by Thorne Moore
‘Jesus,’ whispered Merrit.
Abigail looked pale. ‘Do you think—’
She stopped as Smith came in.
‘Hi. Anyone notice the hum? Ah.’ He was looking at the screen. ‘Seems we’re not to watch.’
They all turned to look in the same direction. The screen was blank.
‘How long has it been off?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Abigail.
‘It wasn’t on when I came in,’ said Clytemnestra.
Selden nodded. ‘We’ve got our target. No more messing.’
They listened. The ship’s perpetual background hum usually rose and fell imperceptibly, like a small animal breathing in its sleep, a few occasional yawns and twitches, too quiet to command their attention. But now there was a drone so steady and unvarying that once they’d noticed it, they ached for it to end. It went on, and on, stretching their nerves. Abigail covered her ears. Merrit gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white.
Then, finally, the pattern broke, the lights dimmed for a second, the drone became a rising whine, and then a roar.
‘They’ve switched drive,’ said Selden. He stood up, instinctively bracing himself. ‘This is the pounce.’
They listened, tense, waiting for something without knowing what. It came, a hiss, a vibration, then another, a third, a fourth and the ship’s song changed yet again, a panting, a shuddering that threw them off balance. It went on and on, long enough for them to recover, find their feet, till there was a sudden silence that stopped their breath as they counted seconds of eternity. Then the ship shook. It bucked; its gravity momentarily haywire. Again it vibrated, again and again, and metallic clangs and screeches echoed through their brains, setting their teeth on edge. The lights flickered. The doors slid open, then slid shut again. A row of glasses shuddered to the edge of the bar before taking a slow-motion kamikaze dive for the floor.
Then, finally, everything was quiet.
As pulse rates slowed, they looked at each other, clinging to support, or braced against the wall. Merrit was on the floor.
‘What was it?’ asked Abigail, striving unsuccessfully to keep her voice steady.
‘We smacked someone, and something smacked us back?’ suggested Smith.
Selden shook his head. ‘We didn’t receive a direct hit. We’d wouldn’t be discussing it if we had.’
‘But we took some damage?’ asked Merrit, sweating.
‘I’d guess so.’
‘Maybe this is the time to ask Uncle Tod if we can play in Flight Control,’ suggested Smith. ‘He did say it was the safest place.’
Merrit was on his feet and opening the doors in a second. Except that the doors wouldn’t budge. ‘Christ! We can’t get out!’
‘Oh come on,’ said Smith. ‘It’s jammed. That’s all.’
‘Probably blew the circuit,’ said Selden. ‘Can you deal with it?’
Smith looked at him. ‘You being cute?’ He flipped open the control cover and squeaked as his fingers burned. ‘A mess. Never mind.’ He pulled a couple of plastic strips from his pocket. ‘Use two to bypass the whole lot.’ The doors slid open with a rush.
Merrit breathed deeply, safe from imminent hysteria.
‘We ought to fetch the others,’ said Abigail.
‘They can look after themselves!’ said Merrit, already running.
‘I don’t see why they’re our concern,’ said Clytemnestra. She followed Merrit, with a surprisingly agile streak of tiger skin. The others followed. Abigail hesitated, then ran the long way round, past their cabins. David couldn’t be relied on to take care of himself.
His door stood open, the cabin empty. Abigail’s concern had reached its limit; she wasn’t going to go looking for him. She ran on. The others had assembled at the doors of Flight Control, which were firmly shut.
‘Jesus!’ wailed Merrit.
‘Shut up, there’s a good boy,’ said Smith. ‘I can do it. Just give me a bit of space.’
‘That door’s fitted with a fuse seal, Smith,’ said Selden. ‘It’s what will keep us safe if we get in there. I wouldn’t tamper with it.’
Yasmin arrived, walking briskly. ‘Have you tried asking? There’s an intercom.’
Smith switched it on, before Merrit could lunge for it. ‘Hello? Little pigs, little pigs, may we come in?’
The doors were opening before he’d finished speaking and slid shut again on their heels.
