Waters began to reach out to him for support, but Hawkes had other things on his mind. As Martel approached the pair, he pushed his aide to the task of comforting the woman, then moved off toward where the captain and his officers had grouped.
Hawkes knew better than to interrupt a commander at the beginning of a battle. Catching Pensaval's attention, he lowered his voice to ask, "What are we looking at here?"
"Depends on what they want, sir." The ambassador waited. Pensaval continued. "If they wanted this vessel, they should have tried to cripple us in a way that did minimal damage to the ship, but that would have killed all of us. If they were after cargo, any kind of plunder, really . . . same tack."
"Then what went wrong?" questioned Hawkes.
"Don't know, sir. They might have miscalculated."
"I doubt it, Mr. Pensaval," the captain interrupted. As Hawkes rotated his attention, the captain continued, saying, "My people have diagnosed their bow shot. Too neat to be anything but a prelude to boarding. Especially considering their present approach pattern."
"Boarding?" asked Hawkes, already knowing the answer to his next question. "And why do pirates bother to board a ship in space?"
"There are certain prizes they'll fight their way on board for," the captain replied. Trying to ease up to what they both knew he was about to say, he added, "Some cargo is too easily damaged in a killing attack. Deep space piracy also carries heavy penalties. Mass murder is something some of these sons of bitches try to avoid."
"And . . . ?" asked Hawkes.
"And," admitted the captain, "sometimes their goal is kidnapping . . . or target-specific murder. At this time, I would not rule out a direct threat to you. In fact, considering what we're carrying in the way of cargo . . . I would think it almost a certainty."
The captain turned and looked at his board again, reviewing the information being sent to him from the bridge. Bringing his attention back to his ship, he asked his people, "Where was our marine contingent when the lights went out?"
"Most of them were in their quarters, sir. I've already sent them to stations. I took the liberty of diverting one man from each squad down to the approaches to the dining room."
"Good," answered the captain. "Keep to the square. Try and get systems up and get a shot off at that son of a bitch. I assume the fighter bay is shorted out . . ."
"Dordman says it'll be at least fifteen minutes before he can get a ship out in the open, sir," came the thin voice over the hand-link. "And apparently that's going to involve him and his crew pushing one out into open space by hand."
Hawkes watched a thin smile curl one side of the captain's mouth. It told him instantly what kind of person the unseen Dordman must be.
"Relay my wishes for success to Mr. Dordman," ordered the captain. "And from here on, Mr. Swelver, our time being as fractured as it is, I'm giving you free rein to follow your own initiative."
"Thank you, sir," came the thin voice once more. Not bothering to answer, the captain asked,
"What's their ETA?"
"It looks like we have two minutes to contact, sir. Maybe less."
"Then—" But before the captain could continue, the main door to the dining room suddenly surged open. Instantly people began pouring out into the hall, even as the marines, who were assigned to their safety, tried to make their way inside.
Over the ensuing noise, the captain shouted, "Mr. Swelver, counsel Mr. Dordman that I'll be joining him down below. You keep the helm and do what you can about getting us out of this from your end."
"Yes, sir."
Communications were cut. The captain stood away from the auxiliary command console and met the ranking officer approaching. Before the marine could speak, the captain barked out orders for the entire group.
"Thornton, Esposito, you're with me. The rest of you, get these people out of here. Try to avert panic, but keep them moving." Singling out one bulky sergeant, he added, "Wagner, you're with the ambassador."
And then, without another word, the captain was gone. His officers began working with the crowd, clearing the room, trying to keep people moving in a somewhat orderly fashion. As Dina Martel came up alongside them, Hawkes turned from her, asking the sergeant, "So, Mr. Wagner, what do you suggest?"
"If the scum runners are on schedule, I'd say they're already on the ship. Any second now they're gonna breach one door or another."
"Ambassador," said Martel urgently, "shouldn't we be headed below like everyone else?"
"Plenty of time for that," answered Hawkes, suddenly turning on his heel and walking toward the bar. Wagner and Martel followed. Grabbing up an overturned bottle of brandy from the counter, the ambassador said, "Sounds to me like going out into the hall right now is just asking for trouble."
"I'm just a sergeant, sir," answered Wagner. "But I'd say if these nut grinders are actually after you . . ." Hawkes's left eyebrow went up. The sergeant noticed, adding, "News travels fast, sir."
"And rumors faster," agreed the ambassador. "And I'm not one to argue." Lifting the bottle, Hawkes inspected the label, asking, "So what are we going to be facing here?"
"Hard to tell, sir. When they board, they like to move fast. Get your target, get out. You know the drill. Nobody likes to fire off rounds in space; no matter how deep inside a ship you are, you can never tell what you might damage. Boarders come in with pikes, swords, shock sticks . . . maybe a few low-caliber weapons. . . ." The large marine turned his own electronic staff over in his hands. "For the most part it's usually a hand-to-hand operation."
