Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  Bezrel scampered to safety with the speed of youth. Winded, I could only watch the protoplasm gyrate through the air. A shrill voice cut through my fog. “Run, sir!”

  As the mass whirled toward my head I fell to the ground. A rush of warm air. The appendage struck a few feet past me. Grass sizzled.

  Another arm formed. The fish was no more than fifty feet above us. I set the rifle for continuous fire, held down the trigger until long after the warning beep.

  The wounded fish sank to the ground, colors fading to mottled gray. I stumbled to my feet, backed away with my useless rifle.

  The body of the fish appeared to be dissolving. The skin became indistinct; colors swirled. Outriders. “Bezrel, run!” I leaped over the smoking mass the fish had flung.

  As I ran I glanced over my shoulder. A shifting shape seemed to grow from the skin of the fish. It swirled, wriggled free, fell from the fish’s side. “Bezrel, back to the hangar!” My legs pumped.

  The outrider skittered even faster than the one I’d once seen in Telstar’s corridor. It was only steps behind me. I knew I wouldn’t make the haven of the hangar.

  Suddenly Tolliver dropped from the scaffold a meter in front of me, his rifle light glowing. He aimed directly at my face. I blanched; even the fish’s acid was a better death. In desperation I hurled my empty rifle at him, dived to the ground. Tolliver fired over my head. Behind me something smoked and sizzled. He bounded forward, hauled me to my feet. “Move!”

  I scrambled under the door. More shapes swirled on the mottled skin of the dying fish. Above, on the scaffold, sparks showered from Jameson’s torch.

  “Where are the bloody recharge packs?”

  “I have a few.” Tolliver ducked outside, retrieved my rifle, handed it to me. I took it, careful to avoid his eye. I jammed in the charge. “Bezrel, recharge!”

  The boy didn’t answer. I looked around. He was nowhere in sight.

  A scream from above. “Look out!” Jameson.

  I whirled. A shape scuttled through the far end of the open hangar door. For a split second it stood quivering. Then it rolled toward us with frightening speed. While I fumbled at my rifle, Tolliver fired. The outrider seemed to fly apart. I flinched. The alien collapsed into an oozing puddle.

  I stared at the foul mess. A near thing. Tolliver knelt at the hangar opening and fired again. Above him, the door groaned and sagged; a coupling had finally parted. But there were many more to sever. We hadn’t the time.

  “Lord God damn them!” My voice was thick. “What do they want? Why won’t they let us alone!” I stooped through the opening, fired at a whirling shape, and, beyond caring, stalked toward the parade ground. Only Tolliver, Jameson, and I were left. No way to escape, nothing to escape for. I felt a pang of regret for my life, a deeper pang for the boy’s; he’d had more of his life stolen.

  The fish lay where it had fallen, its colors finally still, its mottling fading even as I watched. Behind me I heard the snap of Tolliver’s rifle. Outriders continued to emerge from the motionless mass. Something skittered toward me; I stood my ground, firing until it melted.

  A patch of blue caught my eye about fifty feet to the side: Midshipman’s Bezrel’s body, pathetically small. I checked my dwindling charge; enough to put him out of his misery, if need be. I couldn’t leave him to the aliens. Ignoring Tolliver’s shout of protest I tramped across the seared grass. Better if Admiral De Marnay had left the boy home, to play at balls and kites and Arcvid.

  An outrider rolled toward us, barely visible against the browned grass. I fired simultaneously with Tolliver; the creature melted to the ground.

  Bezrel’s head moved.

  Heart pounding, I dropped on one knee. “Are you all right?” A hoarse whisper.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “What in God’s own name are you doing?” I kept my rifle ready, risked a glance behind me.

  He crawled toward me, slithering in an effort to stay low. “I ran out of charge, and those things were coming...I thought if I stayed down they wouldn’t see me.”

  I bit back a snarl of fury. His ploy had worked, while I’d nearly gotten myself killed running away. “Still have your rifle?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hang on to it. Take some breaths, get to your knees, and run to the hangar as if Satan himself were after you!”

  “He is, sir!” Abruptly the boy swarmed to his feet and sprinted off. He was fast; I doubted even Tolliver could catch him.