‘Well,’ said Smith brightly, and then stopped. The wrong moment for levity. Addo was at the command controls, as calm as ever, but intently focussed. Siegfried was standing slack-jawed and worried, and Tim was staring in blank shock. Mich, the mysterious madman from D-Deck was jumping up and down, shaking his head and gibbering. Tod turned to the passengers, his eyes black, and pointed to one of the annexes. They obeyed without argument. The annexe contained a bed, a chair, a bench; seating for all if they wanted, but no one thought to sit, or speak. They were trying not to breathe.
‘All right, we go,’ said Tod.
‘Is it worth the risk?’ asked Addo. ‘We could have company any moment. You’ve got him. It’s enough, isn’t it?’
‘We came for the acthridium cells, and I’m not leaving them for Jan Caron to grab.’
‘We just atomised his brother, Tod. If he brings the Tarquin back, he’s going to be more interested in grabbing us.’
‘Bring him on! We came for the cells, and we’re going to finish the job.’
‘Then I should do it,’ said Addo. ‘It’s a mess out there. Are you up to it?’
‘Yes! You stay. Get the Heloise out of here if things go wrong. Mich, Siegfried, move!’ Tod herded his crew before him, out of the forward exit from Flight Control, into the shuttle bay. The doors hissed shut behind them.
In the annexe, everyone drew a deep breath and took a step nearer to the door to observe.
‘Tim,’ said Addo, calmly. ‘You’re on the scanner.’
‘Yes.’
‘You know what you’re doing?’
‘What?’
‘You know what you’re looking for?’
‘Yes. Yes, the scanner.’ Tim bent over a screen, seeing nothing, shivering.
Addo glanced at him quickly, then, without looking at the annexe, said ‘Smith.’
Smith stepped out, cautiously.
‘The Ultima,’ ordered Addo. ‘Isolate the Tripoli, if you can. Plans, manifests, damage reports. We can’t afford to hang around.’
‘Okay.’ Smith was already at his pet console. ‘Right. We’ve got – Holy..!’
What Smith saw in data form on the Ultima, was displayed far more graphically on the monitor above their heads. Abigail saw it, clutched Yasmin’s arm, and pointed. They stared at what had been discreetly expunged from the screen in the observation lounge.
A large freighter was lying dead, buckled and shattered, its side ripped open. For all its damage it was, at least, still recognisable as a ship, but all about it drifted debris, huge chunks of machinery, scorched panels, cables, girders, flotsam too small to be identified and dust, clouds of dust, and yet more dust.
‘God, did we do that?’
Tim caught the words and turned. ‘No! I—’
‘Tim, watch your screen,’ said Addo. ‘No we didn’t do all that. We just joined the party. Tucker, shuttle’s launching now. Can you tidy up?’
‘I’m on it.’ Tucker’s voice came from the bowels of the ship. ‘Is he okay?’
Tod’s voice came crackling through. ‘Too busy to be otherwise. Just mend the fuses, Will.’
‘Watch yourself,’ said Addo. ‘Port side down. Chunk of panelling coming round.’
‘Got it. Watch my back.’
‘Don’t I always? Tucker, will you be able to manage down there?’
‘Will you be able to manage up there?
‘We’ll be just fine. Tod, you’re coming clear. Keep it steady.’
Selden stepped out of the annexe. ‘You can use me?’
For a second, Addo
’s eyes flitted to Tim, then he pointed to the weapons console. ‘Reset the feed, the alignment, the co-ordination. We need to be ready for visitors.’
Selden grunted and sat down, running his fingers over the controls to work out what was what.
‘David isn’t here,’ whispered Abigail. ‘Should we send for him?’
‘No,’ said Addo. ‘We took a buffeting, but we’re not breached. If he comes to the door, let him in, but he’s safe enough for now. Unless we get more trouble.’
Yasmin watched Tim. He was bent rigid over the scanner, apparently concentrating.
Abigail, Clytemnestra and Merrit stood watching the visual monitor as the tiny shuttle worked its way through the debris towards the stricken ship.
‘I’ve got the Tripoli,’ said Smith. ‘And two other ships. Or at least echoes from them. Their networks have been blown to kingdom come.’
