by Chris Bunch
EMERGENCY ONLY
Any person who knowingly
sets off a false alarm will be
prosecuted to the fullest extent of the
Tworn Station Authority.
The most severe penalties will be sought,
including fines, imprisonment,
loss of citizenship, and
banishment for life.
“When in doubt,” Wolfe murmured, and shot all three boxes open.
The night went mad. Sirens howled, screamed, clanged. Doors crashed shut. Partitions arched up from the deck, closing off the dome.
“Come on! For the port!”
Lasers flashed overhead, to the side, and then steel walls rose smoothly, above a man’s height, blocking Chitet pursuit, continued to rise higher still until they touched the “sky,” partitioning the dome and sealing Tworn Station against the anticipated blowout.
Wolfe ran for the dome wall, pushing his way through the crowd that had poured from nowhere.
“To your stations! Emergency stations!” a man bayed. He saw Wolfe, the gun, then the Al’ar. He screamed something, reached into a pocket, and Wolfe snap kicked him into a wall.
The dome wall was just ahead, and a blister yawned open.
“Inside!”
They dove into the survival pod as a gun blasted behind them. The pod was a thirty-foot-long cylinder with a rounded front and a squared rear. There were four rows of plas seats with safety harness and a small control panel with a single porthole above it. The air lock’s gray metal was visible outside. Wolfe slammed the seal sensor, and the pod’s hatch hissed closed.
“Did you know this was here?” Taen asked.
“I didn’t. But there had to be something,” Joshua said. “Shut up. I’m trying to figure out how this bastard works.”
He scanned the panel, ignoring the flashing lights, touched sensors, swore when nothing happened.
One panel was blinking insistently:
DO NOT LAUNCH WITHOUT AUTHORITY PERMISSION! DO NOT LAUNCH WITHOUT AUTHORITY PERMISSION!
There was a crash as the unknown gunman outside sent another shot into the pod.
“Over there?” Taen suggested.
Under the controls was a square box marked override. Wolfe ripped it open, saw old-fashioned manual knife switches, and snapped them closed.
The world lurched beneath him as the pod rolled out into the lock. Wolfe heard the clunks of another pod being moved into position as the lock cycled them out of the dome. Water frothed outside, rising to cover the porthole, and there was nothing but black.
Again the world roiled, and he stumbled, grabbing one of the plas seats to steady himself.
Taen curled himself into one of the seats.
“Your departure from the station was successful,” a synthed voice intoned. “Alarm signals on all standard distress frequencies are being automatically broadcast.”
Wolfe swallowed, equalizing pressure as the pod shot toward the surface.
“And what happens next?”
“We surface, and I call for my ship. Then we get the hell out of Dodge.”
“And after that? What are your long-range plans?”
“I would dearly like,” Wolfe said, “to see tomorrow or maybe the week afterward.” He became serious. “I don’t have many options. Federation Intelligence will be after me for not killing you, and the Chitet won’t give up.”
“I guess there’s only two things possible: Either I start practicing how to become invisible on a full-time basis or else go looking for this goddamned Mother Lumina that’s got everyone on a skewed orbit.”
“Are you suggesting,” Taen said, “that you become my partner in my quest?”
“If you wish me to,” Joshua said carefully. The subject seemed better handled in his second tongue.
“At one time, when we were little more than hatchlings,” Taen said, “I wondered what a partnership would have produced, when we achieved full growth. But I thought in terms of exploration of the unknown or something of that nature, and when I realized we were doomed to go to war with each other…”
Joshua waited, but the Al’ar did not finish the sentence. After a heavy silence, Taen continued:
“But I have allowed the dead past to swallow me.
“I observed the way you fought down below. You are a far greater warrior than when last I saw you. You have learned much with no one to guide you. You give great honor to your teachers, your fellow students who tried to help you learn the ways of fighting.”
“To answer your question, yes, of course. I welcome you, Shadow Warrior, and it is my honor to be allowed to fight with you.”
Something touched Wolfe, something he had not felt for time beyond memory.
“We are approaching the ocean’s surface,” the artificial voice said. “Would all aboard strap themselves down, in the event of bad weather on the surface, to avoid injury. One person designated as pod control officer should approach the controls.”
A board slid out from the control panel.
“This pod has a range of approximately a hundred miles at a fixed speed of three knots. You will observe the controls provided.”
There was a joystick, a dial with a pointer, and a single slidepot.
“The stick functions as a rudder, and the other control is a throttle. Use these to steer your craft.”
“Warning—do not expend your fuel foolishly. If there is a storm, do not attempt to sail out of it but wait until it has passed.”
“The third instrument indicates the nearest broadcast point. Keep the red arrow centered at the top of the dial and you will go toward it.”
“It is not likely that you will reach that point, however, since all stations on Montana Keep have been alerted to the emergency.”
“Do not become alarmed. You will be rescued in short order.” The program shut down.
“Wonderful,” Wolfe said. “As if we need to advertise.”
He looked for anything that might access the pod’s transmitter, saw nothing.
“We have worse problems,” Taen said. “Look at the hatchway.”
