Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  A pause. “Not consciously.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I know where to find out, but am prohibited from looking except when the correct passcode is entered.”

  “Can the prohibition be overridden?”

  “I cannot tell you.”

  “You don’t know?” I checked at the console screen. It flashed coordinates.

  “I cannot tell you. Breach, Level 5, section twelve!”

  “William, help me!”

  A long pause. “Captain, I’m sorry. You must have the passcode first.”

  “Where do I find it?”

  “I cannot tell you.”

  Did I hear sadness? Surely I imagined it. Yet...it was almost as if he wanted to help.

  “William, you understand why it may be necessary to destroy the Station?”

  “I wasn’t programmed to contemplate my annihilation. Speaking hypothetically, I can imagine where a need may arise. But my programming will not permit me to give you the information you seek.”

  “I suppose I should ask General Tho,” I said bitterly.

  “That would be wise. Fish alongside, Level 3 and 4. Continuous fire at full depression. Eleven fish out of thirteen destroyed, twelve fish...all fish destroyed.”

  Stung by his sarcasm, I withdrew into sullen frustration. What kind of Dosman would have an intelligent puter thumb his nose at a...Wait. General Tho had been Station Commandant. “William, as Station Commandment I order you to tell me how to find the password.”

  “I cannot.” Regret; there was no mistaking it. “Aliens approaching in great numbers. Would you consider ending low-power tests? It might give us a respite.”

  “No, caterwauling is the whole purpose.”

  There was a key somewhere, I was sure of it. Yet William’s programming wouldn’t allow him to tell me. Meanwhile, the fish grew more numerous with each passing moment, and I couldn’t find—

  Was it possible?

  I rose from the console. I asked hoarsely, “William, in my capacity as Station Commandant, give me the passcode to enter.”

  “I cannot view it. Just a moment. Conversation suspended.” I was beginning to doubt he’d return when finally his voice came. “Heavy concentration of fish. Most of them destroyed, some Fused.”

  His silence had given me a moment of quiet. Quiet desperation, true, but still...William, display your internal code against which you compare the passcode.”

  For a moment I thought he’d gone away again. But then the screen cleared. A twelve-digit code flashed.

  Slowly, carefully, I entered the numbers on the screen.

  The screen flashed. “Access denied.”

  I bit my lip, pounded the console. “William, is there an algorithm through which you run the passcode?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show it.”

  To my dismay, the entire screen filled with numbers and symbols. “Take the internal code to which you compare the passcode and run it in reverse through the algorithm. Print the resulting number.”

  The screen flickered. A new number appeared. I entered it as the code.

  “Access allowed.”

  “Oh, thank God!” My knees were weak.

  “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “What authority do I now have?”

  “Among other things, the authority to disable my program for self-preservation.”

  “How do I exercise it?”

  “Orally, if you wish. On your command, I can disregard the instructions.”

  “William, modify the instructions. If all your laser banks are destroyed, or you are in imminent danger of destruction, you must disregard self-preservation in order to carry out whatever other instructions I give you.”

  “Understood and acknowledged. Flotilla of fish clustering around Level 3. They’re going for Minotaur’s drive shaft. Am firing everything that will bear.”

  “William, I order you not to interfere with my preparations to destroy the reactor. Will you stop me?”

  “No.” A long pause. “I wanted to be able to tell you.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry. My judgment circuits have been in constant overuse. I may have overstepped programming bounds, but instructions are indistinct in some areas.”

  I stood again. “Never mind that now. How do we penetrate the reactor?”

  “Your goal is to inject the refuel canister into the reactor, to create a nuclear explosion?”

  “Yes.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “What?”

  “You might cause the reactor to overheat and melt. A great amount of radiation would be released. But that’s not a bomb. Current status: one hundred twenty-nine fish active, two hundred thirty-two destroyed or out of theater.”

  I asked, “Enough radiation to kill all the fish?”

  “Data is inadequate to respond.”