‘Never mind the others,’ said Addo, eyes glued to his own controls. ‘Just the Tripoli. We need to know where they’ve got the acthridium cells cached. He can’t go hunting through the entire ship.’
‘Okay. Experimental material on deck 3. Extraction stuff 1A. Here it is, hold 2A.’ Smith looked up at the grizzly image on the screen. The shuttle was well on its way towards the crippled carrier. ‘Is he taking it in?’
‘Looks as if the door’s wide open,’ said Addo.
‘So.’ Smith looked at the wreck, trying to relate it to the deck plans on the Ultima’s monitor. ‘The widest rip looks as if it’s deck 4. But according to these readings, no-where’s safe. Terminal damage. The seals on Flight Control are bust. No power, no gravity, no life support. No way of telling what the internal wreckage is like.’
Addo nodded. ‘Where does he go?’
‘2A’s at the rear, deck 3.’
‘Okay, Tod, you heard that.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re nearly through. Don’t waste time on Flight Control. There aren’t going to be any survivors. Get straight to the rear, grab the cells and get out.’
They watched the shuttle, a glittering bullet among the tangled mess of ripped metal, edge its way nearer and nearer to the gaping tear in the Tripoli’s side. It vanished into the shadows of the rent.
From behind Abigail came the gritty fury of a file. She spun around to see Clytemnestra busy with an emery board. Abigail opened her mouth to remonstrate then understood the urgent therapeutic value. ‘Have you got another one?’
Clytemnestra was intent on her nails, but finally she paused, took a second file from her ruby basque, and offered it genteelly to Abigail.
‘Thanks.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ said Merrit. ‘I’m stuck in here with two raving manicurists!’ He pushed his way out of the annexe.
‘Stay out of the way, Merrit,’ said Addo.
‘Look, I’m not—’
‘Merrit!’ Yasmin warned him. He looked at Addo. The major hadn’t bothered to look up but concentrated calmly on his controls and monitors. Merrit gathered his breath again to argue, but Yasmin was standing by to swat him and Selden turned to shoot one withering look in his direction, so he subsided into the nearest chair and sulked.
Tod’s voice came through again. ‘We’re in. It’s a mess. We’re going down to Deck 3 on foot.’
‘Watch the radiation,’ said Addo. He sat back and looked across at Smith. ‘What are you up to?’
Smith was still busy at the Ultima. ‘Downloading anything I can squeeze out of her. And out of that mess. It’s a ship called the - the Vlad?’
‘Yes, it’s the Vlad and a Ragnox fighter. Okay, but don’t mess up our network while you’re at it, or you won’t live to regret it.’
Smith was concentrating. ‘At an opportune moment, I might try. Right now, I’m just intent on getting us out of here, so I come out of it alive.’
‘Wise boy.’
Minutes dragged by, with occasional comments from Tod. They were down on Deck 3. They were through the experimental material. They were in the hold. They found the cells.
‘One is damaged.’
‘Leave it. Don’t risk contamination. You sure the others are tight? No leaks?’
‘All sound.’
‘Then grab and go.’
Tim was staring intently at his screen. He appeared totally absorbed in his work. Only the panic-stricken look in his eyes betrayed the fact that he was taking none of it in. A hand settled on his shoulder and he looked round, puzzled and lost, into Yasmin’s face. ‘I don’t understand all this,’ she said softly. ‘Can you explain it to me? Is that something?’
He looked, as she pointed, to the top of his screen, and gasped. Her grip tightened. He looked at her and she nodded towards Addo.
‘Major,’ said Tim. ‘We’ve got something.’ He read the co-ordinates carefully, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘105-328.’
‘I’ve got it,’ said Addo, checking his own screens. He studied it for a few seconds. ‘Tod. Move now.’
‘The Tarquin?’
‘No, superbitch.’ Addo snapped his fingers at Smith. ‘No messing, Tod. She’s way out but she’s coming like a bat out of hell. Get out of there.’
‘We’re coming. On deck 4.’
‘RXU4,’ said Smith.
Tod swore.
Addo raised his eyes. ‘The lady’s turned. Tim, what do you calculate?’
Tim stared at him for a moment, then back at his own controls.
‘How long, do you think?’ asked Yasmin.
