The Seafort Saga, page 71
“I swear that no one will try to enter the engine room without your permission. The food will be normal rations. Only one person will be allowed below to deliver it, and he will be unsuited. You can take the rations into the engine room yourselves, unharmed. No one else will have anything to do with you or the engine room. You have my oath on all that.”
“Right.”
I replaced the speaker. Still dizzy, I took refuge in formality. “Midshipman Tyre.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Run to the galley and order Mr. Bree to provide rations for fourteen people for two days. Food only; they have water. Have him send a man to the bridge carrying the rations. Then run to the comm room and return with Mr. Tzee.”
“Aye aye, sir. Can—”
“You heard your orders.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He scrambled out the hatch.
Dray said doubtfully, “Two days to do what, sir? The situation will only get worse.”
“Yesh.” My words were slurring from the pain. “Yes,” I repeated with care.
“What happens to the trannie?” He prodded Eddie with his toe.
“No questions, Mr. Kas—Chief.”
It took Philip less than three minutes to complete his errands and return, panting, with Mr. Tzee at his heels.
“Now. Mr. Tyre, you and Mr. Tzee will put on your suits and go out the forward airlock. You’ll maintain radio silence. You will disconnect the power feed to the small laser cannon midships. The cannon should be bolted to the hull with three large eyebolts; I believe you’ll find a spanner in the launch berth. Bring the cannon into the airlock with you, leave it just inside the Level 1 lock. You will accomplish your task within one hour.”
“Dray, while Mr. Tyre’s party is outside, get Mr. Dakko, who is guarding the ladder well, and go to the hold. The manifest says bin five east contains heavy electrical cable. Secure enough cable and connectors to connect a line to the high voltage outlet in the launch berth, string it along the corridor, down the ladder to Level 2, and coil enough cable at the top of the ladder well to reach down to Level 3 and around to section nine.”
“Near the engine room?”
“Yes. To section nine.”
“But—”
“I don’t think you want to question me, Dray.” My tone was odd.
He swallowed.
“Go,” I said. “Both of you.”
There was little more to be done. I made my entries into the Log, signed it, turned off the screen. The bridge was silent except for Eddie’s slow, steady breathing.
I’d turned off all Kerren’s alarms. The panel lights showed me what I needed to know; first the inner airlock hatch sliding open, then the outer, then a long wait before the laser malfunction light began to blink. When the lock began to cycle again I got to my feet. I ran my fingers through my hair and tugged on my jacket, like a green middy on his way to see his Captain. In a way, it was so.
I waited at the hatch. Philip Tyre was the first to return, his shirt plastered to his back. Clambering around on the hull with magnetic boots took stamina. “We’ve got the cannon, sir, over there.” He pointed down the corridor toward the airlock, around the bend. “What are you going—”
“See what’s keeping Mr. Bree, Midshipman.”
A score of questions flashed in his eyes but his discipline held. “Aye aye, sir.” He ran off.
Ten minutes later his voice preceded him around the corridor bend, speeding the sailor who carried a bulging duffel. I pointed to the deck. Awkwardly the seaman let go his burden and saluted. I sent him back to his galley.
In a few moments Dray trudged back to the bridge, red from exertion. Walter Dakko was with him. “Done,” the Chief said. “The cable’s stretched to Level 2. I left you lots of slack.”
I picked up the duffel. “Dray, check the seals on each of the corridor hatches on Levels 1 and 2 as they close.”
“The cable will block the seals, sir.”
“I don’t think so. The rubber gaskets should seal around the cable well enough; the hatches were designed to hold pressure even if a crewman fell so that his arm was in the way.”
I turned to Philip. “Mr. Tyre, lock yourself on the bridge. Begin shutting all corridor hatches on Level 1 and Level 2.”
“Sir, what are you doing? Who’s taking the food down?”
I said, “I am.”
He blurted, “You can’t!”
“I beg your pardon?”
He blushed bright red. “I’m sorry, I—but—I mean, you can’t risk yourself. Send a sailor, or me. Please!”
