Late that night, the object of Amin's solicitude strode wearily into his private quarters. More tired than hungry, he nonetheless exerted his willpower, knowing his need to refuel a body running continuously on a formidable adrenaline high. Reaching into the freezer integral to his galley, he withdrew one of the standard meals synthesized and packaged by the Ministry of Food Resources, indifferent as to its contents. Perusing the label only to determine how long to set the timer, he thrust his dinner into the oven, and programmed the device.
While the food cooked, the Commander-in-Chief stepped into the shower cylinder in the bathcabin of his private quarters. Wearily, absently, he soaped himself under the mist cycle, luxuriating with conscious enjoyment as the brief but intense barrage of rinse-water sprayed from jets in the wall. Feeling more relaxed, he stood fluffing his short brown hair as the spray ceased, and warm air issued from the jets.
Emerging dry, he tossed his uniform into the adjuster, and strode out stark naked to eat in that state. Shortly thereafter, he climbed unclothed into his bunk, thereby conforming to the practice universally observed in both Columbia and Gaea: two cultures that considered nightwear an unnecessary waste of costly fabric synthesized from inorganic substances painstakingly mined on airless, pitted rocks. The Gaeans retiring at that same moment far across the void saw no conflict between that utilitarian viewpoint and the ingrained modesty so characteristic of both sexes. Their custom merely decreed that spouses avoid seeing each other nude before slipping beneath the cover of the bed they shared--behavior guaranteed to strike the sexually permissive Columbians as utterly laughable.
Sleep eluded the man tossing restlessly on his hard bunk. I'm too uptight to doze off--unable to come down off the peak of concentration I just achieved , he complained to his alter ego. I nonetheless require rest. I don't dare take a mild dose of sleep inducer, either, given that I might find myself reacting in mid-shift to a strike by that infernal woman. It's essential that I compose my mind. I'll do well to think of something other than my multitudinous problems.
Karyn's piquant face floated in the inner vision of the autocrat casting about for a restful topic on which to dwell. Experiencing a familiar stirring in his loins, he sighed as poignant yearning washed over him. Banish that wish, as well , he commanded himself. Think of something else--some theme unrelated to your present dilemma.
Historical analysis. Rochefort's treatise on military history. Reflect on the way authoritarian figures repeat the mistakes of former regimes ad infinitum--here, and in the star-system of our ancestors' origin. Focus on that thesis. Keep your mind off your gonads, Arlen. Off your loneliness. Off the plots of your rivals. Off the likelihood that you'll lose men you value highly--men as close as brothers--in the conflict ahead. Think about the dangers to your honor your assumption of dictatorial power poses. Strive to see your present role against the backdrop of history, and take warning. You walk a sword-edge suspended over an abyss, daily.
Mustering all his power of will, Arlen forced from his mind all thought but that last, and fell asleep sternly resolved to avoid the most egregious errors tempting a military dictator governing an historically militant society.
Chapter Seven
Her lithe body taut, her attitude purposeful, the Commander of the Gaean Military Force swept an appraising glance over the faces of eight officers seating themselves in the presence of their superior. Dark circles reminiscent of old bruises shadowed the youngest Captain's eyes. His handsome face appeared drawn--set in stern lines. Madelyn's death aged Sean , Signe admitted bleakly, and Morgan as well, but sorrow hasn't affected either warrior's will to fight. On the contrary, each seems to have renewed his dedication to the cause. As did Conor. How long will it be before I lose Conor? Or Morgan? Or Sean? Or … Eric? Anguish seared the mind of the Spartan-souled patriot, and flayed her heart anew, without weakening in the slightest degree her determination to gain her overriding objective.
"Gentlemen. Two hours from now, we set forth to seize another first-class military ship. We'll transfer both vessels into high orbits around Columbia, and spend considerable time listening and learning. I consider it highly unlikely that Arlen will have devised any means of detecting our black ships this soon, but you can bet your next meal that he'll have ordered his men to watch the vid. We'll be undetectable, unless the enemy spots us when we decelerate. We'll make the transfer over a pole, so as to lessen the chances that our exhaust will be noticed. A ship might chance to be flying a trajectory from which we could be spotted. That risk we'll run. We'll decide on a target once we've listened."
