Corporal Doyle clomped to the dropshaft hatch and used the plug-in on the comm box next to it to report. It seemed to him that it took longer for atmosphere to pump back into the hold than it had for it to be pumped out, though it was actually faster. In a few minutes Doyle was back in the other hold with the sailors.
"Can you slow the spin?" Lieutenant Dhomhia asked Hanks.
"How far down do you want it?" Hanks asked as his fingers played with buttons and balls on his console.
"One rpm will do."
"Give it a couple of minutes to complete spin-down," Hanks replied.
The navigator nodded. He intently watched the displays from the multispectrum pickup, then started interpreting what he read for the pilot. Gravity slowly altered as the centrifugal force lessened. Standing became easier.
Lieutenant Stolievitch silently watched the dials and flickering LEDs, which were the only instruments he had to steer by. It was going to be very tricky. "How long to jump point?" Hanks glanced at a readout. "Ninety-seven minutes." Stolievitch glanced at the navigation displays. Even though he couldn't read much of the data they showed, he could tell they weren't yet ready to reduce thrust or alter vector. They were cutting it very close.
Sometime later Dhomhia announced, "I see the Khe Sanh." He pointed at a wavery blur on one of the displays.
"Communications?" Bass asked.
"Not a chance."
"Is she gaining?"
"I'm not getting any readings to confirm it, but she has to be gaining—I didn't see her a few minutes ago."
More time passed in uncomfortable silence before Chief Magruder slapped himself on the forehead. "I've been so wrapped up with this problem, I forgot about your men on the bridge. I think I know how we can get them out of there and into someplace safe."
"Safe?" How could anyplace on this ship be safe until they had control of navigation?
"Well, you know what I mean." He turned and conferred with Hanks, then told the ship's engineer, "Let's get it done." To Bass, he said, "Get all your men off the second level. Then grab that Corporal Doyle of yours. Tell him to bring his drill."
On the second level, Hanks opened a panel next to the hatch to a different compartment and disassembled the automatic closing mechanism. Chief Magruder took Corporal Doyle through the disabled hatch, had him drill a hole through the hull and leave the bit in the hole when he was done. "There's no way to evacuate the atmosphere from the passageway," he explained, "but we can drain it this way. He molded plastic explosive around the protruding end of the bit and stuck a primer in it.
"You ever know an engineer, even an electronic engineer, to be without some kind of explosive?" he asked when Bass gave him an odd look. "Now let's get out of here and anchor ourselves to something on the opposite side of the dropshaft." Magruder reeled out electrical wire as they went. As soon as he saw they had firm holds on the opposite side of the dropshaft, he sent a small jolt of current through the wire. The ripping wind that tore at them lasted mere seconds. In seconds the passageway and the newly holed compartment were in vacuum.
"Let's free those men," Magruder said to Hanks.
The ship's engineer happily opened a panel next to the bridge hatch and jimmied the door open. He figured that every bit of cooperation he showed the Marines and the navy was one more point in his favor when he went to trial. So far nobody had given him any reason to suspect he wouldn't have a trial.
"Welcome back," Bass said to his men when they left the bridge. He shook each man's hand.
Hanks busied himself shutting the two open hatches. "Now we can pump atmosphere back into the passageway," he said when they were closed. He used a comm next to the dropshaft to signal Engineering, and shortly their audios picked up the whistle of atmosphere reentering. When air pressure was back up, they popped open the dropshaft hatch and started down. Hanks was the last man through, and closed the hatch behind him.
"We've been waiting for you," Lieutenant Dhomhia said, grinning. "I'm ready to turn the con over to Mr. Stolievitch."
Hanks glanced at the time. "Fourteen minutes to jump."
"Engineering, cease spin," Lieutenant Stolievitch said in navy formal.
"Cease spin, aye," Hanks said, and did something on his console. He was grinning too. All was well, he thought. Let's do this the navy way.
"Give me three points, high larboard."
"Three points high larboard it is," Hanks replied, already forgetting the navy way.
"Reduce thrust to one-half."
Hanks cut the main engines and hit the forward jets to reduce thrust.
The Marquis de Rien shuddered as it slewed onto a new course and dropped its speed.