"But what makes you think the ambassador is their target?" asked Martel. "If they wanted to kill him, why not just destroy the ship?"
"Can't trust a deep blast. Single target can always escape in a lifeboat. Awfully hard to track down in deep space. Contract kill needs confirmation." Martel turned away, taken aback somewhat by the marine's cold logic.
Ignoring their conversation, Hawkes asked, "You ever been in one of these fights before?" Without waiting for an answer, Hawke
s reached out and righted an overturned glass. Then he caught it and another nearby tumbler in two fingers and dragged them both across the bar. As he filled the first one, Wagner admitted, "No, sir." The ambassador handed him a glass, saying, "Well, me neither." Picking up the other, he clinked it against the marine's, saying, "Here's to our second one, eh?" Wagner smiled, saying, "Aye, sir."
Both men threw back their drinks as a scream pierced the air of the dining room. It came from the hallway, and was followed by a chorus of other shouts. The first had been a death cry, the others merely the panic of the witnesses. Setting his glass on the bar, Hawkes said, "I'd offer to buy you another, Sergeant, but I think the bar is closing."
The marine casually flipped his glass over his shoulder. Hefting his staff, he narrowed his eyes, testing its weight in his hands, and said, "Sir, it's just possible I might have a bottle in my own quarters."
The sound of more screams came to the two men. There was no doubt that people were dying. Martel looked from Hawkes to Wagner. The ambassador's hand dropped to his sword as he said, ' 'Well, then, Mr. Wagner . . . you lead the way. We'll be happy to follow."
Two men in light armor came through the door into the dining room. Both held bloody-edged weapons. As they moved in fast, the marine started to cross the room. Holding his staff in a tight across-the-body defense, he hunkered down into a concealing crouch. Without turning, he said, "I'll pick up this check, sir. You watch my back."
Wagner and the first two pirates clashed. The big marine came out of his crouch less than a yard away from the closest target. Swinging his right foot back, he moved sideways, allowing the pirate to run past him. Then, quickly bringing his staff up behind the man, he made contact at the base of the pirate's skull. The blow loosed a devastating electrical charge into the man's body. The pirate screamed. Spittle flew from his mouth and the air went heavy with the smell of burning ozone as the pirate dropped his weapon and fell to the ground.
The second invader shifted direction to cross in front of Wagner. The marine maintained his stance and snapped his left hand out, driving the other end of his staff into the approaching pirate's face. The invader was lifted off his feet. His face plate, along with his nose and the left side of his skull, shattered. The sergeant had to twist and then jerk his weapon to free it from the man's head.
"Ambassador!"
Hawkes reacted to Martel's shout. Three more pirates had entered the dining room from somewhere behind the bar, and a half dozen more poured in through the front door. Seeing that Wagner was going to have his hands full with his own half dozen, Hawkes left his aide near the bar, and moved forward to block the trio attacking from the rear. He drew the British Pattern sword and held the blade before his face, sizing up his adversaries.
"There's the target," said the middle man, pointing at the ambassador. Hawkes pursed his lips, thinking, Well, that settles that.
The first one to reach him swung for the ambassador's midsection with the blade of his halberd. Hawkes blocked it with the flat of his sword, then, before his opponent could react, ran his hand swiftly along the pole and cut into the man's fingers, shearing three of them away despite the man's reinforced gloves. He immediately broke away, pushing the wounded pirate into the closest of his fellows. Hawkes completed his turn, coming up short in front of the third man—also armed with a sword.
His new opponent favored a western style, a straight blade designed for its ultimate thrusting power. The ambassador's sword had a slight curve, a compromise design meant for both cutting and thrusting. The two men warily circled each other for a moment, then the invader lunged.
Hawkes backpedaled—one, two, three steps. The pirate followed. The ambassador bluffed his enemy again, retreating another two steps. The invader smiled, following once more, sensing an easy target. Hawkes feigned a stumble, trying to act surprised as his back touched the bar. The younger man sighted and lunged. The ambassador parried and returned, letting the pirate run himself through on his blade as he rushed forward. Blood sluiced down along the sword's fuller groove, splattering against the weapon's protective basket.
Hawkes lifted his foot and planted it in the man's chest, sending him reeling backward with a well-placed kick. He was instantly replaced by another pirate, this one also armed with a sword. He came in slower, more cautious. He had seen the fate of his mate and did not wish to share it.
Taking the battle to the enemy, Hawkes charged forward two steps to gauge the other man's reaction. The pirate smoothly moved back, then bounced forward a step, thrusting his blade. The ambassador had already moved to the side in anticipation. His sword came up and clanged against his opponent's. Both men broke instantly.
