by Jake Elwood
If the robot's aim was bad, their speed wouldn't matter. They would miss the station by a few kilometers and die slowly as their air ran out. The ironic thing was that they could make a tiny adjustment now and save themselves from such an ugly fate. If only they knew their exact trajectory.
A flash of motion roused Chan from his gloomy thoughts. Liz was gesturing at her ears. Logic told Chan to ignore her. Radio silence would not hurt them. Breaking radio silence might do them considerable harm. However, emotion won out over logic. Telling himself that talking to his friends would have a calming effect and thus help him conserve air, Chan flicked on his suit radio.
"I'm going to get Marcus," said Liz's voice in his ear. "I'm scared he'll start puking."
"No, I'm all right," Marcus interjected, his voice tight with strain. "Hang on…"
Chan saw a red glow from one thruster, and Marcus's mad tumble began to slow. A few more expert squirts brought him to a stop.
"Oh, good God, that's better."
"You out there, Joss?" Chan asked.
"Right behind you, Captain." A moment later he felt her hand on his shoulder. Her knee bumped his back and the two of them drifted toward Liz.
Chan's hand moved to the keypad on the forearm of his suit. He wanted to use this last few moments of comparative privacy to send a quick message to Rhett. He had one last order for the robot, assuming the ship wasn't destroyed.
The four of them tethered themselves together. After that there was nothing to do but plunge through the vacuum, scanning the void ahead of them for the telltale glint of Andromeda One and wondering about the fate of Rhett and the Stark Raven.
Chapter 5
Rhett kept the chase going for most of an hour. He had observed Liz's handling of the controls as she evaded pursuit and the murderous fire that came with it. He was able to calculate quick combinations of thrust that would send the Raven lurching in a variety of directions. To keep his maneuvers unpredictable, he modified the degree, direction, and duration of thrust using the output of a random number generating algorithm.
He didn't have enough hands to man the laser as well as the helm controls, but he was able to program the ship's computer to handle that chore. Each time the thrusters on the Raven fired, the laser fired as well. He did no critical damage, but he was able to disable a laser weapon on the Sword of the Saviour.
Still, despite all that could be done, the enemy fleet drew ever closer and closer. Eventually a lucky shot would disable or destroy the Raven. Rhett preferred to avoid that eventuality. He chose his moment of surrender using a complex calculation that factored in the damage accumulated by the ship and the steadily rising probability of a crippling hit. He put the Raven through a final maneuver, waited for most of two minutes until he judged that the chance of detection by radar was at fifty percent, and lifted a hand to open a radio channel to Wittenberg.
He was a moment too late. Six rapid clangs echoed through the ship in the space of two seconds as a rail gun found its mark. Every screen on the bridge went dark, the lights died, and the gravity cut out. A moment later the gravity was back at about thirty percent. The lights came back, and one screen lit up at the helm station. The other stations remained dark.
Rhett surveyed the screen. Only a few systems were available, but the radio was one of them. He opened a channel.
"This is Acting Captain Rhett of the Stark Raven. I surrender. There will be no further resistance or attempts to evade."
They caught the Raven with magnetic grapples and reeled her in until she was snugged up against the Golden Cross. Rhett had long since closed the ceiling hatch. Now he locked the helm station, rose, walked to the back of the bridge, and stood silently to await his fate.
It took some time for the larger ship to line up a docking ring, but at last the hatch in the ceiling swung open. The barrel of a laser rifle poked through and swivelled back and forth. The gun withdrew and a man in a black vac suit dropped through, a rifle in his hands. He stepped to one side, surveying the bridge as more men dropped into the Raven. Six commandos in all entered the ship. They ignored Rhett, gathering on both sides of the bridge door before one man palmed the door open. Five of the commandos swarmed into the corridor while the sixth man stayed behind, watching the corridor alertly and keeping Rhett in his peripheral vision.