Raking the company with keen blue eyes, Signe detected a collective determination the equal of her own. "This time, Jassy, you and Yuri will fly empty of personnel. That will enable you to hover on your exhaust, and still retain fuel ample enough to enable you to make the transit back to Gaea. If we lose a ship on a lock, you might be able to pick up those surviving on the surface. I'm issuing small but powerful transceivers that will allow those ashore to contact you. We'll enjoy no element of surprise during this operation, but to facilitate our exiting the lock, we'll employ the countermeasure Conor suggested. I'm confident that we'll gain the corridor. Every member of our assault force--thirty-two veterans of the surface war--will hold a decided edge over the majority of the corpsmen Arlen fields."
Scanning the resolute faces, the Commander observed nods, and even a grim smile or two. Fierce pride surged through her as she flashed her memorable smile on her core staff. "Wong, my congratulations on your voice-coder. Our communications emissions seem to have gone undetected. Jassy, we owe you as well. We'd have failed to lift one at least of those ships, had you not taught us what you did."
As she watched, the martial expert nodded gravely, while the bulldog face of the expert in electronics set into lines of even deeper determination.
Twenty-four hours later, seated between Theo and Malcolm at the board of the black ship, the Commander listened intently even as she studied the marvelously detailed, brilliantly illuminated depiction of the surface of Columbia: a panorama visible on the multispectral screens during each crossing of the belt of habitats. Well aware that the terrain she scanned appeared on the screen as it would have looked ten minutes earlier in time--a circumstance that rendered multispectral screens useless during maneuvers--Signe reviewed the knowledge just acquired, and decided on a strategy.
Sitting back, she turned a speculative glance on Theo. "Arlen has spread out his force--moved his headquarters to Chemen, away from the capital," she observed. "He bases three military ships at this location." A long forefinger pointed at the screen. "That's a small municipal unit called Rochester, located on the opposite side of the planetoid from the capital. Chemen seems to be a large base, as is their shipworks: Dunn. Two other first-class vessels operate out of Briedd. That unit sports a larger military base than Rochester, but it's located on the edge of the web of habitats. I'm going to throw us into synchronous orbit over Briedd. We'll try making a snatch there."
Ninety minutes later, Signe picked up the broadcast in which Danner identified himself to the men on the board at Briedd, and announced his intent to descend.
"Theo, listen," the warrior urged. "That first-class ship on Lock Three, about to ascend, is preparing to take on fuel. This man Danner will shortly dock on Lock One. We're going to use the descent sequence you just calculated, to dock on Lock Four, thirteen minutes behind the ship that's descending. Danner will have pumped the air into the inner lock and gained the corridor, by the time we arrive.
"The men on the station's board will see our exhaust and sound an alarm, but neither captain will be able to lock onto us to aim his weaponry. This ship will absorb the scanning beams of their fire-control systems. They could wipe us by returning a blast along our weapon's scanning beam, if we try locking onto either ship, but I doubt that they'll dare loose a blast manually at a ship they can't detect--not when each captain knows that a vessel commanded by a peer lies moored on the opposite side of us from
his own.
"Well. That ship on Lock Three is due to be fueled in ten minutes. Once they start that operation, they won't be able to withdraw the air from the inner lock without spacing half the crew. The men on the station's board will see our exhaust, and field what fighters they can, but the spacer-fighters aboard the ship that just docked will have to run twice the distance we will, to reach Lock Three. That corridor will be heavily guarded, but we won't face any worse fight than Norman's corpsmen customarily put up. This base is manned by Fifth Corpsmen--not by Norman's veterans--and they won't expect thirty foes to emerge. Jassy will stay on guard. He'll warn that second ship not to lift, if we can't snatch it as well. So. This strike will require expert timing. You two coordinate with Jassy and Yuri, while I issue orders to the members of the assault force."
Returning from a weary stint at striving to catch a glimpse of a disembodied exhaust on the video screens of his orbiting vessel, Danner found himself reminded of the ancient reference to searching for a needle in a haystack. Needle I can imagine, but haystack? A pile of dried grass, he mused, cut and stored where it grew, until it got fed to cows. I can't really envision that. Big pile, it must have been, though.