“No. Seal yourself on the bridge.”
He stood his ground. “Tell me what’s happening, sir ... I need to know.”
“I’m going below to negotiate with the rebels.”
“How?”
“You may listen on the ship’s caller, but you may not interrupt. You’ll know what to do afterward. I don’t expect to survive. You will be in charge thereafter.”
“Oh, Lord Jesus!” He bit his lip. “You mustn’t! I beg you!”
“There’s no other way, Mr. Tyre. You know I can’t give them the ship.”
“Then let’s storm the engine room.”
“They’d kill all the trannies, Mr. Tyre. They still might, in which case they’ll also kill me.”
“Those street joeys ... they’re not worth it,” Philip whispered. “You mustn’t go!”
I drew my pistol. It came to rest an inch from Philip Tyre’s eye. “Seal yourself on the bridge, Mr. Tyre. It is the third and last time I give the order.”
He licked his lips, tried to speak, sagged. “Aye aye, sir.” He walked slowly onto the bridge.
I shouldered the duffel. “Mr. Dakko, go to the dining hall. Pass the word to all hands and passengers to suit up with emergency tanks.”
Dakko regarded me somberly, saluted, and left.
I walked toward the airlock. “Dray, help me get the cannon down to Level 2.” Awkwardly I bent and wrapped my arm around the barrel of the laser cannon, trying not to lose my precarious balance with the heavy duffel.
I lugged my end of the cast alloy cannon along the corridor, stopping while Dray closed and sealed the hatches behind us. We descended to Level 2 past the snaking cable Dray had laid. I walked the laser cannon around the stairwell to the ladder to Level 3, then gratefully set it down beside the coiled cable.
“Dray, seal off section nine on Level 2, in case they try to burn upward through the deck. Then break out a suit and put it on. I’ll wait to see that’s done. You are to remain on Level 2. You are not to descend to Level 3. Acknowledge your orders.”
“Orders received and understood, sir,” the Chief Engineer said heavily. “I’ll bring your suit back with me.”
“No. Just your own.”
“But—” His eyes widened.
“Do as I say.”
When he returned, clumping in his heavy, awkward vacuum suit, I set down the duffel at the top of the ladder and grunted with strain as I tried to hoist the cannon. It was heavier than I’d thought; I could barely manage it. The Chief must have carried more than his share of the weight. I managed somehow to haul it down the ladder.
At the foot of the stairs I turned east along the circumference corridor. From section six, I staggered along the corridor through seven, then eight. I eased my burden to the deck just inside the hatch between eight and nine. The engine room was just ahead of me, around the bend in section nine. I retraced my steps.
Back up the ladder. I coiled the cable on my shoulder and walked slowly backward down the stairs, playing it out behind me. Laying it carefully along the center of the corridor, I unwound it to where I’d left the cannon in section eight. I had about twelve meters length to spare.
Dizzy now, I climbed back up the ladder once again and hoisted the duffel of rations. “Wait here, Dray. Come if I call, but only then.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
At the foot of the ladder I dropped the duffel. This time I turned west, along the corridor that circled past the engine room to where I’d left the cannon.
I followed the corridor to the hatch between sections one and nine. I pressed the emergency close panel on the bulkhead and the hatch slid quietly shut.
I backtracked past the west hydros, glancing to make sure the hatch was sealed. I crossed into section two and sealed that hatch behind me. I worked my way back to the ladder, in section six.
The duffel was at the foot of the ladder where I’d left it. I lugged it east along the corridor. I sealed the hatch between six and seven, watching the hatch seals close around the cable. The rubber gaskets seemed tight. I checked the east hydros in section seven, sealed the hatch, plodded on to section eight. At the far end I stopped to finish my preparations.
Every corridor hatch on Level 3 was now sealed, except from section eight to the engine room in nine.