"Steady as she goes, Mr. Hanks."
"Steady as she goes." Hanks collapsed onto his couch. "Damn, I don't mind telling you, I was pretty scared for a while there." He caught the look Bass gave him and wondered why it looked like pity.
It took six more hours for the Khe Sanh to close with the Marquis de Rien and match velocities, but the only people the delay meant anything to were Doc Hough and Lance Corporal Van Impe. Van Impe had lost a lot of blood when his eeookk wounds broke open, and the Marquis had a very limited dispensary. Doc Gordon got the bleeding stopped quickly, but there was only enough plasma on hand to replace half of the lost blood. He put the still-unconscious Marine in a stasis bag to maintain his condition until he could get to surgery on the Khe Sanh.
"You know people are going to blame you if he doesn't recover," Bass said solemnly to Corporal Doyle.
Corporal Doyle swallowed and nodded. It seemed that once he got into trouble, the trouble just kept getting deeper.
Chapter 30
"Oh, my goodness!" Dr. Thelma Hoxey exclaimed. "Is that Trimerus streptilasma you have there, young man?" She pointed at Owen, perched happily on Dean's shoulder. The woo changed from contented pink to worried blue-green at the words.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" Dean said. He had left Owen in the care of a crewman on the Khe Sanh when the company deployed to Avionia. Upon return to the transport, it had surprised Dean how overjoyed he was at being reunited with Owen. And Owen, judging by the way he had clung to Dean since his return from planetside, obviously was "happy" to see him again too. Captain Conorado had permitted Dean to bring the woo along when he accompanied the officers on a final visit to Avionia Station to clear up some last minute details.
"That's Trimerus streptilasma, Marine," Dr. Hoxey repeated. "The scientific"—she emphasized the word—"name for what are commonly called ‘woos,’ for some reason. Very interesting alien life-form. I was just reading about them in a back issue of the Xenobiological Journal. Did you know there are three different species of these creatures? I recognize this one by its distinctive appendages."
"I didn't know they had a scientific name for them, ma'am," Dean replied. "Three different kinds? The ones I've seen all look alike to me." He wondered what had upset Owen. Couldn't have been this grandmotherly scientist.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes, they do. Not much is known about the creatures. May I?" She approached Owen and poked her finger at him. He shied away but his color had begun to return. "Hmmm," Hoxey mused. "Where'd you get him?"
Dean explained briefly. "He's as intelligent as any human," he added.
"Is he, now?" Hoxey looked quizzically at Dean. "Hmm," she mused.
"Some think they can actually talk," Dean volunteered, then caught himself. He couldn't tell her about the incident in the Dragon on Society 437. "Just what some people have said," he added quickly. "I haven't actually heard him myself." Dean was suddenly nervous.
They were standing in a companionway, and people were constantly passing them. Dr. Abraham came up suddenly. "Say, isn't that a woo there, Lance Corporal?"
"Yes, Omer, yes indeed," Hoxey answered before Dean could say anything.
"Thelma, we really have to get on to—" Abraham began.
"Hold on, Omer, hold on. This," she gestured at Owen, "is very intriguing. I was reading in the Xeno Journal
that these things have a very high order of intelligence. Our young Marine thinks they're as intelligent as human beings." Hoxey laughed dismissively. "But they are quite intelligent creatures."
"Yes, Thelma, but—?"
"Marine, your mascot there—"
"Oh, excuse me, ma'am, but Owen's not a mascot, he's not a pet either. He's a ‘companion,’ ma'am. He's one of us. He saved my life," Dean said proudly. Dr. Abraham gave Dean another friendly grin. It was clear to Dean that Abraham was nervous himself. He wondered why.
"Whatever. But Marine, you have a very valuable scientific specimen there. Would you, er, well, how much...?"
Dean started. So that was it! "Y-You want to buy Owen? I'm sorry, ma'am, but he's not for sale!" From their premission briefings, Dean vaguely realized who Dr. Hoxey was and that she held a protocol grade the equivalent of a general officer. But sell Owen?