  Two outriders paused, sensed his moving figure. They skittered across the grass. As if we’d planned it, Tolliver and I waited until one approached our killing zone, fired together. The outrider lurched and melted. We turned our fire on the second shape.

  Bezrel flung himself to safety under the hangar door. My rifle beeped; it was running out of charge. Tolliver waved a fist. My teeth bared in a feral grin.

  Cautiously I backed toward the hangar, keeping to the side to leave Tolliver a clear field. Only one outrider charged me; I couldn’t tell which of us hit it.

  Elated, I stumbled to the hangar, reached the door unharmed. A shadow moved through the scorched grass of the field. I looked up.

  A second fish floated above.

  Cursing, I stooped under the door. Sparks fell on my shoulders; I slapped them away. “Tolliver, there’s another one!”

  “Christ.” Tolliver backed away, squinted at the door. “Jameson, get that track down!”

  The tech’s voice was savage. “You want a miracle, make one yourself!” I shook Tolliver’s shoulder, shushed him. Jameson was doing his best.

  “We’re down to four recharges, sir.”

  “Two.” I stooped, took one, gave another to Bezrel, crossed to the other end of the door. The boy followed like a puppy.

  I knelt, turned off the safety, aimed. Three outriders were in sight on the field, too far away to risk a shot. “Mr. Tolliver, help Jameson cut. Bezrel, take position at the far end of the hangar. Here’s your last recharge. Make every shot count.”

  I peeked under the door. The fish overhead had settled closer.

  Sparks cascaded onto my head. Cursing, I moved aside. By the time I knelt again, the outriders had crossed half the field. I fired. The closest went down. Bezrel, face ashen, held his beam open as he sprayed the parade ground. I screamed, “Middy, single fire! Make every electron count!”

  The two remaining outriders flew at us. I fired twice, hit a shape just as it jerked and sagged from Bezrel’s hit. The other flowed over its fallen comrade, veered away from Bezrel and the open door. I fired until it dived around the outside of the hangar. I whirled to the shattered side wall, waiting. Nothing appeared.

  The hangar door groaned. Pieces of coupling sagged and dripped to the floor.

  Still, the door held. Tolliver cursed, moved to the next brace. Only two remained, but they held the track. If I ever got out I’d complain to Engineers’ Corps.

  “The fish is landing!” Bezrel waved frantically at the field.

  Jameson moved to the last coupling on his side of the scaffold. “Christ, I hope this thing falls right. If it collapses on us...”

  “Be ready to jump clear!” If the door fell inward it would knock over the scaffold and crush anyone underneath.

  “Jump, sure.” He shook his head in disgust, but his torch was steady.

  “The fish! The fish!” Bezrel’s voice was a scream.

  I whirled. The alien had settled to the field, colors swimming. Shapes were already swirling to the surface. I raised my rifle. “Steady, Mr. Bezrel.” I turned back to the side wall.

  “When should I put in the last charge, sir?” The boy’s tone was unsteady.

  “When your current one is empty.” I made sure to sound gentle, despite the idiocy of the question.

  Tolliver called down, “Mine still has half a charge, sir.”

  “Hang on to it for now. Toss it down if I yell.”

  “Right.” A shower of sparks.

  “Jesus!” Bezrel clutched his gun. “Th
ey’re coming!”

  I spun around, peered at the field. Five, at least. If we waited for a close shot they’d all be on us. I aimed, pretending calm. Behind me Sergeant Swopes strode the firing line, swagger stick propped on his shoulder, his young charges lined up in a row opposite the targets. “Do not jerk the trigger, gentlemen, squeeze it. Steady...”

  One down.

  “Single fire, gentlemen...Don’t waste your charge...”

  Missed the son of a bitch.

  “Sight before you fire.”

  Gotcha! Where in hell are the rest?

  Sarge’s voice faded. On the Academy firing line a flick of his baton was the only penalty if you missed target.

  Bezrel shrieked, triggering his empty weapon at the shape hurtling at him. I had no time to aim. I flicked the switch to automatic and fired past his hip. The alien dissolved no more than a meter from his feet.

  “Reload, Bezrel!”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, aye aye, sir!” He fumbled at the recharge, dropped it, scrambled after it as it rolled away.