It didn’t take me long to attach the cable ends to the power inputs of the laser cannon. I pressed the indicator button on the muzzle; the test light glowed. I tried to lift the cannon but my strength seemed inadequate; instead, breath rasping, I dragged the cannon along the corridor to the midpoint of section nine, outside the hatch to crew berth two, about twelve meters along the corridor from the engine room bulkhead.
All was silent behind the closed hatch to the engine room. As if from a great distance, I observed the scorch marks where the rebels had brazed plates over their damaged hatch.
The cannon was a hybrid weapon, designed for remote control from the comm room, but still capable of manual adjustment.
I pointed it down the corridor.
I snapped on the test light, aimed the beam at a bulkhead. I heard myself humming mindlessly and bit off the sound. Though I knew I must hurry, I sat on the deck, back to the hatch, legs straight in front of me, staring at nothing. Fire flowed through my head. I waited, hoping the pain would recede. It didn’t, but I had no more time. I unholstered my pistol, laid it down, staggered the few steps to the berth two hatch, across the corridor from the cannon.
I slapped open the hatch and lurched inside. A mop was in its usual place in the storage bin. I jammed it into the open hatchway, blocking the hatch from shutting. Then, abruptly, I slid to the deck.
After a time I was again aware of the empty, silent corridor. Cautiously I struggled to a kneeling position, heaved myself to my feet. I found I could no longer lift the duffel; I slid it along the corridor to within a meter of the engine room hatch and quickly retreated. With unsteady steps I made my way back to crew berth two and lifted the caller from the hatch control panel, sat with it by the cannon. “Engine room, this is Captain Seafort.”
The answer came quickly. “About time. A couple more minutes and we’d a started cooking a trannie.” Andros.
“Your food is in a duffel outside your hatch.”
“And where’s the joe brought it down?”
“In the corridor about halfway to section eight.”
“Any stunners? Rifles?”
“A laser pistol, lying on the deck. It won’t be used unless you try something.”
“Yeah? Who’s out there?”
“I am.”
“Jesus Son of God!”
I closed my ears to the blasphemy. “The corridor is sealed behind me, all the way to Level 2. I’m the only one here. I’ve brought you the food, which I swear is safe to eat. Have I kept my oath?”
“Why you?” he demanded.
“It was too important to trust to anyone else.”
“What if we take you too?”
“I suppose you could.” I touched a hand to my fiery cheek, but it only made the pain worse. “Do you want your food now?”
“Yeah. Might as well. I’m sending a trannie for it. He might try to run, but we’ll cover him from here.”
“First let me see the faces of all nine of them.”
“They’re all right, Captain.” He snickered. “You have my oath.”
“Their faces.” After a moment some makeshift catch was released and the engine room hatch swung aside. One by one the apprehensive faces of the transients showed briefly in the hatchway. Then one boy stepped out, darted nervously to the duffel, snatched it, and bolted back inside the hatch.
I picked up the caller. “You have your food. Have I kept my oath, Andros?”
There was a moment’s pause. “Yeah, I guess. Why?”
“Stand aside from the bulkhead, please, so no one gets hurt.”
“No one what?” blared Andros. “What the hell—”
I pressed the firing button. A flare of light sizzled against the bulkhead between the corridor and the engine room. In a moment the laser melted a hole wider than my arm in the thick alloy plates. I shifted the cannon and began burning another hole.
“What’re you doing, you lying bastard? You made a deal!”
“I’m cutting a couple of holes.”
“But you said—”
“I said no one would try to enter the engine room without your permission. Don’t worry, I won’t. And I said only one person would come down to Level 3.” I cut a third hole, widely separated from the others.
“Belay that or the trannies get it now!” he shrieked. “All of them!”
“Very well. No more holes.” I heaved turning the cannon to the open hatch to crew berth two. I pointed the aperture at the outer bulkhead on the far side of the berth.
A face flashed at one of the holes in the engine room, then ducked away. Andros howled, “What the fuck are you up to?”
“Preparing to fire through the hull, Mr. Andros.”
“What?”
“You heard me. My hand is on the firing button. It won’t take much of a twitch to depress it, so if you shoot me I believe I’ll set it off as I fall.” My heart pounded so hard I found it difficult to speak.