Tim responded, setting the necessary commands. It was obvious that Addo had already calculated for himself, but he wanted Tim to give an answer.
Tim took a deep breath. ‘We’ll be within their range in 73 minutes.’
‘Okay! Tod, how are you doing?’
‘Nearly there.’
‘73 minutes.’
‘Okay.’
They sat or stood in silence, watching the shuttle reappear, edging free from the dark hole in the side of the Tripoli, and begin to inch her way back through the minefield of jagged metal, and all the while their eyes were drawn to Tim’s screen, to the flashes of harsh white, growing harsher and whiter by the minute, stabbing their way relentlessly and powerfully to the precise centre of the screen.
Abigail found, to her horror, that she was holding Clytemnestra’s hand. Clytemnestra looked equally distressed by the discovery.
‘Loads of time,’ whispered Merrit, looking at his watch. ‘They were only minutes getting over there, weren’t they?’
The major clarified. ‘We have 73 minutes to get the shuttle back on board, and get the Heloise far away from here, preferably on a trajectory that will make us seem like distant passers-by.’
‘Oh, is that all?’ said Smith. ‘Just so I know, what are the odds?’
‘We’ve done it before,’ said Addo. ‘Now shut up. Tucker, we’ve got the superbitch heading straight for us. The shuttle should be docking in about ten minutes. We need to be on-line for a silent departure and some rapid knotwork. The full checks will have to wait. We’ll go with whatever we’ve got.’
‘I’m bringing her back on-line now. Give her a pre-boost and we’ll know the very worst.’
‘Try not to advertise our presence.’
‘Try not to teach me to suck eggs.’
They could hear vague muffled clunks, whirrs and growls as one system after another was tentatively tried. Then the humming began again, faint and low, then rising, pulsing upwards, as the shuttle finally pulled under the monitor’s range.
‘She’s running fine,’ said Tucker.
Addo sighed audibly, listening until he was sure everything was smooth, with no hiccups. ‘Stand by.’
‘We’re in,’ said Tod. ‘Close the ports.’
‘Ports closed. We’re on our way.’
On the screen, the shattered wreck of the Tripoli drifted gently off to the right, but the chaotic field of flotsam seemed to be coming closer. Much closer. So close they could identify components that had been mere dots before. Abiga
il screamed as a dismembered leg swung slowly into focus as if aiming to kick the monitor, before floating off above it. A massive disc drifted across in its place, and again sailed upwards out of sight.
‘We’re going under it,’ explained Addo, to silence the squeaks of consternation. ‘We need to be on an identical bearing as the superbitch, with this mess between us. Hopefully, the debris will confuse detection, but we’ll help it along. Seldon, you see the scatter controls? On my word, give one burst.’
‘Got them,’ said Selden. ‘Say when.’
They waited.
The last of the wreckage disappeared, before them nothing but empty night.
‘Now.’
Seldon responded with one quick stab at his controls. There was a faint whistle, swallowed by the hiss of the bay doors opening. Tod and his companions walked in.
Mich, still in his pressure suit, punched the air, dancing. ‘Yeah!’
‘No problems?’ asked Addo.
‘Cells on the transfer belt.’ Tod was by him, studying the monitors on the command console. ‘H drive? How long? Straight lines make me nervous.’
‘The superbitch isn’t deviating an inch, so neither will we. Half an hour?’
‘Anything else in sight?’
‘No, don’t worry, we’ll see him if he comes.’ Addo sat back. ‘How was it on the Tripoli?’
‘A mess.’
Mich burst into high-pitched giggles. ‘Experimental muts! Right!’
‘Cages,’ said Siegfried. ‘Animals.’
‘A couple of bodies too. Most of the crew were probably in Flight Control. The Vlad will have taken that out with the first shot.’ Tod was looking up at the rear visual screen, distracted. Then he remembered himself. ‘Tim, everything okay?’
Tim took a deep breath. ‘Fine.’
‘Good,’ said Tod, turning his attention grudgingly to the passengers. ‘I see you’ve recruited the cargo, Major.’
‘Stopped them getting into mischief.’
‘Thanks, Selden.’