Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  I nodded, short of breath. He offered his arm. As he guided me outside to the smaller heli, Tolliver fell in behind.

  Others piled in around us. I tried to think. She had fifty well-armed men...We lifted off. If only the Government had destroyed the arsenals, locked them safely away...

  I raised my mask. “Change of plans.”

  Harmon twisted in his seat. “What’s the—”

  “Go to the spaceport.”

  “But why—”

  “All those supplies for the Venturas...”

  His face came alight. “By God! Semi-cannons, smart grenades, shoulder missiles...”

  Surely, Laura Triforth had remembered them too. After all, it was she who’d told me about them. On the other hand, she’d only had a few days, and a lot to organize. “They may be gone.”

  “Or guarded.”

  Grim minutes later both helis were back on the ground in front of the terminal. Tolliver conferred with Mantiet; he took two men, circled the terminal, and headed for the airfield.

  In a few minutes he was back. “Guards. I spotted five.”

  “Can you take them?”

  “We have a dozen men, not counting yourself. If we had a diversion...”

  I tried to think. Diversion. I could manage one. “Zack, guard your heli. Tolliver, take everyone else and work your way along the edge of the field. I’ll pilot this machine.”

  “What will you do, sir?”

  I frowned at the foolish question. “Land, of course. Talk to them.”

  Zack Hopewell spoke first. “They’ll kill you.”

  “Possibly.” I spoke as little as I could. The ride had tired me more than I’d anticipated. A dull knot in my chest refused to dissipate. “Get going.”

  Tolliver looked at me, thought better of speaking. “Aye aye, sir. I’ll need twenty minutes or so to circle the guards.” He saluted.

  Bezrel swallowed. “May I go with them? I’m a good shot. I’ve practiced.”

  I started to chuckle, had to cough instead. Finally I could speak. “When you were ship’s boy?”

  “No, sir. After I was promoted to middy. At Admiralty House. Please let me help.” He gulped, aware of the offense of arguing with a Captain. “I know I’ve been no use.”

  “I promised to keep you safe.”

  “Yes, sir. But am I to sit out of danger while you fight? I’m a midshipman. I took the oath like everyone else.”

  I said through the window, “Bezrel, wait with the hel—” I coughed uncontrollably. When I stopped, my pants were damp and it took all my concentration to keep my hands from trembling. I looked at the boy, said weakly, “Give Mr. Bezrel a gun. Middy, go with the other men.”

  He grew three inches. “Aye aye, sir.” I couldn’t bear the look in his eyes.

  Hopewell waited next to my window, rifle in hand. “I’ll watch the minutes for you.”

  “Thank you.” I hoped he couldn’t see the stain on my pants. I breathed as deeply as I could, trying to oxygenate. My chest burned with each breath. I closed my eyes.

  The voice woke me. “It’s half an hour.”

  I flipped the switches.

  Hopewell’s hand came through the window, tightened on mine. “Go in the grace of our Lord.”

  “And thee.” I motioned him clear, lifted off.

  Either his benediction or my rest had succored me; the world was no longer pulsing. I stayed low, swung away toward the road so that I could come in high. I took altitude, swooped back to the field. Piles of supplies covered with tarps sat on the far end of the tarmac, much as I’d seen them weeks before.

  I circled the runway on which the shuttles once landed, then headed downfield toward the guards, who watched with weapons drawn. I tilted the heli so they could see I was alone.

  I landed about thirty feet from the nearest piles of cargo. Two men came forward, their laser rifles aimed at my head. As they approached I took several slow breaths and slipped off the vapormask.

  I sang out, “I’m Captain Seafort. I was supposed to meet a shuttle here.” Frantically I stifled a bout of coughing.

  “Shuttle? Are you glitched?”

  “The last shuttle, for the Station. They told me to meet it.”

  He stared at me, then guffawed. “You’re a slow one. It left four days—”

  The buzz of a bolt; he whirled in time to see a companion fall. He spun back to me, raising the rifle. “You bast—”

  I shot him through the chest. Another guard ducked in reflex and fired. His shot hit the heli door. Hot rivulets of metal sizzled on my shoulder. I jerked convulsively. He aimed again. I couldn’t turn far enough away to—

  He went down shrieking. Blood poured onto the tarmac from where his leg had stood.