By Rhett's internal chronometer it took nine minutes and eighteen seconds for the commandoes to complete their search and return to the bridge. They slung their weapons over their shoulders and removed their helmets, revealing five quite ordinary-looking men of various ages and one middle-aged woman.
Only after they had tried to access the ship's computers did an older man finally turn to Rhett. "You there. Robot."
"How may I be of service?"
The man gestured at the console in front of him. "Do you know the password here?"
"I do not." It was a widely-held misconception that robots were incapable of lying. Rhett knew himself to be a consummate liar, entirely free of tells.
"Where's the bloody crew? And, more to the point, where's the passenger?"
"Mr. Marcus and the ship's crew abandoned the vessel immediately after the last projectile weapon strike."
The commando gave Rhett a suspicious stare. "There was an escape pod?"
"Yes."
That was the last attention anyone paid to Rhett. Four of the commandoes departed through the ceiling hatch while the other two, the older man and the woman, sat at bridge consoles and tinkered with the displays. They chatted with each other, ignoring Rhett.
"My shift's supposed to be over," the woman said. "I better be getting plus-hours rate for this."
"Ah." The man waved a dismissive hand. "They'll give you time off in lieu. They always do."
She snorted. "Better be time off back on Andromeda. I don't need any time off aboard ship, thank you very much."
He shrugged. "Might not be so bad. Not if we have our very own private butler bot waiting on us hand and foot."
The woman chuckled. "Yeah, that'll happen." She glanced over her shoulder at Rhett. "What do you think they'll do to him?"
"Take him apart and analyze his memories," the man said. "Who knows what he might know?"
Rhett calculated that it would be best to avoid this fate. Disassembly was not precisely death, and he did not precisely fear it, but nor would he submit with all the docility these commandoes might expect.
His time in the city of Crius on Titan, abandoned by his former owners as his systems slowly deteriorated, had been… sub-optimal, with a poor prognosis for future improvement. Chan, Liz, and Joss treated him more or less like a crew member rather than an appliance, and he calculated his long-term prospects as much better in their company. They were not friends. Rhett was not capable of something so emotional and abstract. Nevertheless, for reasons that went beyond the fact that Chan had given him orders, he would exert himself considerably, endure much, and risk much to liberate the Raven and collect his crewmates.
"There's trouble," the man said, touching a finger to his ear. "Another ship coming in." He stood. "Wait here. Keep an eye on things." He crossed the bridge, bounding in the reduced gravity, and jumped up to grab the docking ring. Rhett heard a low grunt of effort as he drew himself up and through.
Another eleven minutes and nine seconds passed in silence before a man and a woman in gray coveralls dropped through the hatch in the ceiling. The commando looked up, surprise on her face.
"Looks like we've got a scrap coming," the man said cheerfully. "They want this bucket of bolts repaired if we can do it. We could use the extra guns." He and the woman beside him headed aft.
Rhett abandoned his earlier plan to simply wait until the Raven was empty. The next strategy was to take advantage of the indifference most humans showed toward robots. He turned toward the door at the back of the bridge.
"Hey, where are you going?"
Rhett turned to face the woman at the bridge console. "The toilets may have malfunctioned when the ship l
ost power during the battle. If you wish the ship to be spaceworthy, I should probably check on them. Of course, I can stay here if you prefer to maintain them yourself?"
The woman waved an irritable hand. Rhett left the bridge.
The corridor beyond was lined with doors to crew and passenger cabins. Each cabin did, indeed, have its own tiny washroom, but Rhett had no interest in plumbing. Chan had sent him a private message with another errand for him to perform.
The second door on the right opened onto Marcus's cabin. Rhett let the door close behind him, then began a quick search. The package Marcus had brought from Piotr's habitat was hidden under a small heap of clothing in the little closet. Rhett opened the package, examined the contents, then replaced the package and the laundry.