Damned if I don't feel vulnerable! A black ship in free flight could blast us the way Signe did Carey. That poor bastard never knew what hit him. Well, maybe her last operation will satisfy her for a time. It took her nine fourweeks to strike after she stole that first ship. Could she be rendering her new prizes undetectable? Suffering shades of strangled spacers¾I hope not. Two such are too many. Damn! I need eight hours of shut-eye. My head aches from staring so long and so hard at the vid.
Striding at the head of his crew through the pressure-proof door of Lock One, Danner shot a calculating glance down the long expanse of the corridor. Patent satisfaction suffused him as he observed the four squads guarding the eight-hundred-meter-long passageway. Half of each squad of ten men, four of whom bore military handweapons warmed and ready, mounted guard before the pressure-proof door of a lock, their backs to the stairs and elevators giving access to the base. Five others marched back and forth along the corridor, advancing to a point half the distance to the next lock situated two hundred meters away before retracing their route. At the end of the march, they switched with their fellows, to stand guard over the exits while their comrades patrolled the hundred-meter distance.
Congratulating himself on the readiness of the installation for trouble, Danner unconsciously jutted his chin as his handsome face creased into a black frown. "Damned if I'll risk a blot on my career¾a plateau in my steady rise in seniority," he muttered all but inaudibly. "I've made gains--drawn increased responsibility. Best of all, I've outpaced Ford, who's as capable as he is devious. Backstabber, that rotter--or could be. Well, no stain rests on my honor. None ever will, either. Damn, but I'm tired. Know what you need, spacer? An hour in the arms of Little Chloe. Her mouth on your…"
A voice shrill with fear burst from the intercommunication panel to annihilate the vivid picture generated by remembered pleasure. "Attention! All personnel! Disembodied exhaust visible on the vid! It's descending! It isn't Danner--he just docked! We can't tell whether it's heading for Lock Two or Lock Four! Prepare for action, you men patrolling the corridor! You men on sleep-shift, fall out!"
Danner took a split second to think. Instantly, he divined the intent of his world's archfoe. Four. She'll dock on Four . "Myron! Take Cheng, and return aboard! Withdraw the air--prepare to lift--and if a chance offers, fire on Signe! Use your best judgment, but whatever you do, don't let her board!"
Myron and Cheng vanished back into the lock. Commanding, "Spacers, follow me!" Danner raced down the four hundred meters separating him from the lock housing Gordon's ship, which, he realized with gut-wrenching certainty, formed the object of Signe's assault. As he ran, he shouted to the men in front of One to proceed to Two.
Gordon had just seated himself at the board when the alert sounded. Flipping on the vid, he beheld the disembodied exhaust settling alongside of him. Swiftly, he accessed the program for operating the Earth-built weaponry, and attempted to lock onto the invisible ship. To his horror, his scanning beam vanished without a trace, revealing no ship. Just as the notion occurred to him to fire manually, a harsh voice couched in a heavy Gaean accent sounded from his board. "Don't try loosing a blast, either of you ships on the lock! You can't detect me¾but I'll sure as hell blow you both, and then reduce the base to slag, if anyone fires on our sister-ship!"
Signe's got two black ships. Only one's docking. Twelve fighters. We can't fire, or that bastard will do exactly as he threatened, but we can take her. Damn her gall! I can't lift--we're still fueling! "Dunbar--you men--follow me!"
Hurling his body down into the inner lock, sword bared, Gordon urged the crewmen pumping water to complete the task. "Board the ship and withdraw the air from the lock!" he bade them in a hoarse shout.
Emerging into the outer lock, he touched the switch to close the door, and waited the eternity it seemed to take for the massive panel to swing shut, and seal. Head high, back ramrod straight, he ranged himself front and center of his spacers standing with their backs to the heavy barrier. Eyes fixed grimly on the outer door, which remained closed, Gordon prepared to defend his Earth-armed ship.