  Another bolt bubbled the tarmac in front of me. I thumbed the switches, willed the blades to turn. Were my electronics hit? More ragged firing. Eons later I had lift. I yanked back on the stick and gunned the throttle.

  I soared above the field, straining to breathe. I fumbled for the vapormask, but it fell to the floor.

  Aloft, I watched the remaining guards go down. I held on to consciousness, dropped the heli near a supply pile. I managed to flip the switches before I passed out.

  I came to on my own, minutes later. My eyes bulged from the effort to breathe. Desperately I clawed for the vapormask, found it.

  It was little help. I sat as still as I could, chest heaving, while our war party ran across the field.

  Tolliver glanced at me and cursed. He ran to the door, reached through to the caller. “Hopewell, respond!”

  A moment later came the reply. “Ready.”

  “Get out here, fast.” Tolliver didn’t wait for an answer. He dashed back to the supply piles, yanking tarps aside. He beckoned the men. “Take these!” He ran from pile to pile until he’d found what he wanted.

  Hopewell’s heli landed alongside mine; men threw in weapons with frantic haste. Scant seconds later they climbed aboard. Tolliver thrust me out of the pilot’s seat; this time I had no objection. Bezrel squeezed alongside me.

  We lifted off. Tolliver said tersely, “We’ll have to be fast, if we want him to see it.”

  “I’ll last.” It came out a croak. I turned to my right. A tear trickled down Bezrel’s cheek. He looked at me, whispered, “I tried. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Shoot a man.” His shoulders shook.

  I nodded. For me, it was all in a day’s work.

  In Mantiet’s small heli rode Tolliver, myself, Bezrel, Mantiet, and one of the hands. The rest were piled in Hopewell’s machine. Tolliver leaned toward me. “Can you talk?”

  “Yes.” A word at a time.

  “What do we do when we get to the Manse?”

  “Set down.” Die.

  “Where?”

  “The lawn.” It seemed as good a place as any.

  He looked to see if I meant it. “And then?”

  “Go inside.”

  “Captain, pay attention. What do you want to do? Should I organize an attack?”

  “Land.” I fought for breath. “Get me...on my feet.” If that was still possible. “I’ll go in. If they...” I trailed off, coughing. “If they fight...blow the Manse down.”

  “You can’t just walk in.”

  “I’m the Government.” And when I fell, the Government would be no more. Perhaps I should put Alexi next in command. I giggled: a government with amnesia.

  It didn’t matter; we were most likely flying to our doom. If even one guard had gotten off a message during our attack...

  “Take our men in with you,” Tolliver urged.

  Hopewell would need them in the fight that would follow my death. No, it wouldn’t matter; we weren’t strong enough to prevail regardless. It was too confusing. “All right.”

  We cruised over downtown, toward the Manse at the southwest edge of town. If the Governor’s house had been near the government buildings, Governor Saskrit would be dead, and the colony under martial
law.

  If I couldn’t walk...How could I make my entrance? They’d never respect me if I crawled...

  I slapped my leg, forcing away the mist. I would walk into the Manse. I no longer had need to husband my strength.

  We crossed downtown. “Come in low.” I thought I’d spoken loudly, but had to repeat it before Tolliver heard. He dropped us lower, called to the other heli to follow.

  “Mantiet.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have...kind of...megaphone?”

  He thought. “Actually, I do. There’s a compartment under my seat.”

  “I need it.”

  “Right.” He beckoned to the farmhand. With much swearing and grumbling the two men managed to squeeze onto the deck while Mantiet fished in the compartment. A minute later he handed me a small battery-powered speaker. “The Manse is just ahead.”

  “Come in...fast. Land...my door facing the Manse.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Bezrel, be ready to jump out. Get me on my feet.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” The boy’s voice trembled with excitement.

  In the back Mantiet and his soldier checked their laser rifles.

  “Who has...shoulder missiles?”

  “Harmon.”

  I nodded, too exhausted to speak.