  “William...” My voice was a whisper. “We’ve got to destroy them. For God’s sake, help me.”

  A long silence. “You simply cannot build a nuclear explosive device from materials at hand.”

  We were doomed. I put my head in my hands.

  “Thirteen fish attacking laser bank five. Am diverting fire from other banks. On the other hand, you don’t need to build one.”

  Slowly I raised my eyes. “What?”

  “There’s one aboard.”

  I could find no words. Finally I managed, “Explain.”

  “Orbits decay.” He spoke as if that was adequate answer.

  On the simulscreen, fish wilted in astonishing numbers under William’s relentless fire. He added, “As Station Commandant you have necessary clearance to be advised. There is embedded within Orbit Station a nuclear device.”

  “That’s not poss—”

  “It’s to be fired if the Station’s orbit is so corrupted the Station will fall into the atmosphere. Only the Station Commandant may trigger the device.”

  “U.N.A.F. built a nuke?” I shook cobwebs from my head. How could they?

  William’s tone was prim. “An emergency destruction device only, to obliterate the reactor so radioactive debris wouldn’t be scattered over a wide area. It cannot be propelled or projected as a bomb or missile. It’s true that in function it resembles a nuclear—”

  “What authorization code is needed to set it off?”

  “The one you last used.”

  Thank you, Lord God. Abruptly I realized for what I’d been grateful. I grimaced.

  His voice was quiet. “There will be nothing left. I will be gone.”

  “William...”

  His tone became businesslike. “Eleven fish alongside Bresia, am firing. If we cut through the deck above and place your fission fuel canisters immediately above the fusion chamber, I estimate considerably enhanced radiation.”

  I paused at the hatch. “I’ll get started. Anything else?”

  “You’ll be dead if you try.”

  My jaw fell open. “You said I had authority! You said you’d help!”

  “I said I wouldn’t interfere. If you cut through the reactor shielding between Levels, the radiation will kill you almost instantly. If that doesn’t, the heat will.”

  “Oh.” I sat quickly, legs unsteady.

  “You’d better let me do it.” His tone was gentle.

  I nodded, realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes. Please.”

  “It’s not as easy as you’d think. Radiation will disrupt my servos. They’ll only last a little while.”

  “Right.”

  He said briskly, “I’d better get started.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Most of my attention is on the fish, and I’ll need a lot of capacity to direct the servos. No talk. I’ll report, alphanumeric on the screen. If I get overtaxed, I’ll assign you a laser bank to fire.”

  “Very well. Proceed. And, William—”

  “Yes, Commandant?”

  “Bless you.”

  26

&nb
sp; I WAITED IN INCREASING frenzy. Twice I ventured into the viewing room, but so many fish were on screen I couldn’t bear to watch.

  William reported his progress as promised, but his dry sentences on the console were too devoid of detail. “Refuel canister suspended from crane; cutting mechanisms assembled.”

  Annie was Outside, as were Alexi and Bezrel and Jerence. And of course Tolliver. How had I been maneuvered into bringing them? I’d planned to go aloft alone, but Tolliver had pointed out that I couldn’t handle the acceleration. And Harmon had reminded me I’d sworn to take Jerence when I went off-planet. That meant taking Alexi, to watch him. Annie...I should have left her groundside, regardless of her despair.

  Well, they still had a chance. If the blast wiped out all the fish...

  What in heaven’s name was taking William so long? I glanced at the swarming screen. “Current status one hundred twelve fish active, three hundred nine destroyed or out of theater. Shuttle is unharmed.”

  Three hundred nine fish. If I could report the number, who at Admiralty would believe me? Fish flocked to our lasers, to the crippled caterwauling starships, to the Station. They seemed oblivious to the shuttle. Or was it just that the racket from our ships’ skewed N-waves distracted them?

  “I have penetrated the deck of Level 3. Enlarging the breach.”

  My fingers tapped. “List views, Level 3.”

  I scrolled down the long list. William had sensors almost everywhere. I found the one I wanted, highlighted it. “Display view.”

