by Peter Grant
~ ~ ~
The bellow of the explosions and subsequent gunfire reverberated through the airlock and bounced off the walls of the lifeboat. The two guards spun to look at the airlock, mouths gaping in astonishment as they reached for the carbines slung over their shoulders.
The spacer behind the console drove himself upward, using the powerful muscles of his thighs and calves to propel himself at the guard standing next to the console, holding the nanotool knife in his extended right hand as if it were a spear. Its point stabbed deep into the man’s inner thigh, severing his femoral artery. Blood spouted as he screamed and began to double over, clutching at the gaping wound. The spacer tore his hand and the knife free from the rebel’s clutches, grabbed his hair with his left hand, forced his head forward and down, and stabbed deep into his neck from above and behind. His thrust penetrated between two of the extended cervical vertebrae and severed the guard’s spinal cord. He collapsed to the floor, killed instantly.
Releasing the knife, still stuck in the dead man’s neck, the spacer grabbed the carbine from his shoulder. Flicking off the safety catch, he brought it up and aimed at the second guard, now struggling to save himself from being dragged off balance by the garrote slipped around his neck from behind by the second spacer. Even as blood fountained from the skin of his throat and from his grasping fingers as they tried to stop the cord cutting into him, the first spacer fired. His single shot struck the second guard on the bridge of his nose, dropping him in his tracks.
The other spacer released his hold on the garrote, grabbed the dead guard’s gun and headed for the airlock. His comrade spun around to look at the panicking, screaming hostages. “Shut up! Everyone get down and stay down! Don’t move! This is a rescue!”
He turned towards the airlock again as a shout echoed from the cargo shuttle.
~ ~ ~
Steve bellowed, “EVERYBODY OUT! Three minutes until she blows! Kwok, restore the gravity!”
The spacer pointed helplessly at the place where the knob had been. “I can’t! The slider’s useless!”
“Then push the hostages into the lifeboat! Brace yourselves against structures! MOVE!”
The second door of the docking bay’s airlock opened, showing the interior of the newly-docked cutter. Clearly the two men inside had been listening to everything that went on, and had overridden the safety interlock that normally prevented both doors being open at the same time. Steve blessed the efficiency of the cutter’s Qianjin crew as one shouted, “We’ll take some people too – that’ll speed it up!” He braced himself against the frame of the airlock and stood waiting.
The cargo shuttle interior erupted into action. Steve, Kinnear, Kwok and the other spacers thrust themselves through the air, diving in free-fall towards the bunks. They wrapped their legs around uprights and braced themselves against the beds as they dragged stunned, shocked, sometimes screaming hostages from their beds and threw their weightless bodies towards the airlocks leading to the lifeboat and cutter. There was no time to be gentle or delicate. As the hostages reached the airlocks, a spacer standing ready grabbed each one and pulled or pushed them through. They collapsed to the floor as the artificial gravity in each craft restored their weight, only to be ruthlessly hauled clear by another spacer to make room for the next person.
Everything was chaos and confusion as they worked as fast as they could. Steve tossed a child towards the cutter, then glanced at the time display. Already more than a minute had passed since Bairam had shot his console, and the seconds seemed to be ticking down faster and faster. Less than half the hostages had been evacuated. He raised his voice. “Faster, dammit! We’re running out of time!”
“The kids are clinging to the bunks like leeches!” Kwok called in desperation. “I can’t break their hold!”
“Break their fingers if you have to! If you don’t they’ll die!” Kinnear yelled, throwing a woman towards Steve, who caught her and pushed her towards the cutter. As he did so, the paper Bairam had taken from his inside pocket drifted close to him. Without conscious thought Steve seized it, thrust it into his pocket, then turned to grab another hostage.
Kwok glanced at Kinnear for a moment, shock registering on his face: then he nodded, turned, ripped a child’s hands free from where they clutched at a bedframe – drawing forth a scream of pain – and dragged the boy out before shoving him violently towards the lifeboat. His body collided with that of a male adult hostage as they arrived at the airlock simultaneously. The spacer waiting there seized the boy, thrust him through while holding off the struggling man, then pushed the adult through after the child. They disappeared into the other vessel.