"Well, not buy him, of course," Hoxey went on quickly, realizing her mistake, "but maybe I could ‘borrow’ him for a short time? I'd pay you for the privilege, of course. That's what I meant. I'd pay you to let me study him for a while."
"Thelma!" Abraham protested. His face blanched, and Dean's nervousness turned to mild alarm. "We have our hands full with the Avionians! Besides," he rushed on, "the Marines are ready to leave. The lad doesn't have time to leave his woo with you for study."
"Okay, Marine. I'll tell you what, come with me to the lab for an hour and give me that much time to run a few tests on your, uh, woo there. I've developed a brilliant IQ exam that's designed specifically to measure nonhuman intelligence. We've tested it on the Avionians and had encouraging results. Let me administer it to your woo. Won't take long at all." Hoxey's eyes glowed with enthusiasm.
Dean could see she wanted to get her hands on Owen. He considered. Captain Conorado had dismissed him to go to the crew galley for a cup of coffee while he, General Cazombi, and Agent Nast conferred about last minute arrangements regarding the surviving prisoners. There'd be time for the IQ test. Besides, he was curious about just how smart Owen was. "I can't see any harm in it," he said.
"No!" Dr. Abraham protested. Hoxey looked at him sharply. "What I mean, Lance Corporal," Abraham continued, trying desperately to keep his voice level, "is that Dr. Hoxey and I have serious business to—"
"Oh, no, no, no, my dear Omer! We've time for this! Come along, son. You can watch. This won't take long at all." Dr. Hoxey smiled her warmest and most insincere smile. She could already see the paper she'd write for the Xenobiological Journal, "An Examination of the Cerebral Cortex of Trimerus streptilasma," by Thelma Hoxey, PhR, FTA, DMZ.
"I think this Herbloc is the least culpable of the bunch," General Cazombi was saying as he, Captain Conorado, and Special Agent Nast walked along a companionway toward the scientists' dining area. "Poor old sot, he was more or less forced into this caper by Patch. And this engineer, Gunsel? Seems he went along not for profit as much as because Patch gave him a chance to build things. Those rifles of his are tiny works of art."
"I agree, sir," Nast replied, "but my great-grandma used to tell us the story of Farmer Brown when we were kids. Know that one? Farmer Brown went out into his fields to shoot some crows, and as he's knocking them down he encounters a songbird. ‘Please don't shoot me, sir!’ the songbird says, ‘I'm not a crow!’ Well, old Farmer Brown levels his shotgun at the songbird and says, ‘You get caught with the crows, you suffer with the crows.’"
Captain Conorado laughed. "You don't give them any quarter, do you, Thom?"
"In a normal criminal proceeding, sure. But this is not normal. It's Darkside for all the survivors. Well, I'll ask the warden to put Herbloc and Gunsel together, on an island away from the hard cases, where they won't be disturbed or imposed on. And that is all I can or will do for them."
As they passed the companionway leading to the labs, they could hear shouting.
Captain Conorado stopped in mid-stride. "That sounds like one of my men!" he exclaimed. He pivoted and started toward the laboratory area.
A lab assistant lay curled on the deck, clutching his groin. Dean, back to the bulkhead, his fists up in a fighting stance, glowered at two other lab assistants cautiously advancing on him. Owen crouched defensively behind Dean's neck, his huge eyes peering out over his right shoulder. He had turned the dark blue of distress.
"Back off, bastards," Dean shouted, "or I'll give you what I gave your buddy there!"
"Give him over at once, young man!" Dr. Hoxey shouted. "I order you to give him up!"
"Thelma! For God's sake!" Dr. Abraham interjected.
"To hell with you, lady! Just go fuck yourself!" Dean shouted. When he had seen what was inside the lab through the one-way glass, he realized what Dr. Hoxey wanted Owen for. "One step closer and I'll bust your goddamned—"
"Belay that, Marine! "Captain Conorado said as he stepped between Dean and his adversaries. "Marine, you apologize to Dr. Hoxey," he said evenly.
Dean hesitated, surprised by his commander's sudden arrival.
