Fools Rush In (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 3)

by Donna S. Frelick

  “What!” Sam grabbed the handrail and held on as another blast of laze fire shook the ship. “Damn it, Dartha, can’t you lose this sonofabitch?”

  “Trying, Cap.”

  There was no time to process what was going on in the cargo bay. Chen would have to take care of it. Sam put off analyzing it until later.

  What he saw on the viewscreen took precedence. “Ot, he’s making another try at the slaver. Hit him as he comes in.”

  “Aye, Cap.”

  Sam stepped closer to Ordman and put a hand on his shoulder. “Any word on Agent Carver?”

  “Sir?”

  “In Cargo Hold Four? Have they found her?”

  “Oh. Uh, no, Cap. There wasn’t any report from Sickbay.” The kid bit his lip. “That should be good news, though, right?”

  Sam’s heart twisted in his chest. He turned back to the viewscreen without answering.

  And cursed—the enemy ship was taking the bait, pursuing them at maximum ion thrust just aft of the Shadowhawk’s tailfeathers. But Manneh had taken his “order” to watch his back literally. She had come about to follow, wounded as she was.

  “Arnett, warn Manneh off. Tell her I said to stand down. She’s done enough.”

  He heard his Comm Officer hail the Fleeflek and relay his orders, but the slaver kept coming, spitting weak fire from two forward ion cannons. Then twin lines of white laze fire arced from the aft weapons of the Gray ship and converged on the Fleeflek’s battered hull. Her shields collapsed.

  “Ot, fire aft cannons! Now!”

  “Aye, Cap. Firing”

  Laze fire blazed against the Gray’s forward shields. For a split-second they wavered, then firmed again as more power was directed to them. Answering fire came at the ’hawk from their forward cannons. The bridge heaved as the shields took the hit, knocking Sam to his knees. Consoles sparked, stabilizers screamed, and the smoke that was overloading the ventilation system throughout the ship now began to leak onto the bridge.

  But the worst damage was done in a blinding flare of light that filled the viewscreen. Sam struggled to his feet, staring at the expanding cloud of gas and debris that was all that was left of the Fleeflek and those aboard her. His chest constricted around his breath as grief and disbelief held him frozen. His stunned mind kept repeating The Grays take prisoners. The Grays always take prisoners. What the hell happened?

  Deep within the bones of his own ship, two thudding booms rolled like thunder. He turned to Ordman.

  The kid nodded. “Aye, sir, that’s two more. I’m locating them now.”

  “Helm, get us the hell out of here. Maximum ion drive. We’ve got to make that jump node now.”

  “Aye, Cap, Max ID. We might actually be a little faster than those mulaak SOB’s.”

  “We better hope so.” He stepped down to his own console and punched the comm pad for Engineering. “Kwan, you there?”

  “Little busy, here, Cap!”

  “Yeah, we all are. You locate any packages between decks?”

  “Aye, sir. One sitting just below the ion thruster controls, another under the jump matrix. Would have made a nice mess.”

  “You know we have to hit jump before you’re ready.”

  “How soon?”

  “Depends on how much ID you can give me.”

  An exhale. “I can give you maximum for as long as you need it.”

  “That’ll put us there in fourteen minutes.”

  Now a heartbeat of silence at Kwan’s end. “We’ll do what we can, Cap. The matrix will hold through the jump, anyway.”

  “That’s all we can ask, Engineer. See you on the other side.”

  “Aye, Cap.”

  Laze fire from the Gray ship grazed the ’hawk’s shields to port, rocking the bridge. The Shadowhawk slewed and skittered just in front of her pursuer, trying to avoid another hit. Sam knew his shields were weakening, and the division of power between shields and weapons would soon become critical. In minutes he wouldn’t have anything to throw back at the cruiser but rancid protein mash from the galley.

  Mo appeared at his side and grabbed the railing just as the ship absorbed another glancing blow. “You know we can’t put it off much longer. We have to check under this bridge for a bomb.”

  “My disposal unit is running all over this ship. And in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a battle here.”

  “I can go.”