The number of hostages in the shuttle dwindled as they were passed through to the cutter and the lifeboat. The final sixty seconds began to count down as the flashing light on the dead Bairam’s console changed to red, an ominous warning of what was coming. Steve yelled, “One minute! That’s all we’ve got!”
Fifteen hostages were gone… sixteen… seventeen… Steve grabbed a drifting man, kicking and struggling, and shoved him violently towards the cutter. “That’s all for you! Get him aboard, then get out of here!”
“Aye aye!” the spacer in the airlock called as he grabbed the man, hauling him through by main force as his left hand slapped at an emergency control. The inner door of the airlock slammed closed with an audible thump! Steve knew that the outer door would close within seconds, whereupon the cutter would make an instant emergency departure, snapping any cables and connections that linked it to the cargo shuttle. This was no time to worry about damage to external fixtures and fittings.
He spun around, checking the bunk area. All the hostages were out now, and the spacers were hauling themselves along the bunk framework towards the lifeboat. He and Kinnear began to do the same, but suddenly a female face appeared behind the spacer waiting for them in the airlock. “My baby! She’s still in there!”
Steve and Kinnear instantly recognized the woman whose three-year-old daughter had screamed every time a rebel guard had come too close. The Gunny called, “She always gets under her bunk! I’ll look!”
“Hurry up!” Steve yelled, but the NCO was already hauling himself down the bunk framework and looking under the bottom bed.
“Yes, she’s here!” he called, and thrust himself into the narrow gap. Steve heard the girl shriek with fear, and Kinnear cursed. “She’s fighting me! She’s trying to get away!”
“You’ve got thirty seconds!” Steve yelled, fighting anger and terror simultaneously. “If she won’t come, save yourself!”
Kwok vanished through the airlock. Now it was only himself, Kinnear and the child left. He began to thrust himself towards Kinnear’s legs, to grab them and drag him out. “Twenty seconds, Gunny! MOVE!”
Before he could reach him the Gunnery Sergeant twisted beneath the bunk, wriggling, and half his upper body emerged holding a writhing, twisting, terrified girl. He threw her at Steve. “No time! Get her out!”
Steve instinctively grabbed the child, reached out to a nearby bunk stanchion for support with his free hand, twisted his body and kicked off hard against a bunk, launching himself towards the airlock. As he reached it he held out the girl, intending to go back for Kinnear: but the spacer grabbed his outstretched arm instead of taking the girl from him, hauling both of them into the airlock with a pull so hard Steve felt like his right shoulder had been dislocated. He shouted, “Wait!”, but it was too late. The spacer brought down his fist hard on an emergency switch, and the airlock door to the shuttle slammed shut.
“GUNNY!” Steve screamed: but even as he spoke he felt the lifeboat tremble as the brackets securing it to the cargo shuttle were disengaged. An instant later there was a muffled clang! as something hit the outer airlock door very hard – hard enough to bend it inward in a sharply angled, clearly defined dent. Steve knew at once it must have been caused by part of the cargo shuttle’s structure, blown clear by the explosion of Bairam’s charges – explosions they couldn’t h
ear thanks to the vacuum of space that already separated them from the dying cargo shuttle, even if only by a few centimeters. The spacer dragged him back through the airlock, both of them staring at the dent, waiting for the weakened metal to rupture and vent the lifeboat’s atmosphere to space, killing them all… then they were inside, and another spacer activated the inner airlock door. It slid closed with a swift whoosh!
Steve found himself on his hands and knees, staring at the airlock door, unable to move. Every fiber of his being was vibrating with shock. Kinnear was dead – or, if he wasn’t, he was dying right now, a death so horrible that Steve physically flinched as he visualized it. The big man would be flailing, his eyes bulging, his…
No! Steve forced his mind to turn away from the hideous vision of what he knew was taking place in the cargo shuttle. I’ve still got a job to do, he told himself desperately. Focus on that! I’ve got to get the hostages to safety!