  Tolliver dropped the heli like a stone, spinning it so my door faced the Manse. Two guards standing on the raised porch gaped, but made no move for their arms. Bezrel leapt out, but Tolliver was already running around the heli, brushing him aside. He hauled me out of the seat, set me on my feet, steadied my arm.

  I shook myself loose as the larger heli came down about forty feet away. At the drone of its motor, the guards grabbed their weapons.

  I lurched forward, croaking into the megaphone. “I’m Seafort!” The damned thing wasn’t on. I fumbled for the button. “I’m Captain Seafort, commanding!” My voice sounded—I’d never heard the like. “Where’s Triforth? I need her.”

  “You’re what?” The guard hesitated, caught off balance.

  “Get Laura Triforth, you fool.” I took two steps, swaying. Bezrel proffered his shoulder. I clutched it, chest heaving. I raised the megaphone. “Is Triforth here? I’ll...wait inside.” I beckoned to Hopewell and Branstead in the second heli, hoping the familiar faces of the planters would help.

  The heli door slammed. Zack Hopewell and Tolliver toward me. From the heli Harmon bellowed at the guards. “Don’t stand there gawking! Help him! Can’t you see he’s hurt?”

  The guards moved to block the door. One leveled his weapon. “Stay right there. We’ll have to call Ms. Triforth.” Reluctantly Hopewell came to a halt.

  “Nonsense!” I thrust Bezrel forward, leaning heavily on his shoulder. I reached the first stone step. “Where’s Triforth, you dolt?”

  “Prong yourself.” His rifle swung to me.

  Door and guards disintegrated in an awesome flash. The shock hurled us to the ground. Bezrel flung himself over me as debris rained.

  Feet pounded. Someone screamed orders. Men dashed past, leapt onto the shattered porch, through the blasted door. Rifles buzzed; something crashed and splintered. Dazed, half-deafened, I tried to sit. My chest was caught; I couldn’t breathe. I gagged. Something salty filled my mouth and I spit it out. I wheezed, “Get me up!”

  I had no strength to help; Bezrel hauled at me until I sat. He strained to raise me. Zack Hopewell took my arm, lifted me. “You have no time left, son. To the clinic.”

  “When we...get Triforth.”

  “Suicide is a mortal sin.”

  I shook my head. “Triforth.” I sucked at air.

  Frederick Mantiet dashed out of the Manse. “A dozen men. Half of them surrendered. The rest didn’t get the chance. Her other forces are off somewhere. How’s Seafort?”

  “He’s dying.” Hopewell.

  “I’m all right.” Fifty men...we’d taken out three at the hauler office; another five at the spaceport, a dozen here...how many did that make? I couldn’t think.

  Hopewell and Mantiet carried me to the porch, set me down. Frederick said, “We have the Manse. We can declare the Government.”

  Why couldn’t they understand? “Triforth.”

  “We can—”

  I gripped his arm. “Triforth. Get our people out.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” I tried to scream, hadn’t the breath.

  Hopewell said soberly, “We put him in charge. It’s no time to argue.”

  “But—all right.” Mantiet ran back into the Manse.

  Minutes later we were crammed into the large heli. “Where?” Tolliver was at the controls.

  “Try...warehouses.”

  We rose, leaving the shattered Manse behind, empty.

  Harmon raised his voice over the engine’s drone. “It’s only a mile or so. She may even have heard the missile we fired.”

  I shrugged. It could make no difference. We were locked in a fight to the death. “Someone...give me a shirt.”

  “What?”

  “White. For armbands.”

  “Christ, yes.” Harmon ripped at his buttons. A minute later he was ripping his shirt into strips. “Everyone put one on.”

  I gasped, “Shoot anyone...without one.” It was all I could manage.

  “Look!” Tolliver pounded the dash. Two Naval helis were parked by the warehouse.

  “Down.” Mantiet was tense.

  “Hang on.” Tolliver swooped; my stomach churned. He asked, “Should we take out their helis?”

  I shook my head. “We may need...”

  We hit the ground with a thud, bounced. Tolliver shouted, “Sorry. Move out! Split into two groups, me and Frederick!”

  In a moment they were gone, leaving me alone and dazed. I sat, chest heaving. Thoughts drifted to Annie, abandoned in her sedation. To Jerence Branstead, lost in his hopeless joy of his juice. To Laura Triforth, inside with her men, if she was indeed here.