  Sam laughed. “You? You couldn’t get your big toe between decks.”

  “Mo is as big as a damn freighter, but you’ve picked an odd time to trade insults.”

  The voice, full of familiar snappish humor and a newer smoky rasp, sent an electric jolt through his chest. He whirled in the direction of the hatch and gods! there she was, all in one piece, offering up a tired grin as she waited on the threshold of his bridge.

  “Gods’ eyes, Rayna.” Her name left him on a sigh. I thought you were dead, he thought, but he didn’t say it.

  “Permission, Captain?” She nodded at his bridge.

  He took the few steps to where she stood and wrapped his arms around her. His crew gave a muted cheer, but he ignored them. Her body was warm and solid and breathing against his; that was all that mattered.

  “Are you okay?”

  “A little woozy. It’ll pass. Doc says I’m fine.”

  Laze fire slammed into the aft shields, pitching them toward the bulkhead. His arm shot out to fend them off.

  She turned to study the cruiser on the viewscreen. “So that’s where they escaped to.” She looked back at him. “Where’s the Fleeflek?”

  “Destroyed.” His fists clenched as he stood away from her.

  She looked as if she would say something, but the Pataran joined them and nodded in Rayna’s direction. “Glad to see you well, Agent Carver. I hear it was a close thing.”

  She shrugged. “Close enough.”

  “Cap. The package? We’re ten minutes from jump—we can’t afford to wait any longer.”

  “You’re right. Arnett, have Chule Fl’x and her team leave whatever they’re doing and report to the bridge on the double.”

  The laze fire was relentless now, beating at the ’hawk without letup. The bridge tossed and rolled like the deck of some ancient pirate frigate in a storybook. Sam couldn’t say it was the least bit romantic.

  Mo had returned to his station and was studying his scanners with a scowl. “Shields are down to 50 percent aft.”

  “Weapons Control reports overheating on the aft laze cannon, too, Cap,” Ot added.

  “And they’re gaining on us, 13,000 klicks and closing.” Sipritz grabbed her console as her partner at the helm threw them into a complicated maneuver to avoid the worst of the fire from the oncoming ship. “Recommend Plan B tactic to allow us to take advantage of port and starboard shields and weapons.”

  Sam hated Plan B. It played hell with his stabilizers and his artificial gravity systems, not to mention his stomach and his mental processes. But he’d come up with the spiraling maneuver to get out of a tight spot years ago, and it had saved his ship and his crew more than a few times since then. They would have to slow their headlong flight to perform the “barrel roll” around the enemy ship, spraying it with fire from all weapons as they went, but the ploy might keep the Grays off them long enough to find any explosives under his bridge before they hit jump.

  “Agreed. Sip, prepare the approach. Dartha, try to keep them off us until Navigation is ready. Ot, stand by all weapons.”

  He heard the enthusiasm in their acknowledgement. His crew was tired of being pounded. As the bridge shook once more from enemy fire, he couldn’t blame them.

  “Cap!” Ordman again, and could the kid look any worse? “They finally located the munitions team. Dead, sir, all of them! The bomb went off just as they got to it. Between decks under Weapons.”

  Sam took the news like a physical blow, muscles clenching, breath catching in his chest. Damn it, this was costing too much. And the payoff, if there was any,
was too far in the future.

  “Damage.” If the weapons were gone . . .

  “Minimal, Cap. The forward transducer coils took most of it.”

  “They were already worthless.” He breathed again. He took a step, knowing it was imperative he move before the wave of disaster caught him and pulled him under.

  He felt a hand on his arm. “Why did you need the munitions team?”

  All his horror, his stubborn resistance, his protectiveness must have shown on his face before he ever said a word, because Rayna just shook her head without the hint of a smile. “You don’t get to say no, Captain. You need me for this job, I can tell. I’ve got the expertise, and right now I’m the only one available. So what is it?”

  Mo was staring at him. The Pataran gave him a slow nod. Sam’s heart stopped beating.

  He faced her and spoke just loud enough to be heard above the noise of the bridge. “We suspect there’s another explosives package between decks in the space just below the bridge. We have to check it out before we hit jump.”