  I glanced to the side wall, back to the parade ground. Three more outriders skittered toward us.

  “Watch the door!” Tolliver jumped over the scaffold rail, leaped to the ground.

  The door crashed outward with an earth-shattering thud, blocking my view of the field. It fell atop the pieces of door that we’d already cut off. The near end of the door lay propped six inches off the ground.

  Tolliver knelt and aimed. “Come on, you son of bitch!” Coolly, he held his fire until a shape was almost upon us. His finger twitched and it was down, oozing under the bright sunlight that flooded the terminal.

  My rifle beeped. I reached for a recharge, found none. The snap of Bezrel’s and Tolliver’s rifles cut the silence.

  Bezrel’s rifle beeped.

  I glanced back at the shuttle, ahead to the menacing shapes still emerging from the grounded fish. “Jameson, bring down the torch and tanks!” He gaped. “Move!” He grabbed the tanks and lowered them down to me.

  They were heavier than I’d thought. I managed not to drop them. Jameson swarmed down the side of the scaffold, carrying the torch. I waited in helpless frenzy while he snapped the connections back into place.

  I thumbed the ignition, turned on the gas. A small flame flickered. “Bezrel, Jameson, into the shuttle. Tolliver, warm the jet engines. Get everyone into suits.”

  “But—”

  “MOVE!” The bellow tore at my throat. I dragged the hose outside, as far as it would go, and balanced on top of the huge fallen door in front of the hangar. A shape quivered, skittered toward me. I waited, my hand on the gas. When the alien had closed to fifteen feet I spun open the knob. Ten feet. A great gout of fire surged from the hose. Five feet. The shape veered, but too late. It dissolved in a red glow of hell.

  I spun down the knob. Behind me an engine muttered, then roared.

  Three outriders approached the inferno, rolled to a halt twenty feet away. I closed down the gas. We waited in stalemate. The nearest one’s shape changed as I watched.

  Behind me the engine abruptly silenced. I whirled. From the shuttle porthole Tolliver waved frantically at the hangar’s side wall.

  An outrider was almost through a ragged hole. Its inner portion bulged as it flowed through the wall. The shuttle engines coughed, started again.

  “Come to me, you bastard!” I dragged the hose toward the wall. Behind me, the three outriders took the ground I’d abandoned. I flicked a wave of fire in their direction, spun back.

  I was at the end of my hose. I tugged, stopped for fear I’d break the line. Outside, the three shapes waited, quivering.

  I spun my knob to full. A gout of flame gushed, fell short of the shape emerging from the shattered wall. Cursing, I ran back toward the door, hurled a blast of fire at the three waiting outriders. Two moved aside, one wasn’t fast enough. I grabbed a tank, tried to lift the second, couldn’t hang on to them both. I kicked one over, shoved it toward the side wall. I needed only a meter. I dropped the second tank; it clanged on the concrete floor.

  I strained until the hose went taut. The shape emerged from the wall. As it skittered toward me I spun the knob. It met the flame only five feet distant, rolled on, burning. I jumped aside, dropping the torch. The shape sizzled, melted to liquid. I peered outside. The outriders I’d seen there were gone.

  I turned to the far side of the hangar. Nothing. Tolliver pounded his window, summoning me with shouts made inaudible by the bellow of the engines.

  I ran to the shuttle hatch, clambered aboard. Tolliver, suited, was in the pilot’s seat. He shouted, “Suit up!”

  I thrust it on. Bezrel, strapped in, clutched the chair ahead. He seemed not to see me. Jameson, also suited, gripped a laser pistol. I clipped on the helmet. I asked Tolliver, “See any of them?”

  “Not at the moment, sir.”

  “There’s no time to move the door aside. Roll over it.”

  “We’ll snap off the wheel assembly.”

  “We might.” From the copilot’s seat I slid the broken throttle forward. No response. “Puter, manual override! Disconnect safeties!”

  “Disconnected by pilot order. Disconnect logged.”

  “Shut up.” I thrust the throttle forward again. The engine’s growl rose to a roar.

  We lurched. I throttled back as we rolled toward the door. “Tolliver, can you fly this thing? What’s takeoff speed? How much runway do we need?”