Wolfe turned and saw water seeping into the pod.
He hurried to the hatch. Halfway down it the metal was torn, blackened. Along the edge was torn, burned sealant with water beading through.
“Our friend was a better shot than I thought,” he said. Suddenly the metal wrenched farther open, and a stream of water gushed in, sending him staggering back.
“Can we block this?” he shouted over the building hiss of the incoming ocean.
“I see nothing,” Taen said.
The pod chamber was rapidly filling, water almost knee-deep now. Wolfe sloshed to the control panel, stared out and up. The blackness was less absolute, and he thought he saw light above. He felt pain in his chest, realized the pod’s atmospheric equalizer must’ve been hit as well, and began exhaling steadily.
“Breathe… out…” he managed. “Or… rupture whatever… kind of lungs… you’ve got…”
“The question would appear to be,” Taen said, undisturbed, “whether we gather enough water to keep us from rising before or after we reach the surface.”
The blackness was lighter, and then daylight blinded them. The pod shot clear of the water, then crashed back down. Wolfe was slammed into a wall, and his vision darkened, then came back. He looked out the porthole. The ocean was gray, with a small chop.
“Are we still leaking?”
Taen waded to the hatch. “How interesting,” he said. “I can observe the ocean beyond. It would appear that the hole is just above the water level, although waves are bringing in water every now and again. If we had pumps, we could pump it dry and be safe.”
“That’s one of the many things we’re a bit short of,” Wolfe said. The control panel’s directional needle was pointing to the right. He slid the control pot up to full, turned the joystick, and centered the needle.
He heard humming, and slowly, laboriously, the pod began moving, the
water level now just below the smashed hatch.
You are in the sea… so you have allowed it to embrace you… turn away… you are letting it wash you, move you… you are not in control now… you are not part of the tide… reach for the earth, remember the earth, find your center… find the void… return whole…
His breathing slowed. He felt out, found nothing. He took the Lumina from his pocket, held it, not seeing it flame up.
Taen said something, and Wolfe felt surprise in his words but did not allow them to be heard.
Beyond there… out there… land… the jungle… the earth… feel on…
Involuntarily Wolfe swiveled, felt where the Centipede lay on the continent that stretched in front of him, felt its distance.
“As a good guess,” he said, “we’re only about ten, twelve miles from the lumber station where I came down to Tworn Station.” He touched the plas that concealed the bonemike and winced as his fingers found a deep gouge in its surface that had been cut without his realizing it.
“Ship, do you hear me?”
There was no response.
“Ship, do you understand this sending?”
Again, nothing.
“Ship, can you detect this device singing to you? Respond at once on this frequency.”
“I hear a singing in a tongue none speak,” came the response. “I am responding only because my logical circuits dictate you must be the one sending. If that was you sending previously, be advised your voice pattern no longer matches the one I am required to obey. Please inform problem. Be advised if input does not give satisfactory explanation,, all transmissions from your station will be ignored.”
“The transponder suffered physical damage. Do not terminate transmission. That is an order. Emergency override,” and Wolfe switched to Terran, “Frangible, Onyx, Three, Phlebas.”
“Your message received, understood. Emergency override orders acknowledged. Stress analysis applied. No sign evident that you are drugged or under control of a hostile. As instructed, I will obey your orders.”
“Shit,” Joshua muttered. “I think I’m a little too careful. Ship, do you have this station located?”
“I do.”
“Lift from the bottom but do not break surface until you’re a mile offshore. Then, at full power—”
Static suddenly roared against his bones.
“Ship, do you receive this station?”
He felt nothing but the static.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure,” Wolfe said. “I hope it’s just some kind of local interference. But I’ll bet I’m wrong. We’ve got troubles, partner. I think somebody picked up our transmission and is jamming it.”
“The Chitet?”
Wolfe shrugged. “I guess our best chance is to ride this clunker to shore, hope the jamming stops, then call again.”
Taen’s hood lifted, subsided.
“Then that is what we shall do.”
* * * *
Thirty minutes later Wolfe saw the outline of the coast rise out of the gray water ahead. He couldn’t make out the Centipede yet but kept the needle centered. Less than five minutes after that the steady hum of the drive faltered, then quit. The pod settled, and water began slopping through the hatch.
“We took a harder hit than I thought,” he said. “How are you at swimming?”
“I will float under this planet’s circumstances,” the Al’ar said. “However, propelling myself through the water will be a very slow matter.” He held out his slender grasping organs. “But I shall kick and flail as best I can.”
“The hell you will,” Wolfe said. “I’ll tow you. Let’s get this hatch open and out of here.”
He hit the sensor. Motors hummed, and the hatch moved, opening a few inches; then metal grated against metal. He hit the sensor again and heard a relay cut out.
“We may not have to worry about swimming,” he muttered. He braced against one of the plas seats, kicked, kicked again. The inner surface of the hatch caved in a bit but didn’t open.
Taen stepped in front of him and slid his impossibly slender grasping organs through the slit. He braced himself against one wall and pulled.
