The end of the line shook now and then as the raider’s failed engines shuddered, trying to start, sending out ripples that Mack could feel under his gloved hands. It must be one of the Weasels’ pseudoengineers chanting instructions over the controls, no doubt trying to coax life into the machinery. If he ever succeeded, the entire platoon of Apes would be whiplashed into space.
The doctor knew he was being flung back and forth, but with the exception of visual clues, his body was unaware of the movement. Space was frictionless, and all Mack’s actions had an air of unreality. His fellows were nearly invisible ahead of him, darker shadows against the scorched hull of the raider, except when silhouetted by bright sparks when the Red Ball’s laser dug into the Khalian ship.
“Kitchy koo!” Utun snickered, detaching one hand from the rolling line and reaching for Jordan’s armpit.
“Goddamn it, stop that!” the marine muttered, the sound conducted along the metal ribs of their combat suits. Flinching away from her, the marine found himself riding the line upside down and flat out like a paper doll in the wind.
“Minimize your target profile and stow your chatter,” Shillitoe hissed from the back of the line, risking a radio squirt.
Jordan twisted until he was once again directly behind Utun and clamped a hand onto her ankle. Cautiously, Mack shifted to make room for him. This caused yet more disruption as the tiniest shift caused the line to sway.
When they reached the raider, each marine activated the magnets in the soles of their suit boots and attached their boots with gentle clanks to the hull.
“We’re on.” Shillitoe spoke into his microphone. “Breaking communications with Red Ball now.”
They couldn’t hear it, but they knew that on the other side of the Khalian ship, the Red Ball was drawing closer and closer to the Weasels’ weapons range. Every one of its lights was ablaze. Mack could see that the blue-gray scooter across kilometers of space was lit up like a brand, reflecting the Red Ball’s glory. The Weasels would be able to tell that the hatch was open, but now it didn’t matter. To get rid of the marines, they’d have to depress their turrets low enough to fire onto their own hull, or blow themselves up. And there was no doubt the Weasels were capable of doing something that suicidal if they were technically able to do so.
Utun blew the airlock open with a shaped charge, a little nasty issued by ordnance that Fleet boarding parties used when no one answered the door. The charge was small enough to leave the inner lock intact. If there were humans on board, they couldn’t afford to breach the hull. The Apes piled through the hole, covering one another as each one came through. The second lock, as usual, opened easily. The inner door wasn’t meant to keep anyone out. Shillitoe popped in last and started giving orders as soon as the airlock door had whooshed shut behind him. The tasks had been set out and gone over a dozen times with Meier and again on the scooter. Every marine knew already what had to be done, except for Mack.
“Dockerty and Ellis, engineering. Utun, Jordan, life support. Pirelli, Marks, Inez, Sokada, the bridge. The rest of you follow me. We secure the prisoners. Doc, come with me or stay out of the way. Up to you.”
A grim expression on his face, Mack followed the marine sergeant. Reality had reasserted itself the moment he had removed his frosted-over helmet in the warm ship air. They were on a Khalian ship, and they were looking for two hundred live human prisoners, in who-knew-what physical condition. He worried that the tiny diagnosti-kit would be insufficient to treat the damage he would find. Experience had taught the Fleet marines that their greatest danger was just before they had secured the ship. It was then that every remaining Weasel stopped fighting and tried to cause their ship to self-destruct. Mack realized that attending to the prisoners could probably wait until they had complete control and until the Red Ball could safely come alongside—otherwise his services would become entirely and permanently unnecessary.
The other marines waited only until the condensation had evaporated before putting their gear on again. Each man was armed with a needle gun or projectile-firing pistol and a camouflage-tinted saber. Mack stripped off his gauntlets and slung them defiantly into a matte-painted corner as he trotted after the marines.
Zanatobi threw him a glance through his mask. “Don’t leave ’em there. You’ll never see ’em again. The Weasels’ll use ’em for condoms.”
Mack started to explain the facts about Khalian biology, then realized his leg was being pulled.