  “I’ve never flown a shuttle. I don’t have the slightest idea. We’ll shake apart if you try to reach orbital speed, and you’ll blow the engines if you use the take-off jets to fly all the way home!” He hesitated. “As to cruising, I could probably handle her. Here’s your takeoff speed.” He tapped the mark on the airspeed indicator. A hundred ten knots. “She’s a short-runway craft, or she wouldn’t be here.”

  I inched the shuttle to the fallen door until I judged our wheel was about to touch. I throttled down, up again. We glided forward, bumped the door. I jammed down the throttle. “Take her, Mr. Tolliver. You have a surer hand.” I hated the admission.

  Slowly, infinitesimally, he powered up, pressing our wheel against the edge of the door. The ship strained, but didn’t move. With a curse Tolliver reversed jets; we glided back a foot or so.

  At the hangar doorway, a shape appeared. It stood quivering, as if measuring the distance between us.

  Tolliver throttled. The ship inched to the door, bumped. Tentatively, he throttled higher. He shook his head. “The wheel won’t go over. Any harder and we’ll lose it.”

  “Try!”

  Face taut, he edged us on. The engines roared. Abruptly he powered down to idle. “You have any idea how much thrust we’re applying? The wheel can’t be rated for—”

  The shape moved.

  I took hold of the yoke, placed my feet on the rudders. The outrider drifted toward us, as if uncertain. I reversed the engines, throttled as smoothly as I could. We slid back from the door. “How long is the shuttle, and how big is the damned hangar?”

  “We have about thirty feet behind us. But if you back the engines to the rear wall—”

  “I’ll blow the wall out.”

  “Or blow us sky high!”

  I rolled the shuttle backward. Why in God’s name didn’t they teach us shuttle piloting at Academy? We’d learned helis, riflery, stellar navigation...

  Tolliver peered through the porthole. “That’s far enough!”

  I nodded, reversed the engines again. “Hang on.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Jumping the bloody door!”

  “Lord God!” He braced himself against the dash.

  “Bezrel, Jameson, grab hold!” I held the brake with both feet, gunned the jets until I felt the ship fight against the restraint. Please, Lord. Make it work.

  I let loose the brake, jammed the throttle to full. We lurched, gaining speed. Thirty feet to the door. The hangar walls slid past. Fifteen feet.

  Five.
<
br />   My helmet slammed into the cockpit ceiling. I bounced down to my seat. We still rolled. A second later the back wheels hit the fallen door, and nearly threw me from my seat.

  “I’ve got it.” Tolliver’s hand was steady on the throttle.

  Two shapes lunged at us from the side of the hangar. Tolliver turned the yoke to starboard; we bumped diagonally across the field past the dying fish. The outriders chased us with their odd rolling gait. Others emerged from the mottled fish and flowed toward us, like iron filings to a magnet. Tolliver throttled higher.

  “Ease off! We have to make a turn at the end of the field!”

  “Unless we get ahead of them now, they’ll catch us when we turn.” He held the throttle steady as we bounced across the grass. “Where are we going, once we’re off the ground?”

  “To Centraltown.”

  “We can’t, I told you! With the portholes missing we’ll shake apart going orbital, and if we try to jet that far, the engines will blow.”

  “I know.” I glanced behind. About fifteen shapes pursued us. “Jameson, fire at anything near.”

  “For once in your life, stop being devious! What in hell are you up to?”

  I forced my eyes back to the dash. “We’ll take off and go suborbital.”

  “Sub—what are you talking about?”

  “After takeoff, fly east and pull up her nose. We’ll fire the rockets.”

  “That will—”

  “After forty seconds, shut them off.”

  “We’ll fall!” The wheels touched the runway, once smooth, now pitted from the blast of the rock the aliens had hurled at us.

  “Yes. We’ll glide back down as far as we can, then relight the jets. If we gain enough altitude, that will put us far enough east to jet home.”

  “Not far enough to reach land before the jets overheat. We haven’t plotted ballistics; you have no idea where we’ll end up.” He throttled back as we neared the end of the runway. “If you don’t blow us apart you’ll blow the engines off the fuselage.”

  I gripped his arm. “I’m going to Centraltown. This is the only way there.” I twisted the yoke, eased us to port. The ship turned slowly, majestically.