by Jake Elwood
The corridor went dark, just for an instant. His helmet light came on, along with every helmet in the corridor. The ceiling lights came back on, brighter than before, and the smoke began to swirl. Soon it was spiraling toward a vent set just below the ceiling. A man's satisfied voice said, "Core power's back on."
"Not a moment too soon," Sawyer said. "That means the force fields are back up. Get that hatch open."
A spacer stepped up to the hatch controls leading to Engineering and spent a moment tapping at a small screen. The hatch slid open.
He couldn't see the force field that isolated Engineering from the corridor, but he could see the smoke on the far side swirling against the invisible barrier. Without a transfer of air the rise in temperature wasn't so abrupt. Tom could still feel it, though, like standing too close to an open oven.
Soon the air in the corridor was almost clear, and a green light appeared inside Tom's helmet. He retracted his faceplate, winced as hot air touched his face, and blinked, his eyes stinging in the residual smoke. The air stank of burned plastic and overheated metal, and he coughed once, thinking about closing his helmet again. The suit didn't hold much oxygen, though, and the air in the corridor was safe enough to breathe, if unpleasant.
A low voice said, "I see you've got another corpse to add to your collection."
Tom turned his head. Hanson stood beside him, face twisted in spite. Black Betty's gravity suddenly seemed to double. Tom spent a bare instant trying to think of an appropriate response, something worthy of a ship's captain. Then he sighed and said, "Fuck off, Hanson."
The young man seemed not to hear. "You won't be satisfied until we're all dead. Just so long as you get your glory, isn't that right? You think they'll pin a medal to your chest after all this? The big hero who went after a battleship with nothing but a frigate. You must be dreaming of a Titanium Starburst."
Too tired to be angry, Tom said, "The ship's damaged, Hanson. Why don't you find something useful to do?"
"No, I think I'll stay right here and watch you work. How will you get the rest of us killed, Captain Sir?" Hanson's lip curled. "But you won't get hurt. No, nothing ever happens to you. I'm going to stay right here at your side, because wherever you are, it'll be safe, isn't that r-"
Tom stalked away from him. Four quick strides brought him to the Engineering hatch, and he stepped through the force field. His faceplate snapped shut, but not before a wave of hot, noxious air washed over his face. He coughed, stomping forward, his throat raw and his abdomen clenching, trying to double him over. Tears filled his eyes, and he blinked furiously to clear them. At last he straightened up, holding his breath to suppress his cough.
Only a few emergency lights still functioned. He stood in a cavernous space lit from aft by a red glow. Tom headed in that direction, unsure of his purpose, knowing only that he had to show Hanson he was willing to do the difficult, dangerous jobs.
Not Hanson. Himself. Hanson was a fool and a threat to the ship. But his words had real barbs, because he wasn't completely wrong.
A grim smile touched Tom's lips. He'd shut the man up for the moment. It wasn't like the little shit was going to follow him into-
A shape moved in the gloom beside him. He turned his head and found Hanson staring at him, eyes a bit wide behind his faceplate. Tom gave him a withering glare that was spoiled by a fresh fit of coughing.
"Who's coughing over the radio?" The peevish voice belonged to Sawyer. "Who just came in? This isn't a break room, you know."
Tom looked around, leaning to peer past Hanson. The heat was all-pervasive, completely overwhelming the thermostat in his suit. If Sawyer had been here for a while, he couldn't understand why she was still conscious. He coughed one more time, drew in a ragged breath, and then spotted her. She sat with her back against a burned console, her legs stretched across the deck plates in front of her.
Tom hurried over and knelt beside her. Hanson dropped to one knee on the other side, and Tom reached for her shoulder. "Let's get you out of here."
"Ah! Dammit! Don't touch me. Sir."
Tom pulled his hand back quickly.
"My legs are broken. Don't you dare try to move me."
"Sorry."
"Besides," she grumbled, "what can I do out there?" She waved an arm, making Tom flinch. "The fire is dying down. We can restart Engine Two in a minute. Someone needs to monitor it, and I'm the only one who's qualified."