"Do it now," the captain demanded softly.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Dean said quickly, and then turning to his commander, said, "But sir, they wanted to take Owen in there—"
"At ease, Lance Corporal." General Cazombi and Special Agent Nast crowded behind Conorado. "Ma'am, I apologize for this Marine's conduct and language. I assure you that—"
"Shut up, you tin soldier!" Hoxey shrieked. "I'm in charge here and I want that—that thing on the boy's back!"
Seeing that the threat was now removed, the two lab assistants lifted their colleague to his feet. "Sorry," Dean told them, "but I couldn't let you have him."
"Would you mind just telling me what's going on here?" Conorado asked quietly.
"She wanted to take Owen in there and cut him up!" Dean shouted.
Conorado turned to Dean. "I told you to stand at ease, Marine," he said softly. He turned back to Dr. Hoxey. "Ma'am? The woo belongs to Lance Corporal Dean. Why do you want him?"
"This is a scientific matter, Captain! I want the creature for scientific study. I have the facilities here to do that. This is a golden opportunity to find out more about these things. I demand that you hand it over to me—now."
"Sir, look in there." Dean gestured toward the one-way glass window.
Conorado didn't have to look, he knew what was on the other side of that window. He remembered the laboratory was well-equipped and spotless. And he particularly remembered the Avionians crouched on perches inside cages, bedraggled and hopeless, with frayed patches on their heads and arms, looking like they had an alien form of scabies. "They don't look so healthy," Conorado remarked as though he just had looked, turning to Dr. Hoxey.
"We are experimenting on them, Captain," Dr. Abraham offered. Hoxey gave her deputy a withering glance.
Conorado raised an eyebrow. "What's the difference between ‘studying’ and ‘experimenting,’ Dr. Hoxey? During our in-briefing you said you were ‘studying’ Avionians you'd abducted from the planet's surface."
"Do you dare to interrogate me, Captain?" Hoxey hissed icily. "We have studied dozens of these creatures. It's our job."
"What happened to the others?" General Cazombi asked. He remembered too well their earlier visit to the labs.
"Most of them died. You know that," Dr. Abraham answered before Hoxey could reply.
"They don't take well to confinement," Hoxey said.
"They don't take well to being operated on, Thelma," Abraham said firmly. "They died because we did not understand their physiology that well, gentlemen."
Everyone was silent for a moment. "I want to go in there," Captain Conorado said at last.
"Impossible!" Hoxey shouted. "That space is restricted to lab personnel only."
"Dr. Abraham?" Conorado nodded toward Hoxey's deputy.
Abraham stepped to the door and punched in the code to open the cipher lock.
"Omer!" Hoxey shouted. "I order you not to open that door!" Realizing he would not obey her, she turned to the t
hree lab assistants. "Stop him!" she ordered. They looked hesitantly at Dean and the three officers and made no move. "You're fired!" Hoxey screamed, but still no one made a move to stop Abraham.
The lab door hissed open.
"My God!" Captain Conorado exclaimed as a wave of foul air wafted out through the open door.
"We were just about to clean the lab out before this fracas got started," one of the technicians said. Captain Conorado turned to him questioningly. The man shrugged. "They have nowhere to shit so they do it in their cages. Planetside, they have special places set aside for that purpose. But up here they shit all the time in there. Near as we can figure, it's a sign of nervous disorder complicated by a form of diarrhea caused by the food we give them. But mainly, like Doctor H says," he nodded at Hoxey, "they don't take too well to being held here in captivity."
"Sir," Captain Conorado said, addressing General Cazombi, "I want to get a closer look in there." The general nodded and followed Conorado inside. The rest of the crowd filed in, but Dean remained outside with Owen.
As soon as the men stepped inside the lab, the three Avionians retreated as far back into their cages as they could. Captain Conorado looked at Dr. Abraham, who shrugged. Dr. Hoxey remained silent, a deep frown on her face. Conorado walked right up to the cages. The Avionians began to squawk loudly and flap their arms weakly, forcing themselves up against the rear bars of their cages to get as far away from the Marine officer as possible.
"They're afraid of me," Conorado said half to himself. "Can anyone tell me what they're trying to say?" No one spoke. "I know somebody here can speak their language. Who was it gave us that briefing? Dr. Gurselfanks? He can speak Avionian. I want to know what they're saying."
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