  “So let’s see if I’ve got this straight. You need someone small to crawl around between decks and find a bomb—someone smart enough to disarm it once it’s found.” One corner of her mouth kicked up. “See? I told you I was perfect for the job.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Rayna had volunteered to do what was needed, but the truth was the dark, close, meter-high gap between decks, crisscrossed with a latticework of reinforcing durasteel, made her sweat and shake. Damn all tight spaces to Portal’s Hell! She surveyed the vast area to be searched with despair, feeling the press of time like flames on her back.

  She started off on her hands and knees, thanking God for her one advantage—her size. She slipped in and out of the reinforcing beams with relative ease, splashing a broad swath of bright light from side to side with her headlamp as she moved. A bigger woman or a man would be crawling at a snail’s pace, and the instant she realized it, she knew she could speed up her search.

  The commpiece in her ear crackled. “Rayna, can you hear me?”

  “I’m here, Sa—Captain.”

  “Any progress?”

  “I think I’ve figured out the route he took through here. He’s bigger, so he would have avoided the sides where the beams come together. I’ll go where the gaps are bigger, see what I can find.”

  “Good. You’ve got about sixty seconds before we execute Plan B. When that happens you’ll have to find a place to strap in for a few minutes.”

  She squeezed through a cross-spar and banged an elbow. “Fuck!” She rubbed at the sore spot and moved on. “What the hell is Plan B anyway?”

  “Offensive maneuver. You don’t want to know beyond that. When I give you the word, find a corner, curl up in a ball and wait it out.”

  “Sounds like loads of fun.” She crawled out through the latticework onto a narrow catwalk running beside several lengths of conduit. Her hands and kneecaps ached, so she got up and duck-walked, hunched and huffing, until she could hear the muffled sounds of the bridge above her. “Hey, I’m right under you!”

  His voice was warm and intimate in her ear. “I’d tell you what I think of that, but this is not a secure channel. What do you see?”

  “Oh, shit, there it is.” The red light blinked at her from an overhead durasteel support a meter to starboard. “You’re sitting on it.”

  “Thought things were a little uncomfortable. Don’t you dare touch it. Find a place to hang on. The ride is gonna get ugly for a while.”

  “What? No, wait! Let me disarm this thing first.”

  “Belay that! We’re going in now. We can’t exactly turn around and try again later!”

  “And we don’t know how these things have been rigged to blow! Timers, radio signals from that ship, too much jiggling?”

  “They’ve saved this one for jump. It’s their failsafe.”

  “You don’t know that. Damn it, Sam!” She wanted to shout at him; maybe she was shouting at him. The ship was shuddering under another hail of laze fire and she couldn’t tell.

  The voice in her ear was calm and soothing. “Trust me, Ray. You’ll have time after we do this. Strap down. Now. Tell me you’re ready.”

  Guts twisting, Rayna gave up the argument. It was his ship, and there came a time when everyone aboard followed his orders. She scrambled back toward the framework of reinforcing metal and ducked under the nearest crossbeam. Bracing her back against the cold durasteel, she locked her legs against the beam across from her. If she stretched her arms out to her sides she could grab on to the neighboring beams. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing.

  She glanced up at the decking as though she could see the man who held all their fates in his hands. “Ready when you are, Captain.”

  “See you on the other side, Little Bit,” Sam said, and closed off his communication with Rayna. Then he shut down that part of his mind, because to think of her trapped down below with enough plasmion to blow her to bits while he spun his ship like a beer token on a bartop was enough to make him crazy.

  “Dartha, what’s our distance?”

  “Fifteen hundred kilometers and closing.” The helm officer shook her head and Sam heard the tiny jingle from multiple piercings in the dead quiet of the bridge.

  Sipritz spoke from Navigation. “You’ll need at least a thousand to make the turn. Course is already laid in.”

  “Do it now, helm. Full about turn. All hands prepare for extreme turbulence and possible loss of AG.” He stepped down to his own seat at the center of the control console and strapped in.