"Fine," said Tom, and stood. The engines had a thousand delicate components that were beyond him, but he understood the basics of cold and hot engine starts. "Where's the ignition controls?"
"In pieces all over the floor," Sawyer snapped. "It'll have to be completely manual."
Terrific. Tom headed aft, wishing the light was better. It was improving, if slowly, as the smoke cleared. The heat grew as he neared the looming bulk of the engines. The deck plates ended and he moved onto a catwalk, two engines above him and two engines below. They were massive cylindrical shapes, bristling with a jumble of components. The damaged engine was above him and to port. "Damaged" was an understatement. The engine was a mess, the usual components replaced by a glowing mass of slag. He couldn't see what was burning, but as he watched, the rosy glow from inside the engine faded away and disappeared.
"Fire's out," he announced. "Which one is Engine Two?"
"Starboard top."
He clambered up a staircase to the catwalk's second level. "I don't suppose there's an external igniter?" He scanned the exposed engine components and spotted a red handle familiar to him from training. "Never mind. I found it."
"The igniter's not the problem," said Sawyer. "Fuel's the problem."
Tom's stomach dropped. "We're out of fuel again?"
"No. But the ignition fuel line is gone. Some genius made it out of plastic, and it didn't survive the heat." She made an irritated sound deep in her throat. "It made the fire a damn sight worse when it melted through and started spraying fuel."
Tom put his hands on his hips, trying to remember his long-ago engine room orientation. The ignition fuel line fed fuel to a priming chamber. There, it would ignite and start the main fuel line flowing. He couldn't remember why the priming chamber was necessary. Something about simultaneously moving a piston and filling another line with hot exhaust gases. All he remembered was that it worked, and there was no workaround. "So how do we get fuel into the priming chamber?"
"We fill the main chamber with fuel first, and we run some back into the primer."
Tom tried to picture what she was describing, failed, and said, "You'll have to talk me through it."
"Start by opening the back of the engine tube."
How the hell do I do that? Before he could open his mouth to ask, a hand against his back shoved him forward so that he staggered against the catwalk railing. Hanson pushed past him, leaning against the railing and stretching out his hands. He tapped at the engine housing, quick flips of his fingers to check for heat. Then his fingers slid into gaps Tom couldn't see. He strained, and the suit radio briefly transmitted the sound of a grunt.
A large section of the engine swung open, a lumpy mass of components attached to a hinged steel plate.
"I'm going in," Tom said, but Hanson was already clambering over the railing. A perverse stubbornness made Tom say, "Hanson. Get out of there. I'll do it."
The man slid into the engine cylinder feet-first, ignoring Tom completely. He said, "I can see the access panel. Hold on." Tom heard a faint metallic rattle, which must have been quite loud for the sound to carry through his helmet. "Almost got it."
The catwalk vibrated, and Tom looked over his shoulder. A marine in firefighting gear stood behind him, made anonymous by the bulky gear. A young woman in a vac suit stood on the steps behind the marine, both of them watching in silence.
I should get out of the way. They actually know what they're doing. But did they? The marine would be trained in damage control, not engine operation. And maybe turning a knob and flipping a switch didn't require
a trained engineer.
Hanson said, "The panel is open, but I can't see anything. It's pretty dark."
"You wouldn't be able to see it anyway," Sawyer said. "You'll have to work by touch. There's a big wheel. Wider than your hand. You're not going to turn it, understand? But behind the wheel is a tap. Let me know when you find it."
There was a moment of strained silence. Then Hanson said, "Okay. I found the tap."
"I need you to turn it counter-clockwise in a moment," Sawyer said. "It should only go a couple of degrees. You should see a light, either green or red. If you get the green light you can go ahead and twist it clockwise. If you get the red light, climb out of there right quick. It means the line from the main chamber to the primer has a leak. If that happens, the fuel could ignite while you're in there."
"Great," Hanson muttered. Then, after a moment, "Okay, that's it. I twisted it counter-clockwise."
"Well?" Sawyer said impatiently. "What color is the light?"
"There's no light."