He left the cabin and moved aft, opening the door to the engine room. He found the man scanning screens of data on the diagnostic computer set in one bulkhead. The woman was examining the main thrusters, or so he surmised from the sight of her lower legs protruding from under the engine housing.
The man raised an eyebrow, and Rhett said, "Can I be of assistance?" It was certainly in his best interests to see the ship repaired as quickly as possible.
"You might be just what we need," the man said. "There's a cover on top of the thruster casing. It's a bugger to get at, and I'm not strong enough to lift it. Want to give it a try?"
Rhett had to slide his head and shoulders through a narrow gap between the thruster engine and a cluster of pipes. With his chest pressed against a curved steel housing he could see the top of the thruster casing. Four jagged holes showed where rail gun rounds had pierced the engine. Directly above the casing were matching holes in the skin of the ship. These, Rhett saw, had already been patched from outside.
He was unable to see what the two engineers did while he held the heavy steel cover out of the way. He just remained frozen in place, sprawled across the housing, the cover gripped in his extended arms, while clanks and hisses and grinding sounds drifted up from below. After eleven minutes and forty-nine seconds the engineer said, "All right, buddy, you can let it down now."
By the time Rhett extracted himself from the vicinity of the thruster housing the woman was rising to her feet and brushing dust from her coveralls. The man stood at the diagnostic computer, tapping icons. A low thrum of power suffused the engine room.
"Looks good," the man said. "Could have been a lot worse. I like it when all we have to do is patch a hole." He spent almost two more minutes watching readouts on the wall screen while he raised and lowered the power level. "That's it," he said at last. "She's good to fly on her own."
He and the woman left the engine room without another word. Rhett watched them go, then turned to a large toolbox in one corner. The bottom tray of the toolbox contained a battered and rusted selection of wrenches and pliers. All of it was junk, which made it excellent camouflage. Rhett stirred through it with blunt metal fingers and drew a rail pistol out from under the rusty tools.
The corridor was empty. Rhett moved toward the bridge, calculating vectors and trajectories as he went, running quick simulations of one scenario after another. Then his free hand covered the switch for the bridge door and the door slid open.
The two engineers were gone, which brought the situation in line with the more optimistic scenarios. Harming human beings was imprudent at best, and the engineers were non-combatants. The female commando, unfortunately, remained, and she swivelled her chair around at the sound of the bridge door.
"Do not move," said Rhett, extending the pistol, "or I shall—"
He never got to finish the threat. The woman moved with astonishing speed, writhing to her feet in a fluid motion and stepping to the side as she unlimbered her rifle. The barrel swung toward Rhett, and he shot her in the center of the chest.
She grunted, sank to one knee, and tucked the stock of the rifle against her ribs. There was nothing in her expression but murderous concentration as she took aim. He could see a damaged area over her heart where his round had torn up the armour on the front of her vac suit but failed to punch through. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
He examined the plates on the front of her vac suit, analyzed the apparent thickness and rigidity, did a quick calculation, and shot her three times in rapid succession just over her solar plexus. She grunted and sagged in the chair as the last round bounced free and rolled across the deck. Her left hand went to her chest as her mouth opened and closed in silent gasps. The fingers of her right hand were curled only loosely around the laser rifle, so Rhett stepped in close, wrapped his free hand around the barrel, and plucked the weapon from her grasp.
Her eyes sharpened, her gaze focussed on him, and her right hand dropped to the butt of the pistol holstered at her hip.
Rhett shot her through the wrist.
She swore, then moaned, and her left hand clamped around the injured wrist. Then she gritted her teeth, moved her injured wrist to her lap, and moved her bloody left hand across her body. She put her left hand backwards on the butt of the pistol.
Rhett leaned forward until the barrel of his pistol touched her forehead. "Don't," he said.
She stared up at him for a long moment. Then, in a convulsive movement that she telegraphed in four different ways, she wrenched her head to the side, swept her feet uselessly against the steel columns of his legs in an attempt to bowl him over, swung her injured forearm at his gun hand, and pulled the pistol from her holster.
