The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®

by Keith Laumer

  I turned to Clay. “I’ll take over, Clay,” I said. “Alter course to intercept our late companion at two and one-half gee’s.”

  Clay looked startled, but said only, “Aye, sir.”

  I keyed for a general announcement. “This is the Captain,” I said. “Action station, all hands in loose acceleration harness. We’re going after Big Brother. You’re in action against the enemy now, and from this point on I’m remembering. You men have been having a big time letting off steam; that’s over now. All sections report.”

  One by one the sections reported in, all but Med. and Admin. Well, I could spare them for the present. The pressure was building now, as we blasted around in a hairpin curve, our acceleration picking up fast.

  I ordered Joyce to lock his radar on target, and switch over to autopilot control. Then I called Power Section.

  “I’m taking over all power control from the bridge,” I said. “All personnel out of the power chamber and control chamber.”

  The men were still under control, but that might not last long. I had to have the entire disposition of the ship’s power, control, and armament under my personal direction for a few hours at least.

  Missile Section reported all missiles armed and locked on target. I acknowledged and ordered the section evacuated. Then I turned to Clay and Joyce. Both were plenty nervous now; they didn’t know what was brewing.

  “Lieutenant Clay,” I said. “Report to your quarters; Joyce, you too. I want to congratulate both of you on a soldierly performance these last few hours.”

  They left without protest. I was aware that they didn’t want to be too closely identified with the Captain when things broke loose.

  * * * *

  I keyed for a video check of the interior of the lift as it started back up. It was empty. I locked it up.

  Now we were steady on course, and had reached our full two and a half gees. I could hardly stand under that acceleration, but I had one more job to do before I could take a break.

  Feet dragging, I unlocked the lift and rode it down. I was braced for violence as I opened the lift door, but I was lucky. There was no one in the corridor. I could hear shouts in the distance. I dragged myself along to Power Section and pushed inside. A quick check of control settings showed everything as I had ordered it. Back in the passage, I slammed the leaded vault door to and threw in the combination lock. Now only I could open it without blasting.

  * * * *

  Control Section was next. It, too, was empty, all in order. I locked it, and started across to Missiles. Two men appeared at the end of the passage, having as hard a time as I was. I entered the cross corridor just in time to escape a volley of needler shots. The mutiny was in the open now, for sure.

  I kept going, hearing more shouting. I was sure the men I had seen were heading for Power and Control. They’d get a surprise. I hoped I could beat them to the draw at Missiles, too.

  As I came out in B corridor, twenty feet from Missiles, I saw that I had cut it a bit fine. Three men, crawling, were frantically striving against the multi-gee field to reach the door before me. Their faces were running with sweat, purple with exertion.

  I had a slight lead; it was too late to make a check inside before locking up. The best I could hope for was to lock the door before they reached it.

  I drew my Browning and started for the door. They saw me and one reached for his needler.

  “Don’t try it,” I called. I concentrated on the door, reached it, swung it closed, and as I threw in the lock a needler cracked. I whirled and fired. The man in the rear had stopped and aimed as the other two came on. He folded. The other two kept coming.

  I was tired. I wanted a rest. “You’re too late,” I said. “No one but the Captain goes in there now.” I stopped talking, panting. I had to rest. The two came on. I wondered why they struggled so desperately after they were beaten. My thinking was slowing down.

  I suddenly realized they might be holding me for the crowd to arrive. I shuffled backwards towards the cross corridor. I barely made it. Two men on a shuttle cart whirled around the corner a hundred feet aft. I lurched into my shelter in a hail of needler fire. One of the tiny slugs stung through my calf and ricocheted down the passage.

  I called to the two I had raced; “Tell your boys if they ever want to open that door, just see the Captain.”

  I hesitated, considering whether or not to make a general statement.

  “What the hell,” I decided. “They all know there’s a mutiny now. It won’t hurt to get in a little life-insurance.”

  I keyed my mike. “This is the Captain,” I said. “This ship is now in a state of mutiny. I call on all loyal members of the Armed Forces to resist the mutineers actively, and to support their Commander. Your ship is in action against an armed enemy. I assure you this mutiny will fail, and those who took part in it will be treated as traitors to their Service, their homes, and their own families who now rely on them.

  “We are accelerating at two and one-half gravities, locked on a collision course with the Mancji ship. The mutineers cannot enter the Bridge, Power, Control, or Missiles Sections since only I have the combination. Thus they’re doomed to failure.

  “I am now returning to the Bridge to direct the attack and destruction of the enemy. If I fail to reach the Bridge, we will collide with the enemy in less than three hours, and our batteries will blow.”