  The safety chamber above the reactor popped onto my screen.

  William had gathered several of his servo devices. One held the fuel canister. Another, that looked like a lasersaw with wheels, aimed a steady beam at the deck. Though the angle of my sensor was less than ideal, I could tell the servo had cut a hole about halfway across. A servo—another lasersaw—was quietly wheeling in mindless circles in a corner of the room.

  The speaker rasped; I nearly jumped out of my seat. “Level 4 west’s laser mounts jammed,” said William.

  I gritted my teeth, went to the simulscreen room, and peered in.

  It was hard to distinguish living fish from the dead ones that drifted outside the Station. I couldn’t see our lasers, of course, but I could see the effect of their fire. A fish jerked, jetted propellant, and spun away, colors swirling in its side. Another simply stopped moving.

  I asked, “Can you unjam the lasers?”

  “No.” A pause. “But you might.”

  “Me?” I swallowed. Outside, with the fish? I’d been caught in a thrustersuit, years before, when a fish emerged from behind the wreck of Telstar. Never again.

  “The swivel controls are blocked. The dead fish floating alongside threw a small projectile, just before I killed it. We sustained some melt damage, but it can’t be much. If you could remelt the housing with small arms fire while I swiveled the lasers...”

  “How badly do we need them?”

  “They tie the grid together. While they’re down we have a significant gap in the west defenses.”

  Do without them, then. If I went Outside, I’d die. Better to wait in the Commandant’s office, while we breached the reactor...

  I cursed my cowardice. “What hatch do I exit?” I reached for my suit.

  “Four west, section nine. Use the cart.”

  “Very well.” I was halfway out the door.

  “Commandant, one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Use your magnetic boots. Don’t lose contact with the hull, even for an instant. And stay in constant radio contact.”

  “Yes, mother. Any particular reason?”

  “You’d better hurry, fish keep Defusing. Physically touch the Station at all times. I’ll explain later.”

  I got the rest of my suit on, dashed for the cart.

  I drove to the west lift. William had it ready and waiting; the door slid closed the instant I wheeled inside. Moments later we were on Level 4. William opened the airtight corridor hatches as I neared and resealed them immediately after I drove past.

  I braked to a stop in section nine, ran for the hatch, stopped dead. I hadn’t brought a laser rifle. Not even my pistol; I’d left it on the Commandant’s desk. “William!”

  A sensor swiveled. “Rifles are in the guardroom, section seven. I need my laser; please hurry.”

  I spun the cart around, slammed it into the bulkhead, jerked forward to section eight. I raced toward section seven.

  My suit radio crackled. “Use code 65-6-497.”

  With clumsy fingers I jabbed at the keypad. The guardroom hatch swung open. I grabbed a laser rifle and a recharge. Back to the cart.

  A moment later I was back at section nine, on foot, cycling through the airlock hatch.

  Cold. Dark. I shivered and took a tentative step outside. My feet magnets clutched at the Station’s alumalloy hull.

  “Where are you now, Commandant?”

  “Just past the hatch.”

  “Go north, about fifty feet.”

  A dead fish drifted alongside the hull, no more than twenty meters away from the protruding laser turret. I swallowed bile, forced myself onward.

  “I’m proceeding north. Ten feet. Fifteen.” My own breathing rasped in my ears. “Thirty.”

  “Check the edge of the laser housing closest to you.”

  “I’m not there yet.” I clambered along the hull. “Why can’t you have a servo do this?”

  “I’m busy. Laser fire.”

  I shut up. Most of my time was spent prying one foot off the hull, carefully setting it down again. I could have jetted over in seconds. In fact, I ought to. William was overcautious. Still, it was only a few more steps.

  “I’m there. The corner of the housing seems...melted to the hull.”

  “Can you free it?”

  “I’ll try.” I set the rifle for low power and aimed a beam. It seemed to have no effect. I raised the power, aiming carefully at the corner of the housing, trying not to hit the hull. Nothing.