The pistol was backwards in her grip and her hand was shaking with reaction. Rhett had all the time he needed to step back, twist his hips, and bash her across the head with the stock of the laser rifle.
She sprawled in the chair, snoring, as he unzipped the snug sleeve of her vac suit. He sprayed coagulant over the wound, bandaged her wrist, then injected her with a cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics. There was a mild sedative in the first-aid kit, so he injected that as well. Then he dragged her out of the bridge, into the corridor, and wedged her into the ship's tiny ventral airlock. He shut the lock, then locked it from the inside. She could still escape, if she was willing to face hard vacuum without a helmet.
He unlocked the computer, did a quick diagnostic, and accessed the hull cameras. Three grapples were fastened to the hull of the Raven, with three fat cables running back to the Golden Cross. The hull of the larger ship loomed close. A narrow metal tube connected the Golden Cross to the port on the ceiling of the bridge.
A flash of light in the background caught his attention. Another ship loomed briefly, a sleek white craft with bristling gun ports. The Custer, Rhett decided. The muzzle of a laser glittered momentarily in the instant before the ship whisked out of sight.
They were in combat, then. This was an alarming development, but one not without its advantages. No one would have time to deal with Rhett as he attempted to free the Stark Raven.
He locked the ceiling port from the inside, then moved to the aft airlock. He didn't like wasting so much air, but the ship had only two locks and one docking ring, and there was nowhere else to secure the prisoner. He checked that his tools were secure in the belt slung around his waist, then started the lock cycling.
The electromagnets built into Rhett's feet were trivial things, designed for the simple movements he would need to fetch and carry during a temporary power outage. He was delicate and precise in his movements as he curled his legs around the opening of the lock and placed the soles of his feet against the outside of the Raven's hull. Only when he was sure his feet were holding did he straighten his legs, swinging his body out of the ship. He could feel the torsion in his knees reducing as his body swung out of the Raven's artificial gravity field.
In a moment he was "standing" on the hull of the ship, his body at right angles to what had been "down" a few seconds before. He could have moved fairly quickly across the hull, releasing and reactivating his foot magnets with each step, but he chose to be careful. The cost of a miscalculation would be high, for the rest of the crew as well as
himself.
Slowly, checking each step before releasing the grip of his trailing foot, he walked across the hull of the ship. He reached the first grapple in just under a minute, inspecting it as he approached and comparing it to what he knew about similar technology. There was an outer covering of braided steel that would give the tether its strength. The inside would contain cables, Rhett deduced. They would power the electromagnets in the grapples, and might return diagnostic information as well.
Which meant that, if he damaged the grapple or cut through the tether completely, he might set off an alarm aboard the Golden Cross.
The laser cutter made short work of the braided steel. Rhett kept the beam angled carefully outward, away from the center of the cable. It made the job slower, but he was able to work his way around the braided covering without damaging the fat bundle of cables inside.
He made a linear cut and peeled back a bit of the cover. The wires inside looked unremarkable, simple tubes of copper and glass with plastic covers. It should tear easily enough, he decided. If not, well, his breakaway attempt would fail.
One cautious step at a time, he worked his way to the next cable. There was no need to inspect this cable, so the cutting job went faster.
As he worked, he watched a space battle rage around him. The three ships that had ambushed the Raven had the lone attacker outnumbered, but the Golden Cross and her sister ships, Rhett could now see, were mixed-use passenger and cargo ships that had been refitted as crude battleships.
There were fewer of the wild maneuvers that had characterized the Raven's tactics. These ships were bigger, too ponderous to dodge the fire that came at them. A good thing, Rhett realized. He was beyond the reach of the Raven's stabilizing force fields. A sharp course correction would shake him loose from the hull and leave him drifting helplessly through space.
Such a maneuver could still come. He finished cutting through the braided cover on the second cable and headed for the third cable, moving somewhat faster than before.