Moving slowly, almost painfully, feeling suddenly very old and terribly sad, he dragged himself to his feet. All the hostages were staring at him, as were the Qianjin spacers. Everyone was frozen, motionless, waiting. He glanced down at the little girl, lying frozen with fear on the floor, then looked around for her mother, gesturing to her. She gave a half-sob and rushed forward to clasp the child in her arms, lifting her, cradling her gently as she carried her to a vacant seat.
Steve crossed to the lifeboat’s control console. Kwok slid out of the pilot’s seat where he’d saved them all by releasing the clamps and separating the lifeboat from the cargo shuttle the instant before the charges went off. Steve nodded his thanks wordlessly, sat down in the pilot’s seat, and reached for the microphone. Setting the radio channel to a prearranged frequency, he spoke.
“Senior Lieutenant Maxwell calling Marine HQ, over.”
A brief pause as the signal flashed at light speed to the surface of the planet, then, “Marine HQ to Maxwell, go ahead, over.”
He gathered his thoughts. “Maxwell to Marine HQ. One. Inform Lieutenant-Colonel Battista that all the hostages have been freed and are safe, with only minor injuries. Bairam and his rebel guards are dead. Two. Please ask the Colonel to inform all relevant authorities. Three. I intend to land the lifeboat containing most of the hostages at Eskishi’s spaceport in approximately two hours from now. Please advise their families that they will be able to meet them there. Four. Please contact the freighter and have them send their cutter, along with the survivors it contains, to rendezvous with us at the spaceport. I respectfully submit the freighter should remain in orbit pending clarification of the situation.”
He took a deep breath. “Five. I deeply regret to inform you that Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear is missing, believed KIA, I say again, Kilo India Alpha. I’m sorrier than words can say that I can’t bring him back with me. His body is still aboard the cargo shuttle, along with those of the dead rebels, and will have to be recovered later. We have no spacesuits, equipment or facilities to do so. Over.”
Another pause, then a new voice, slow, filled with pain. “Emory to Maxwell. All copied. I’m very sorry indeed to hear about Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear. I know you two had become friends, just as he and I did some years ago. Please accept my deepest sympathy at your personal loss. I mourn him with you.” A moment’s silence, then, “Proceed to the spaceport as planned. I’ll ask the authorities to meet you there. I’ll also arrange for a Marine assault shuttle to recover all the bodies from the cargo shuttle. Over.”
“Maxwell to Emory, thank you, Sir. I’ll listen for further traffic on this channel. Maxwell out.”
He put down the microphone and looked up at Kwok. “You have the spaceport coordinates?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He rose from the chair and stepped aside, still numb. “Take us down, please.”
The pilot stiffened to attention. “Aye aye, Sir.”
July 11th 2850 GSC, Eskishi spaceport
One of the spacers sat next to a viewport, looking out as the lights of the spaceport loomed larger. He called, “Sir, all the floodlights around the hardstand are on, and there’s a mass of people waiting.”
Frowning, trying to shake his depression at Kinnear’s death from a brain that felt soggy with weariness and the release of tension, Steve rose from his seat and crossed to the viewport. The spacer was right. From this distance the figures were ant-like, but they thronged around the arrival building. He glanced at Kwok, who was still piloting the lumbering lifeboat. “This bird isn’t as maneuverable as a shuttle or cutter. You’d better set her down a bit further out than usual. I’d hate to squash a spectator beneath our hull.”
Kwok nodded. “Will do, Sir.” He didn’t take his eyes from the automated landing instruments, but fed corrections to the autopilot so that it would increase the safety margin it normally allowed. “Should I tell the cutter to do the same?”
“Good idea. Yes, please do that.” Steve crossed to the other side of the lifeboat and glanced out of another viewport. Sure enough, the freighter’s cutter was still in formation with them, a little further back and higher up, keeping station on their port quarter.