She swore. "You turned counter-clockwise, right?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"And it moved?"
"A little bit, yes. A couple degrees, like you said."
"Rock it," Sawyer said. "Carefully. Back to where it was, then counter-clockwise again. Do it a couple of times. But be careful. You go too far clockwise, you'll start the fuel flowing. Then we'll find out the hard way if there's a leak."
A long, tense moment passed.
"Still no light," Hanson said. "What's Plan B?"
Sawyer muttered a curse. "Plan B is a shipyard, frankly."
Tom said, "Let's light Engines Three and Four. Leave Two."
"I wish," Sawyer "Three ignites from Two. Four ignites from One. And we're not igniting One."
Tom glanced at the melted remains of Engine One.
"No, it's Two or nothing," she said. "Damn it. That means there's no more putting it off. I need someone to drag me out of here. And that's going to hurt like a son of a bitch."
"I'm opening the handle," Hanson announced.
"What!" Sawyer said. "No! You have no way of knowing if it's safe."
"Staying here's not safe," he said. "Face it. There's only one way we're getting off this rock alive, and that's by having me twist this tap."
"It's too dangerous!"
"Not doing it is more dangerous," he said. "I'm doing it."
"Hang on." She sighed loudly enough for her suit mic to pick it up. "First the captain opens the main feed valve. That's directly above Engine Two, but facing the other way. Big yellow rocker switch."
"Found it," Tom said.
"Don't press it yet. You have to open the safety cover anyway. Hanson, you need to twist the tap clockwise, just long enough for the captain to close the valve again. Then you have to close the tap."
"Got it," Hanson said. "I'm ready." A mocking tone entered his voice. "Are you ready, Captain? You have to flip a switch. Twice, even. It's more complicated than ordering us all to our deaths."
Tom's hands curled into fists. "Come on out of there, Hanson. We'll switch jobs. I'll take the risk."
"What, so you can get another medal? Tell everyone how glorious and brave you are?" Tom started to answer, but Hanson spoke over him, his voice rising to a screech. "Forget it! I'm doing it! I'm counting to three, and then I'm opening the tap. One! Two!"
Cursing, Tom flipped the fuel valve open.
And the engine cylinder erupted with flame.
Hanson screamed. The flames lasted only an instant, but the scream went on. A strong hand shoved Tom sideways, and he stumbled to one knee. The marine swarmed past him, and Tom reached over, closing the fuel valve. Metal clanged as the marine planted his boots on the end of the engine cylinder, locking himself in place with the magnets on his soles. He pulled Hanson, still screaming, out of the engine. Hanson's suit was black from helmet from boots, and he thrashed weakly as the marine stepped back down to the catwalk. He took off running with Hanson in his arms.
The screams stopped before the marine was out of Engineering.
There was a long, terrible moment of silence. Then Sawyer said, "Get that hatch shut, or it was all for nothing."
Indicator lights glowed green and amber all over the front of Engine Two. It was reignited and powering up. Tom swung the access hatch shut and jerked on one of the handles, making sure the hatch was locked in place. Then he turned, weary and drained, and plodded away from the engines.
Chapter 23
"It depends on their scanners."
The impromptu staff meeting had convened in a storage room in the aft section, because it allowed Sawyer to attend without making her trek all the way to the forward section. She sat in a hoverchair, her legs straight out before her, a blanket covering the polymer casts that covered her from thighs to ankles. Her face was pale and drawn, and she stared at the bulkhead across from her, ignoring O'Reilly as he gave his report.
"There's no sign of the fighters," O'Reilly continued. "Just the cruisers. The heavy cruiser's in a polar orbit, so it'll cover the whole planet eventually. The light cruiser is doing close-range scans, but I can't see a pattern to it. It's zipping around all over the place."
Tom leaned back in one of the flimsy chairs they'd dragged in for the meeting, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was utterly weary, and was having trouble focussing on O'Reilly's words. "Two cruisers," he repeated. "One up high, one down low."
"The heavy cruiser probably has better scanners," Harris said. "That's why it's up high. As for the light cruiser, I bet it's checking out geothermal sources."