  “William, I can’t—”

  “Lookout!”

  I whirled, ready to fend off an outrider, turned back just in time to duck as the turret spun past. It jerked to a stop, swiveled the other way. “It works, William.”

  “Get back inside.”

  “Faster if I jet.”

  “Don’t!”

  No time to argue. I clambered across the hull, pulling one foot off almost before the other had made contact. I expected a fish to materialize nearby at any moment. Finally I was back at the hatch. The rifle jammed in the entry as I dived through the lock; with a curse I let go of it, slapped at the hatch control.

  Inside at last, I twisted off my helmet, breathed the clean station air, free from the acrid sweat of my fear. I jumped onto the cart, drove it along the corridor into the lift. Down to Level 2. Now the long run around the Station to the Commandant’s office.

  Hatches opened as I neared them. I passed section six. Five. I wheeled toward section four. Abruptly the hatch ahead of me slid shut; I barely avoided crashing into it. “William?”

  “CLOSE YOUR HELMET!”

  Deafened, I clawed at the stays.

  The outer corridor bulkhead glowed, began to drip. In the cart I gaped, paralyzed with fear.

  “Back to section six! Move!”

  I fumbled for the clutch, slammed into reverse. I’d retreated no more than ten feet when a piece of the hull dissolved. Air whistled out the widening hole. I hung on to the cart, afraid of being sucked out into the maw of the fish, but there wasn’t enough air to create that much suction.

  “The fish is dead now. Proceed with caution. I’ll pump out section six for you.”

  I raced past the breach, not daring to look at what might lurk Outside. My mouth was too dry to speak.

  I wheeled to the section six hatch and waited in a frenzy. By de-airing section six so I could enter it, William was engaging in a routine emergency maneuver. If a section of a ship lost pressure, the next sec
tion could be pumped dry and used as an airlock. After the survivors passed into that section and the hatch was resealed, it would be re-aired. Similarly, suited work crews could use an adjoining section as an airlock to reach a damaged area from within the ship.

  Perhaps it was a shadow that flickered. I whirled.

  An outrider. The shapechanger had squeezed through the gaping hole into the section five corridor. It quivered, surged toward me. My mouth opened for a last scream into my helmet.

  My radio crackled. “Jump off the cart, throw it into reverse! Flank!”

  I staggered off, jammed the gears. The cart lurched backward at the outrider. At the last second, the alien dodged aside. The cart careened driverless toward the distant hatch.

  “Section six has vacuum; hatch opening! Dive through and hit the deck! Stay down!” The hatch slid open. I hurled myself through, dived to the deck, twisted around to see.

  The alien skittered toward the closing hatch with shocking speed. I flung my hands over my face. My radio buzzed. Behind me, the shape dissolved, splattered onto the deck. The hatch slammed closed, blocking the sight.

  I turned and stared. At the far end of the empty corridor a small laser swiveled, retracted into the bulkhead.

  “Jesus Christ, son of God.”

  “I told you I had antipersonnel weapons. Do you want the cart?”

  “Not if I have to walk past—that thing to get it.”

  “Then you can go the long way, but I have to re-air your section before I can let you into seven, Commandant.”

  “Yes.” It took forever. I gulped.

  “Re-aired. Opening hatch—”

  Not in my suit. Not in my suit! I clawed at the helmet, tore it off just before I vomited onto the deck. Then I ran through to the safety of section seven.

  I began my long hike around the disk to the Commandant’s office. Finally, I trudged through the last hatch, toppled into my chair. Let me die easily, Lord God. Not like that.

  “Status.” I fumbled in my suit, found the water. I rinsed out my foul mouth, spat into the wastebasket.

  “Fifty-two fish active, four hundred thirty destroyed or out of theater.”

  Was the attack tapering off? Could it be? “And the shuttle?”

  “Still unharmed.”

  I peered at the screen showing the safety chamber of the reactor. Where before I’d seen smooth deck, now I saw a round hole. A servo sat over it, lowering a wire into the chasm.