Five guards, two of whom bore military handweapons carried with the generators fully warmed, and therefore battle-ready, stood facing the pressure-proof door at Lock Four when the alarm galvanized them into taut awareness of imminent action. Assuming that the lock they guarded would be the one from which the enemy would burst, the officer in charge of the squad touched the switch. The door swung towards him, exposing the empty expanse of the outer lock. Having proceeded inside, he issued an order to the two subordinates bearing the electronic devices. "Stand to the right--tracers on the crack!" he roared. "Blast through the opening!"
Pounding feet informed him that the other half of the squad of ten just arrived. "Range yourselves behind me!" he bellowed. "Handweapons, to my left! Schmidt--Shinobu--fire through the opening door!" Eyes glued to the panel, he watched the flashing red light change to steady green.
The door slowly, ponderously, began to open outwards. The two tense guards--men charged with dropping whoever emerged--aimed the massive weapons borne in slings at their waists, by employing the imagers integral to their goggles. Both of them centered the red dot of the tracer on the widening aperture at a point the height of a man's chest. Each man's finger rested on the activator. As the gap increased to the span of a hand, two sharp cracks reverberated from metal walls as each combatant fired a lethal pulse parallel to the deck, into the inner lock.
No corpse fell. From a height a few centimeters above the deck, a jet of icy water under fearful pressure shot from a hose with force enough to slam the two corpsmen bearing the devices onto their backs. Water sprayed from the walls, drenching all four electronic weapons. The icy shower cooled the casings of the generators instantly.
The man lying prone played the stream over the four foes sprawled on the slippery deck, before cutting off the flow. Dropping the improvised weapon, Conor leaped to his feet and attacked, bared sword in hand, seconds behind Signe, Sean, and Eric. Behind the leaders, a force of raiders charged through the opening to engage the six unencumbered Columbians.
Preceding six men and women bearing handweapons, Morgan circled those battling. Two of his comrades fell before his eyes, but the surviving members of his squad gained the open door to the corridor. Swiftly, they cleared the space outside of attackers.
Wong and three others subdued the four Columbians bearing handweapons now incapable of being activated, owing to the chill. Having slashed the slings supporting the devices, the raiders gained paralyzing holds on the bearers. The four martial artists then propelled their captives into the corridor, where they used them as human shields.
Danner, meanwhile, stopped at Lock Two. Curtly, he snapped orders to twenty guards--those assigned to One and Two--to guard the lock, surmisin
g that Signe's second vessel might possibly descend there. After disposing those men in strategic positions, he summoned three of the eight corpsmen bearing electronic devices, to flank him. The four Columbian spacer-fighters advanced at a run down the corridor towards Three. Far ahead of him, at the end of the cavernous passageway, the leader saw a force of men in black emerge from the stairs, only to fall ignominiously. Sharp cracks of electronic weaponry reverberated off the walls.
As he neared Lock Three, the silently cursing Captain beheld four Columbians thrust out into the now cleared corridor, held by figures clad in dull slate blue. That sight prompted him to bark an order to the two men on either side of him, to hold their fire.
Nine other Gaeans appeared, two of whom held hostages. Beside those, her sword dripping blood, strode Signe. "Cease your advance!" she commanded imperiously, her voice pitched to carry. "Drop back beyond Two, or these six men die! And if you sacrifice them to hit us, you'll fall to those behind us, who're armed with handweapons!"
Stifling an obscenity, Danner halted, having advanced to within ten meters of Lock Three. Gut knotted, he weighed the situation. The ten guards in front of Three began to retreat towards Two, walking backwards. Six sword-wielding reinforcements arrived from below via the stairs, only to halt, irresolute, on seeing the plight of the hostages. "Drop to a knee, and freeze," Danner whispered to his men. "Behind those retreating. We'll hold our ground¾see what happens." I've got to stop her! Reach her, engage her blade, and prevail. But how in hell … ?
Signe's force of ten advanced swiftly, and gained a position before Lock Three. A peremptory order, reinforced by a threat that the hostages would die if it went ignored, cleared the stairwell opposite that lock of Columbians. Behind the fourteen raiders that included the six holding the hostages, ten more fighters armed with handweapons advanced at a trot. Those ten Gaeans stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a slanting line across the corridor as they covered the retreating guard, and the doors to the stairs across from Lock Three.
Warrior-Woman Page 22