His voice held a note of panic. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to blow a hole in the hull, Mr. Andros. Isn’t it obvious?”
“But—you’ll decompress us!”
“Yes. Crew berth two, the section nine corridor, and the engine room. Everything else is sealed off.”
“You won’t get away! I’ll burn a hole through your suit.”
“I have no suit.”
“Then you’ll die too!”
“Yes.” My tongue was thick around the word. It was what must be. Though part of me struggled to live, I’d accept the end as a blessing. I had fouled up so often, and Amanda waited.
“Jesus, you’re insane!”
“I may be. It doesn’t matter. You’ve shown me that.”
“I’m gonna kill the trannies!”
“They’ll be dead in a few moments anyway.”
“We’ll cover the holes!”
“The cannon fires the moment you touch the first hole.”
The speaker clicked off but I heard a commotion through the holes in the bulkhead. A demand, a reply. An argument. Someone shouted, “There’s only two suits in here!”
I said to the caller, “It’s time now. I’m ship’s chaplain. Would you like me to shrive you?”
Andros shouted, “Wait! What do you want?”
My burn hurt worse than ever. “To have this life over with.” It was no more than truth.
A silence. Then, “You’re bluffing. You might kill us, but not yourself. Go ahead.”
“I’m going to pray first. I’ll give you a few seconds warning. I’ll be about half a minute.”
I knelt on the deck, keeping the cannon between myself and the engine room. I kept my hand on the firing button.
I said aloud, “ ‘Trusting in the goodness and mercy of Lord God eternal, we commit our bodies to the deep—’ ”
In the engine room, a gasp of horror.
“ ‘—to await the day of judgment when the souls of man shall be called forth before Almighty Lord God—’ ” I faltered, my voice failing. I finished the prayer in silence. “Amen.” I stood. “Twenty seconds.”
“Jesus, Seafort, don’t!” Clinger shouted, “It’s a bluff, Andy!”
“Ever see a man die that way? Gimme that helmet, damn you!”
“Naw, one goes, we all go! Only fair way.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
“God, I don’t want to die!”
“Shuddup, joey, no one’s gonna—”
“Ten seconds.” My hand tightened around the firing button. I fought the urge to hyperventilate.
“Goddamn it, Clinger, don’t be yellow, he won’t—HUNGH!”
Clinger screamed, “Wait, Captain! Just long enough to talk! CAPTAIN!”
I felt as if summoned from a great distance. “Talk about what?” My voice was dull.
“Don’t blow the hull, Captain. You’ll kill yourself too.”
“Is that all?”
“Don’t you care?” he cried.
“Not that much. Like Andros said, we’ll all be dead soon.”
“What if—what—”
I stared through the crew berth to the hull. “Ten ... Nine.”
“What if we trade you the trannies?”
“Eight ...” He had said something important, but my mind was too foggy to concentrate. “What?”
“Trade you the trannies for leavin’ us alone. We stay down here, you take the rest of the ship.”
I mulled it over. “I don’t think so, Andros.” I was very weary now. “My way is better.”
“I’m Clinger. It’s those damn trannies you wanted, Captain. Don’t you remember?”
“Remember?” I echoed. His voice was in a faraway dream. “Where’s Andros?”
“I bashed him with a pipe wrench. Look, you tricked us. You worded your oath funny, and you fooled us. Now, the trannies ain’t important. So we give ‘em to you, and you let us be.”
“Why?”
“So you’ll live!” he shouted.
The word had no meaning. Something wasn’t right inside my head. The bulkhead seemed to loom and recede, perhaps in time to my heartbeat.
“Captain.”
The bulkhead had a strange texture.
“CAPTAIN!” His shriek snapped me awake. “Don’t pass out, sir, you’ll press the firing switch!”
“Right.” I nodded, but the motion sent waves of nausea through my upper body.
“Captain, call someone to help you. We’ll give you back the trannies, you promise not to try anything else. Just leave us be.”