“What about the helmet?” the young doctor asked, determined to keep the mood light. Anything to keep from having to face that he was scared hollow.
“Eh, they’ll use that for a head.”
“Why not?” Mack reasoned. “That’s what we use it for.” But he attached the helmet to the snaps at the nape of his collar and let it bump along behind him so he could hear the mike chatter.
The party trotted along through the impact-padding lined tube that was the corridor. The insulation hullward was a shiny silver to deflect laser fire, as the inner walls were painted a flat black matte to absorb the high-intensity beams. It was the cheapest way in space to ensure against breaching the hulls by accident with a laser. Their heavy footfalls were no more than soft pok-pok-pok sounds on the cushioned floor.
“Down!”
A spatter of explosive pops echoed in the corridor behind them, and the party flattened itself on the deck.
A rebel yell of triumph from Dockerty rattled over the headset pickups. He and his partner reported seconds later that they were successful in breaking through to engineering. “We mopped ’em, Sarge! Surprised ’em good. Five dead. One bastard hit an alarm before we croaked ’em, though, We’re looking for the cutoff for the self-destruct mechanism before someone triggers it from the bridge.”
“So they know we’re here.” Shillitoe accepted the report with carefully controlled optimism. “Don’t let anyone in there who looks like he hasn’t shaved.”
“Sure, Sarge,” Dockerty acknowledged.
* * *
The Khalian vessel shook faintly in space as Auro Lebario’s carefully aimed salvos scored on first the bow, then the stern. Auro realized that if he kept alternating hits in just the right places, the slave ship would windmill off into the night like an alien juggernaut. He had to keep reminding himself that he was a serious part of the rescue effort, but from his unprotected position in the gunnery bubble, his view still looked like the screen of a video game. His constant computer readouts even gave him a running tally of how many hits he’d made. Unfortunately, if the Khalians ever got their lasers powered up, he’d be an easy target.
“Game over.” Auro mused, uncomfortably, shifting his shoulders under his cadet’s tunic. He took careful aim on the glinting metal of one of the dormant gun emplacements and pressed his fire control. Sparks shot satisfyingly off into space from the edge of the Khalian ship.
* * *
“Goddamn it!” Shillitoe exclaimed to the ceiling as his group dashed through the corridor. “This isn’t blasted target practice, Lebario!” As if in answer to his comment, the floor ahead of them chattered with little puffs of smoke. “Hostiles ahead! They must be desperate if they’re risking laser fire in here.”
The tracer in Mack’s diagnosti-kit lit up as they dodged between structural pylons for cover and returned fire. “Tarzan, there’s one of ours ahead
“We’re not shooting at our own guys, are we?”
“No. I have a vital-signs signal. It’s weak; probably one of the prisoners is captured Fleet personnel. There’s a door and electronic interference between the signaling unit and us.”
“And those overgrown rats want to keep us from getting to them,” the sergeant growled, peering over the edge of a bale. “How many of them are there?”
“I count five flashes, Sarge,” Zanatobi called from behind a long container. “Might be just three or four moving around. Nope, five. I was right
the first time.”
“Something funny about this,” Foxburg mused. “How come they’re already fighting with lasers? They couldn’t have known there’d be a boarding attempt. These critters just don’t think that far ahead. This is a last-ditch attempt of some kind.”
“Maybe they’re out of bullets,” a marine named Viedre offered, flattening himself next to Shillitoe.
“Maybe it’s a mutiny,” Mack suggested. “They were already fighting when we arrived.”
Mack’s guess proved to be the right one. When at last the Apes broke through, the bodies of the Weasels lay before a barricade protecting them from what lay behind a sealed hatchway on the opposite side from the marines’ approach. The sole Khalian remaining alive hissed his terror as he saw that his opponents were fully-armed marines. His defiant death cry rang in the hall as Zanatobi shot him down.
“We weren’t what he was expecting,” Shillitoe said, turning over the body with a foot. “No communications device. On any of ’em. This lot was cut off.”