Tom blinked at him, feeling foolish. "Geothermal? Why?"
"Heat is the best way to find us." Harris gestured around at the bulkheads. "We're not giving off light, or radio signals. There's no sunlight on this godforsaken ice cube, so they can't spot us visually. There's one thing about this planet, though." He pointed down. "It's cold. No sunlight at all. It's colder than Pluto here. We don't lose all that much heat, really, but we're the hottest thing on this planet by far."
Tom nodded, willing his sluggish brain to catch up. "Except for geothermal stuff."
"Right," said Harris. "Hot springs, volcanic activity, fissures, whatever this rock has for irregularities in its crust. I bet that light cruiser is running from one warm spot to another, trying to find us."
"But …" Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. "But, a geothermal vent or a hot spring doesn't look like a ship from above."
"No, but it's an obvious place to hide. In fact, it's the only way to hide, short of finding a great big cave or burying the ship in rock."
Silence fell as his words sank in. To an infrared scan, the Kestrel would glow like a beacon. Only the sheer size of the planet had kept them from discovery so far. Now that the Dawn Alliance ships had overcome their fear of an ambush, discovery was only a matter of time.
He turned to O'Reilly. "Any idea when that heavy cruiser is going to pass overhead?"
"Ten, eleven hours," O'Reilly said. "This rock has a pretty slow rotation. That's both bad and good. Good, because they need almost forty hours to cover the entire planet. We're not that far from the start of their search pattern and we're still ten hours away. The slow rotation is bad, though, because it means really thorough coverage if they don't alter their orbit. They'll make three, four passes within five hundred kilometers. There's no way they'll miss us, unless their scanners are junk."
"And if they had junk scanners," Harris said, "they'd be flying grids over the surface at low altitude, just like the light cruiser."
"All right," said Tom. "So we have ten hours until they spot us."
"Or less," O'Reilly said. "The light cruiser is in this hemisphere. It might stumble on us. Like I said, it all depends on how good their scanners are."
Tom looked around the little room. Trenholm sat beside Lieutenant Harper. The marine lieutenant looked as weary as Tom felt. His left hand was swathed in bandages so thick he wouldn't be able to get the glove of his vac suit back
on. He had a "sticky bag", a polymer sack with glue strips along the edges, jutting from the thigh pocket of his suit, ready to wrap around his wrist if the ship lost air.
Vinduly wasn't there. He'd be much too busy to leave the surgery for the foreseeable future. Naomi Silver sat at Harper's elbow, representing the Free Planets crew.
It made him think of Alice and the others who'd landed on the far side of Little B. He could only hope they'd been evacuated by the Morning Breeze or the Sunshine. Both ships were gone now. The Kestrel's computer had scanned and reported the portals as the little freighters slipped into seventh-dimensional space. Alice was safely away, or she was dead.
The civilians were gone. Janine and Anderle and the rest of the freighter crew were on the Sunshine, along with the wounded. The little pirate ship would deliver them to Garnet, along with news of the battle. At least a few people will make it back.
"We can't go fast." The voice, low and gravelly and full of pain, belonged to Sawyer. "But we can go."
"Sure," Tom said. "Sooner or later both cruisers will be on the far side of the planet. We'll take off and make a run for deep space. If we can get a portal open while we're still hidden we'll get away clean." A sudden thought chilled him. "Can we still open a portal?"
Sawyer nodded gravely. "First thing I checked, before we even got the fires out."
Tom's shoulders slumped as relief washed over him. "That's good." He looked at O'Reilly. "We can predict the movements of the heavy cruiser, right?"
"Regular as clockwork," he confirmed. "They're just floating in orbit. I can tell you exactly when they'll come over the horizon, and exactly when they'll disappear."
"Then it's just a matter of watching that light cruiser and picking our moment."
"That one's a lot trickier to predict," O'Reilly said. "It could come back over the horizon at any time."
Harris leaned forward, showing his teeth in a rather nasty smile. "Actually," he said, "I might just have an idea about that."