  He registered the acknowledgements, heard the warnings go out over the ship’s loudspeakers. His body took the strain as the ship came about far faster than she was meant to, stabilizers screaming in protest. But his focus was on the Gray cruiser growing ever larger on his viewscreen.

  I’m going to gut you, you fucker. “Fire forward cannons as we bear, Ot.”

  “But the transducers—”

  “Just do it. We’ll have a couple of shots anyway. That’s all we’ll need.”

  “Aye, Cap. Firing forward cannons.”

  Actinic white light splashed against the cruiser’s forward shields until they wavered and shimmered under the assault. The Gray commander brought more power to bear on his shields. They held, but the brutal assault kept up. The Shadowhawk swept closer and closer, the forward cannons spitting fire, while the cruiser was nearly silent, confused by this switch in tactics.

  Within seconds Ot looked up at him from a panel awash in red light. “The transducers, Cap.”

  Kwan’s voice shouted in his commpiece. “Damn it, Sam! Those things are gonna blow any second! I warned you!”

  “Keep your breather on. We’re there.” Sam turned to Arnett. “All hands brace for Plan B. Stand by on weapons. Okay, helm, your show.”

  “Aye, Cap.” Dartha set her shoulders and moved her fingers over the screen at her station. The Shadowhawk shot over the enemy cruiser, so close Sam imagined he could see the startled faces of the Gray crew in the bridge bubble topside. Aft of the Gray ship, the helm officer pulled the ’hawk into another tight full about turn and came back at the cruiser from behind, matching her speed and readying for the maneuver that would send the ’hawk in a tight corkscrew around the enemy ship from aft to fore, firing all weapons as she went.

  The Mper spoke into a near-silent bridge. “Here we go.”

  The Shadowhawk lifted and canted to starboard, the real-time view on the viewscreen replaced with a graphic of their projected spiraling course around the cruiser. Sam’s stomach lurched as his inner ear registered the change in orientation, and he heard Ordman discreetly lose his breakfast at his station as the ship flipped over and around. He held on tight and fought for control of his own insides.

  “Fire as we bear, Ot! Give ‘em everything, starboard and port!”

  “Aye, Cap, I’m on it.” The response was crisp. His weapons officer was Tendik; he had an iron gut.

  New
alarms blared as the AG struggled to compensate for the ship’s slow roll onto its back and over again not just once, but continuously as she hurtled forward along the course of the Gray cruiser. The Shadowhawk’s crew was thrown against decks and bulkheads, lifted and dropped, battered and bounced while the ship groaned as if she’d come apart under the strain. Sparks flew as circuits overloaded and backups couldn’t be brought online fast enough; smoke thickened on the bridge until Sam’s eyes stung and his lungs burned. The air stank of singed plasform and ozone—never a good smell on a starship.

  “Mo, tell me we’re doing some good here.”

  “Their shields are down 40 percent starboard, 50 percent port. Pull out and we might have a shot at their engines.”

  Pull out? Is he fucking crazy? Sam glanced at Sipritz, who was giving him the Mper equivalent of the same expression.

  “What do you think, Sip? Flatten out the spiral to their fore, come about to port and take a shot?”

  She appeared to consider it. “Your ship, Cap. Think she’ll take the strain?”

  “She’ll have to. Lay it in.”

  “Acknowledged. Ready at your mark.”

  “Ot, ready port cannons.”

  “Aye, Cap. Ready.”

  He watched the graphic on the screen, trying to ignore the corresponding dizziness in his head, and waited. The green spiral traced by the Shadowhawk approached the fore of the Gray ship. Just before his ship would have turned into another barrel roll, he gave his order.

  “Turn her out, helm. Go new course.”

  “Aye, Cap, new course.”

  The ’hawk on the screen left its tight spiral and pulled hard to port, circling back on its prey. The ship shuddered and groaned under the load of forces generated by its own momentum, stabilizers overloaded and howling. More of the crew hit the deck.

  Sam watched the screen as his ship came around. “Now, Ot, target their engines as we bear. Fire port cannons!”

  “With pleasure, Cap!”