The pirate took advantage of their close quarters to aim a chest strike. Hawkes brutally parried it, slapping it aside. He hurried to follow with a cut of his own. The man dodged, spun around, and came in for another strike. The ambassador blocked and attacked, only to be parried himself.
The moment had come where both men knew they were evenly matched. Each had taken stock of the other and discovered that no easy victory would be forthcoming. Instantly they fell to the attack, locking in to a steel rhythm. The two men lashed out at each other, slashing back and forth through the air, and probing each other for the eventual misstep one of them would have to make sooner or later.
It came sooner, and it was not Hawkes's. The ambassador feigned another stumble, and suckered his opponent in. The maneuver did not work as well as it had previously. He managed only a downward strike along the man's forearm, creasing his armor and drawing blood.
It was enough, however. In the split second the pirate needed to switch hands, Hawkes stabbed out and buried his blade in the man's abdomen. The ambassador had no time to congratulate himself over his victory, though. No sooner did his opponent fall away than another moved forward, yet this one wielded a shock staff much like Wagner's.
"Make it easy on yourself, old man," said the grinning invader as he advanced on the ambassador. His voice sounding tinny through his suit's mike, he added, "I'll do you quick and painless as possible."
"How thoughtful of you," answered Hawkes.
The invader lunged and the ambassador sidestepped.
Hawkes brought his sword around, cutting for the pirate's head, but the man brought his staff up, blocking the attack. The antique weapon clanged along the steel/titanium length. The ambassador went with the motion, sliding his blade along the staff and trying for the man's hand. He came close, but a split second before Hawkes's maneuver could catch him, the invader loosened his grip.
The pirate pushed off awkwardly, forcing the ambassador to step wide. Hawkes spun around and tried a long, angling thrust, but it fell short. The invader pulled his staff in close, then pushed it out and up, just managing to deflect the ambassador's next strike.
Hawkes pressed ahead, swinging wildly, trying to force the pirate back. The man made two awkward retreating steps, but then, as the ambassador followed, the pirate stopped short and made a wild swing of his own. The staff managed to break through Hawkes's defenses and touch his sword arm.
The ambassador stumbled badly. Even though the staff's touch against his arm was brief, the current blasted through him, shocking the sword from his hand. Hawkes fell to his knees.
"Sorry, Mr. Hawkes," said the pirate, stepping forward, setting his staff to full charge. "Job's a job."
The ambassador fumbled for his weapon. It was only a few inches from his hand, but it seemed several miles away. Hawkes reached for it, pawing the ground pitifully, but his eyes could not focus properly, could not discern which of the several images he was seeing was the real one.
And then the pirate set his staff to full power and stabbed down at the ambassador's body.
13
A ROAR OF THUNDER RIPPED THROUGH THE DINING ROOM.
The bullet it had propelled slammed into the pirate's chest plate, through his body and then his back, and finally flattened out against the inside of his rear armor. The man gur
gled, losing his grip on his staff. It fell away from his fingers and flopped toward the floor, almost hitting Hawkes.
The pirate wobbled, struggling to stay erect. Martel made it to the ambassador's side. She could help him up with only one hand; the other still held her gun. Closing the fingers of his left hand around the hilt of his sword, Hawkes struggled to regain control of his body. His eyes focused on the automatic in Martel's hand, and he stuttered, "How—how? You have, have, have . . . a gun?"
"Later," she answered, putting all her strength into getting the ambassador back on his feet.
Hawkes grabbed the pirate's staff with his left hand, using it as a crutch on which to stand, and then closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. Inside his head, he summoned all his reserves to help him sort through the confusion in his brain and banish the last scrambling electrical pulse that remained from the pirate's weapon. He felt his mental faculties returning, although he knew he was still weak—still almost helpless.
Opening his eyes, Hawkes could see more pirates swarming in the door toward Wagner. The bulky sergeant had gotten a table between himself and the latest wave of attackers. With his staff still crackling at full power, he swung back and forth in wide arcs, keeping his three current adversaries in check. Yet as he caught sight of the two coming up behind, he shouted out, "Lady—can the ambassador be moved?''
"Yes," Martel shouted back.
"Then move him out of here," called the marine. Two pirates blasted at him simultaneously but he caught the energy from their weapons in the containment field of his own, and slung it back at them. The move killed one of them instantly, and gave the other second thoughts about firing again.
"Do it while you've got the chance."
Still weak, Hawkes protested.
"We can't leave. Can't leave Wagner behind. Mustn't . . ."
Martel shoved forward until the ambassador's arm lay over her shoulder, and pushed Hawkes back toward the bar. Forcing his steps, she told him, "Forget it. If we don't get moving like he said, we'll be as dead as he is."
Man O' War Page 10