  A blast of grenades. The firefight had begun. Should we have disabled the other helis? If Triforth’s men escaped...

  I cursed. We’d parked near Laura’s two Naval craft. If the rebels fled toward me, they’d have their own helis and ours as well. Our party would be helpless. Slowly, laboriously, I slid across to the pilot’s seat.

  More blasts. I searched for the smoke of a shoulder missile, but saw none. What was happening? I coughed, hung on grimly, managed not to pass out. The effort left me feeble.

  Footsteps. I flipped the switches, started the blades turning. The door swung open. I turned. “Did you get her?”

  Laura Triforth’s eyes blazed. “Take us up, you son of a bitch!” Her face was smudged, her blouse torn.

  I gaped.

  “Go, or I shoot!”

  “Right.” I twisted the throttle, yanked back on the collective. We lifted straight up.’ I labored to stay alive.

  She grinned, breathing hard. “I should have killed you outright.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you don’t have long.”

  “What did you...put in me?” We continued to lift.

  “I countered the antirejection drugs. Take me to the Manse!” Her gun was leveled at my chest.

  “Why...do it?” Two thousand feet.

  “It would have been so dramatic. In fact it may still be. I’ll rush you to the clinic, just too late. The heroic Captain, last of the old order...” Three thousand feet.

  “Why not...just shoot?”

  “And be blamed for your death? I don’t need to carry that baggage. The Manse! What are you doing?”

  “Altitude.”

  “We’re not flying to the Venturas, you idiot.” Five thousand. I made no answer. Her pistol leveled at my stomach. “On the other hand, I can shoot and let you disappear. Put your damned hand on the cyclic and head for the Manse!”

  “Yes.” I rehearsed. It would have to be one smooth motion. I wouldn’t have another chance. Not her pistol; I didn’t have the strength. “Why...Manse?”

&n
bsp; “My men are there. You have two sec—”

  I tilted the ship, allowing myself to fall forward into the dash. It helped. My left hand slid across to the key. I turned it, yanked it free. The engine stopped. I flung my arm out the window.

  If the engine died while the ignition was on, the blades would autorotate. But Naval designers assumed the pilot knew what he was doing; once the key was removed the bearings locked, the blades feathered, providing hardly any lift.

  We dropped with sickening speed.

  “I’ll kill you!”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me the key!”

  I shook my head. “Shoot.”

  “You’ll die too!”

  I nodded. Thirty-five hundred. We spun as we fell.

  “For Christ’s sake, start the engine!”

  “Throw away...pistol.”

  “I’ll see you in hell first!”

  Oh, yes. She’d see me there. Two thousand. The sun circled crazily.

  “Seafort!” For the first time her voice held fear.

  I tried to speak, choked. I gasped, “Pistol.”

  “We’ll be killed!”

  “Pistol!” Fifteen hundred. The world spun.

  With a shriek of rage she flung the pistol past my head. “For Christ’s sake, the key!”

  I pulled my hand in, fumbled at the dash. Dizzy, I closed my eyes, felt for the keyhole.

  “Hurry!”

  In. I jammed it to the right. I opened my eyes. One thousand. Flip the switches.

  Nothing. Off, on again. With a cough the engine caught. Five hundred. Was the world spinning past, or was it me? I no longer knew.

  “Level out!” she screamed. Her hands braced against the dash.

  I coughed forever, swallowing salty saliva, fighting to bring the ship under control. I’d taken us straight up; we shouldn’t be far from the warehouses. They were...there. I swooped to the north. Next to me Laura clung to the dash, white-faced. We dropped alongside the warehouse with a crash.

  In the cloud of dust, a feral growl. Laura Triforth’s long fingers closed around my throat. She shook me like a rag doll.

  The world hazed red. As I jounced I saw Mantiet and Tolliver racing toward us. My hand crept to Laura’s, fell away. I waited for the end.

  Abruptly Triforth yanked open the door and bolted. I sucked at air as Tolliver gave chase. Mantiet leaned against the heli, gasping. “Five dead, on our side. Your Naval men are alive. So’s Zack.” Thank Lord God.