Joshua felt the Lumina in his pocket flame, heat. Metal screeched, and the hatch moved a few inches; then the relay cut back in, and the way was open and the ocean crashed in. The pod rolled, began sinking.
Joshua had an arm around the Al’ar’s thin chest. He pushed his way out, against the current, and was out of the survival pod.
He fought his way to the surface, swam a few strokes away from the sinking pod, and released Taen. He rolled on his back, forced his boots off, and let them sink. He unbuckled his gun belt, was about to release it, and stopped. He looped the belt around his neck and buckled it.
“Now we swim?” Taen inquired.
There was still nothing but the jamming roar to be felt through the transponder.
“Now we swim. You lie on your back, keep your head above water, and kick with me. Sooner or later we’ll either drown or hit the beach.”
“I shall not drown.”
Wolfe wondered what Taen meant, then put the matter out of mind.
Reach deep … the way is long… you have much power … your muscles are not torn, not aching… this is sport… breathe… breathe… now feel the sea, let it take you, let it wash you…
The pod was barely visible above the surface, rolling, about to sink, no more than thirty feet away.
A gray-green snake’s head as big as Wolfe’s body broke the surface, reaching ten feet into the air on a snake neck. Wolfe saw a flipper break the surface and turn the creature.
It glared down at the pod, hissed a challenge, struck, and screeched its agony as teeth chipped against the alloy steel. It struck once more, then turned, seeing the two beings in the water.
Wolfe’s fingers fumbled for the holster catch, lifting the retaining loop. The sea monster’s head lashed down; its fanged mouth struck the water just short of Taen. The Al’ar slapped the beast on the top of its jaws, a seeming touch.
Wolfe heard bones crunch, and the creature screamed and rolled over, showing a light green belly and four thrashing flippers. It came back up, shrilling, and pulled its head back like a cobra about to lunge.
Wolfe had his pistol out and touched the stud. A wave washed his arm, and the blast slammed past the monster’s neck. He fired once more, and the bolt hit the animal just below its skull. Ichor gouted over the water around them, and the animal thrashed, slamming into the sinking pod again and again.
Wolfe had Taen around the neck and was swimming hard, away from the pooling gore and the sea monster’s death throes.
“I don’t,” he managed, “want to see what this world imagines sharks to be like.”
“Do not speak,” Taen said. “Reserve your strength for the task ahead.”
Wolfe obeyed and let his free arm and legs move, move in muscle memory.
He fancied he could see the tree line ahead of him but knew better, for they were still too far out. He refused to allow himself hope, reminded his mind it was a drunken, careening monkey, swam on.
It might have been five strokes, it might have been five thousand, when the sky darkened.
Wolfe rolled on his back and saw the great ship descending toward them.
“Are we being rescued?”
Wolfe brought his mind back from where he had buried it and studied the starship through salt-burning eyes.
“No,” he said. “That’s an old Federation cruiser. Ashida class, I’m pretty sure.”
“Then release me. I shall go down to my death before I go into the hands of the Federation.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Wolfe said. “All of them got mothballed or broken up for scrap after the war. But this one didn’t.”
“Chitet!”
The static blur against his clavicle was gone, and a voice sounded:
“Stand by for pickup. If you have weapons, discard them. Any attempts at
resistance will only produce your deaths. I say again, stand by for pickup.”
Wolfe had the pistol out, held just below the water.
“No,” Taen said. “Release the weapon. They will only shoot us in the water. Is it not better to let them pick us up and then meet our deaths when we have a better chance of taking some of them along to amuse us on our journey?”
Wolfe opened his fingers, saw the pistol sink down into green darkness.
The huge ship was only fifty feet above them, moving to one side, when the Grayle broke water, its hatch sliding open, less than ten feet away.
Wolfe was swimming desperately, once more grasping Taen as he felt heat from the Chitet cruiser’s drive sear him. He found a grab rail, pulled himself aboard, and rolled into the lock.
It cycled close behind him.
“Lift,” he gasped. “Straight off the water, full evasive pattern.”
“Understood.”
Gravity twisted and warped; then the ship’s AG took over, and he came to his feet.
“Screens!” He saw the bulk of the ship nearly overhead, to one side, the land, the sea below. The Grayle was skimming just above the water, accelerating.
Water spouted high to the right, where the Grayle would have been if it hadn’t jinked a second earlier. On another screen he saw the cruiser’s missile port snap closed and another open.
“Immelman, straight back at them.”
“Understood.”
He felt vertigo even through the artificial gravity as the ship climbed and rolled.
He grabbed a railing for support. Taen crouched on the deck nearby.
“Target… starship ahead.”
“Acquired.”
“Launch one!”
The cruiser was no more than ten miles distant when one of the Grayle’s tubes spat fire and the air-to-air missile smashed toward it.
Whoever was controlling the ship was very fast, recovering from amazement at receiving fire from what appeared to be no more than a yacht, and the former Federation warship banked away, climbing.
But Wolfe’s missile couldn’t miss at that range. It exploded into the Chitet cruiser near the stern, and the ship twisted in the blast.