“He was calling for a bard,” Pirelli noted with amusement, gathering up the lasers.
“We’ll tell ’em he died fighting later,” the sergeant said.
“Just before we space ’em,” Viedre added.
“Betcher afterburners,” Zanatobi smirked.
* * *
A curt nod from the sergeant sent his men into combat position ranged around the sealed door. Viedre attached a charge to the locking mechanism in the wall next to the portal and looked up at his commander for his signal.
“Sarge”—Dockerty’s voice shouted over the helmet pickups—“that alarm brought six more Weasels. We’re trying to hold ’em off. They’ve been making suicide leaps for the self-destruct controls!”
“Hang in there,” Shillitoe commanded. “We’ll be with you ASAP. All units,” he called to the other parties of marines, “all units join Dockerty’s in engineering, or we’re going to be space rubble!”
“Aye, Sarge.” “Right, Tarzan.” “Okay!” came from the other advance units.
“We can’t find nobody, but they’re shooting at us,” Utun’s voice spat. “Jordan and I gotta stay.”
“All right,” Shillitoe said, moving his chin away from the mike control and listening to the hum of Dockerty’s giving commands. “Let’s get the prisoners out. We don’t know how many Khalians are on the other side of the door, and we’re running out of time.” He hefted his, projectile thrower. “On my signal... . Now!”
Yelling war cries, the Apes burst through the sliding door as soon as the charge blew out the lock and found themselves confronting bloody and mutilated remains. It took Mack a shocked thirty seconds to realize that the bodies were not human, but Khalian. One of them was wearing a Fleet-style white medic’s tunic. Mack recalled that there were some Khalian medics. But he was still on guard because he was being watched. Staring with equal surprise at the marines were the two hundred humans, looking thin and showing evidence of ill-treatment, but alive.
Sergeant Shillitoe popped off his helmet and looked around the cold, steel-walled room at the prisoners. “What happened here?” Several of the strongest-looking men and women were stained with blood to the elbows. The room appeared to have been a communal dormitory. Evidently, the Khalians believed that the locking hatchway was secure enough to keep the, humans imprisoned. There were no chains or rows of holding pens, as the marines had seen on other Khalian ships.
“We caught them off guard, Sergeant, is it?” one of the men said proudly, stepping forward. He wore the remains of a Fleet uniform from which his insignia dangled. “I’m Captain Pollock. It was pretty bad for a while—no food, no medical supplies—but we soon realized we outnumbered the bastards more than ten to one. We made our plans and struck. In no time, we would have been in command of the ship.” He drew himself up into a stiff stance of attention, but it was clear he was exhausted.
“Too bad you couldn’t have let us know,” Shillitoe said with dry humor. “We wouldn’t have had to come. Of course the ship isn’t going anyplace right now. The engines are shot.”
Many of the prisoners nodded to one another. “So that’s why they were going crazy,” Pollock acknowledged. “We heard the thrumming stop just before we attacked the guards.”
Dockerty’s voice broke in, automatically augmented in volume from the detached helmet’s speaker. “Sarge, they’re rolling in a laser cannon. If they fire that, they might breach hull integrity, and it’s all over!”
Foxburg was disgusted. “They’re stupid. They want to blow the ship up, right? If they were smart, they’d turn the cannon around the other way and blast through the bulkheads.”
“—And I can hear them cutting through a wall behind us,” Dockerty interrupted. “They’re determined to get to that self-destruct mechanism, Sarge. We can’t hold out much longer.”
“—Caught one trying to set off a missile warhead,” another voice interrupted.
Crisply worded reports came in from the rest of the assault team. At least two dozen Khalians remained, spread all over the ship in twos and threes. Shillitoe was beginning to realize just how many meters of twisting corridors a ship this size had. There was no way they could eliminate all of the remaining Khalians before one got lucky and blew them all to pieces.