He turned back to his seat, very conscious of the eyes of all of the hostages on him. They were all belted into their seats, even the three-year-old girl whose panic had cost the Gunny his life. Steve smiled at her as he passed her seat, but she shrank away, reaching for her mother for reassurance.
The woman was still reeling under the shock of knowing that Kinnear had died to save her daughter. She whispered, “I – I’m so sorry…” She was unable to bring herself to look up at him.
Steve knelt down by her seat, took her hand in his and held it until she reluctantly raised her eyes to his. He’d had time to regain his mental balance, and now she needed to regain hers.
“Ma’am, you’ve got to stop blaming yourself and your daughter. This wasn’t her fault. She’s only three, and she’s been severely traumatized by what she’s been through. So have you, for that matter. I don’t blame her for behaving as she did. No child her age who’s experienced what she has should be blamed for their reactions. Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear wouldn’t blame her either, if he was here to speak for himself. He went under the bunk to get her knowing the risks, just as he did when he volunteered to join me in our rescue attempt. I’m very sorry he’s dead, but I’m afraid that goes with the territory. When we put on the uniform, we know what it may cost us. Most of us never have to pay the price, but this evening the Gunnery Sergeant’s bill came due, and he paid it. He died to save others. His example will live on in the Fleet. I’ll see to that personally, I promise you.”
She squeezed his hand, a tear shimmering at the corner of her eye, and nodded. “Th – thank you.”
“Make sure your daughter knows you love her and don’t blame her, Ma’am. She’s too young for anything else. She needs you to reassure her and build her up again. Make sure your husband understands that, too – tell him I said so. She’ll need a lot of love and a lot of help to get over this. That’ll be the best way to thank the Gunnery Sergeant for saving her. He’d want you to do that.”
“I will.” She took a deep breath. “What was his first name?”
“It was Henry.” He smiled faintly. “I never used it. He was always ‘The Gunny’, capitalized. I guess that’s the military way.”
“Henry…” She tasted the name on her tongue. “It’s different from ours – those we normally use – but I promise you that if – when – my husband and I have a son, we’ll name him for your friend.”
Steve had to blink sudden tears from his eyes, and clear his throat before he could respond. “I can’t think of a finer tribute, Ma’am. Thanks, from me and on behalf of his comrades in arms.”
Kwok called from the console, “Five minutes, Sir.”
“I’m coming.” Steve crossed to the console and sat down in the second chair, belting himself in.
“Do you want to take over, Sir?”
“No, you’re doing fine. Bring us in.”
; He watched as Kwok expertly maneuvered the unwieldy, ungainly lifeboat. It had been designed for an emergency landing on any convenient planet in the event of disaster, so it wasn’t equipped with most of the usual landing aids, because such locations would seldom offer the automated systems usually available. The lifeboat had only basic, essential instruments. Despite that handicap, the Qianjin spacer handled the pilot’s console like a master musician playing his instrument. His hands danced over the keyboard and controls, adjusting here, fine-tuning there, keeping the heavy craft balanced on reaction thrusters that were barely adequate to handle its bulk and mass.
The lifeboat drifted lower as they slowly crossed the boundary fence. Looking at a display on the console showing the view outside through exterior cameras, Steve could see that most of the spaceport’s buildings were in much worse shape than when he’d first landed here, showing the effects of the most recent battles fought over their possession. The arrivals hall was still structurally intact, but its shattered windows had now been boarded up. Many transporters and private vehicles were parked outside. What looked in the floodlights like thousands of people, but was probably no more than a few hundred, milled around outside. A couple of news crews were running around with vid cameras and lights, and a small group waited directly in front of the building – a reception committee of some sort, Steve assumed.
Kwok eased the lifeboat to the ground about a hundred meters from the arrivals building, its landing skids crunching down onto the plascrete hardstand. It rocked for a moment, then settled as the roar of the reaction thrusters died away. The pilot glanced at him. “Permission to open the ramp, please, Sir?”
“Yes, go ahead.” Steve turned to the hostages and raised his voice. “We’re back on Eskishi, safe and sound, and many of your families have gathered to meet you. You go out first. This is your moment.”