“Dockerty, cut off all power sources,” the sergeant commanded. “That’ll take care of the laser cannon. Utun, maintain life support. Go over to emergency power if you have to.”
“I can’t read these controls, but I’ll try, Sarge,” the woman’s voice crackled on the pickup.
A concerned hubbub arose from the prisoners.
“We have to go help him!” Dalle exclaimed, his eyes wide, pulled between his concern over the condition of the prisoners and Dockerty’s ability to hold off the enemy.
“Not yet,” Shillitoe said, glancing at the crowd of humans clustering around them. He raised his hands for attention. “Listen up. Hey. Hey! Quiet down!” The powerful voice which had earned him his nickname carried over the combined murmur of the assembled humans and bounced off the rear bulkhead. Mack winced. “You heard the man. They’re trying to blow this ship up with all of us aboard. We could use your help. You want to get revenge on the damned Weasels?”
The cheer of agreement proved to Shillitoe that the question was rhetorical.
The marine sergeant’s voice rang off the metal walls. “Together we’re an army—unstoppable. Hunt down every single Weasel you can find and kill them! But we’ve got to hurry! Follow me!” The building roar from 208 voices finally drowned out his commands.
Shillitoe and his men tossed some of their spare weapons over to their makeshift army and ran out of the door. Like a wave, the prisoners forgot their exhaustion and hunger and surged after Tarzan. Mack glanced over each man and woman as the crowd passed him. The chance to vent some of their frustration and anger at being held prisoner had given strength back to them. It wouldn’t last long, but this way they had a chance. He unholstered his projectile thrower and followed in the wake of the furious mob.
* * *
“You’ll all go forward and take out any Weasels left on the bridge,” Shillitoe ordered as they came to the engineering section. “And look out! I’ve got two marines up there. Don’t mistake ’em for bald Khalians!”
Half of the crowd of prisoners followed Zanatobi up the passageway, bursting past two surprised Khalians who were unrolling the power cable for the laser cannon inside engineering. The prisoners tore both the raiders and the cable to pieces with their bare hands before the Khalians could react.
* * *
The tidal wave of human bodies overwhelmed the few Khalians who were attempting to break through to engineering. Behind its plate-glass window, Dockerty’s sweating face broke into a relieved grin, which changed into astonishment as the prisoners swarmed in the door, led by a screaming Zanatobi. Dockerty took the op
portunity to shoot a couple of the nearest Khalians as they gaped in surprise. Ellis, on the floor with a laser burn through his thigh, rolled over and over to get out of the mob’s way.
If a Khalian fought back, using its formidable teeth or talons, another human took the place of the wounded human, and several more assaulted the enemy from behind. In a few breaths, the last remaining Khalians had been throttled, stamped on, and clawed. Sounds echoing down the corridors signaled the discovery of those Khalians who had spread out inside the spaceship. Shillitoe, hurrying toward each new roar, was unable to break through the crowd or even prevent the Weasels’ bodies from being pulled apart.
“On the other hand,” he muttered to Mack as they forced their way through to Ellis’s side, “they had it coming. Why should I spoil their fun?”
“Hey, Tarzan, we’re all through here,” Zanatobi’s voice coming through on the headset interrupted them. “You wanna tell someone to pick us up now?”
“Just as soon as I figure out how to recommend two hundred civvies for medals,” Shillitoe shot back. “You lazy bastards let them do your job!”
MOST HUMANS would be surprised to discover that Omnilar, the most popular and most influential of all omni stations, is owned solely by Louawisa 34, an Alertian. Since the Alliance is predominantly human, this fact is neither hidden nor emphasized. Instead, the only executive that ever appears on screen is the charismatic, and well-constructed, Dee Vinate. For most human viewers this is quite enough.
There is no information as to the source of the immense wealth which Louawisa 34 used to obtain his majority interest in Omnilar. What is known of the reclusive trillionaire are his fervently pacifist views, views reflected in his company’s constant calls for an end to the conflict and a rapprochement with the Khalia.
The Fleet Book Three: Break Through Page 27