  Now my problem was to make good my remark about returning to the Bridge. The shuttle had not followed me, presumably fearing ambush. I took advantage of their hesitation to cross back to corridor A at my best speed. I paused once to send a hail of needles ricocheting down the corridor behind me, and I heard a yelp from around the corner. Those needles had a fantastic velocity, and bounced around a long time before stopping.

  At the corridor, I lay down on the floor for a rest and risked a quick look. A group of three men were bunched around the Control Section door, packing smashite in the hairline crack around it. That wouldn’t do them any good, but it did occupy their attention.

  I faded back into the cross passage, and keyed the mike. I had to give them a chance.

  “This is the Captain,” I said. “All personnel not at their action stations are warned for the last time to report there immediately. Any man found away from his post from this point on is in open mutiny and can expect the death penalty. This is the last warning.”

  The men in the corridor had heard, but a glance showed they paid no attention to what they considered an idle threat. They didn’t know how near I was.

  I drew my needler, set it for continuous fire, pushed into the corridor, aimed, and fired. I shot to kill. All three sprawled away from the door, riddled, as the metal walls rang with the cloud of needles.

  I looked both ways, then rose, with effort, and went to the bodies. I recognized them as members of Kirschenbaum’s Power Section crew. I keyed again as I moved on toward the lift at the end of the corridor, glancing back as I went.

  “Corley, Mac Williams, and Reardon have been shot for mutiny in the face of the enemy,” I said. “Let’s hope they’re the last to insist on my enforcing the death penalty.”

  * * * *

  Behind me, at the far end of the corridor, men appeared again. I flattened myself in a doorway, sprayed needles toward them, and hoped for the best. I heard the singing of a swarm past me, but felt no hits. The mutineers offered a bigger target, and I thought I saw someone fall. As they all moved back out of sight, I made another break for the lift.

  I was grateful they hadn’t had time to organize. I kept an eye to the rear, and sent a hail of needles back every time a man showed himself. They ducked out to fire every few seconds, but not very effectively. I had an advantage over them; I was fighting for the success of the mission and for my life, with no one to look to for help; they were each one of a mob, none eager to be a target, each willing to let the other man take the risk.

  I was getting pretty tired. I was grateful for the extra stamina and wind that daily
calisthenics in a high-gee field had given me; without that I would have collapsed before now; but I was almost ready to drop. I had my eyes fixed on the lift door; each step, inch by inch, was an almost unbearable effort. With only a few feet to go, my knees gave; I went down on all fours. Another batch of needles sang around me, and vivid pain seared my left arm. It helped. The pain cleared my head, spurred me. I rose and stumbled against the door.

  Now the combination. I fought a numbing desire to faint as I pressed the lock control; three, five, two, five…

  I twisted around as I heard a sound. The shuttle was coming toward me, men lying flat on it, protected by the bumper plate. I leaned against the lift door, and loosed a stream of needles against the side of the corridor, banking them toward the shuttle. Two men rolled off the shuttle in a spatter of blood. Another screamed, and a hand waved above the bumper. I needled it.

  * * * *

  I wondered how many were on the shuttle. It kept coming. The closer it came, the more effective my bank shots were. I wondered why it failed to return my fire. Then a hand rose in an arc and a choke bomb dropped in a short curve to the floor. It rolled to my feet, just starting to spew. I kicked it back. The shuttle stopped, backed away from the bomb. A jet of brown gas was playing from it now. I aimed my needler, and sent it spinning back farther. Then I turned to my lock.

  Now a clank of metal against metal sounded behind me; from the side passage a figure in radiation armor moved out. The suit was self-powered and needle proof. I sent a concentrated blast at the head, as the figure awkwardly tottered toward me, ungainly in the multi-gee field. The needles hit, snapped the head back. The suited figure hesitated, arms spread, stepped back and fell with a thunderous crash. I had managed to knock him off balance, maybe stun him.

  I struggled to remember where I was in the code sequence; I went on, keyed the rest. I pushed; nothing. I must have lost count. I started again.

  I heard the armored man coming on again. The needler trick wouldn’t work twice. I kept working. I had almost completed the sequence when I felt the powered grip of the suited man on my arm. I twisted, jammed the needler against his hand, and fired. The arm flew back, and even through the suit I heard his wrist snap. My own hand was numb from the recoil. The other arm of the suit swept down and struck my wounded arm. I staggered away from the door, dazed with the pain.

  I side-stepped in time to miss another ponderous blow. Under two and a half gees, the man in the suit was having a hard time, even with power assisted controls. I felt that I was fighting a machine instead of a man.

  As he stepped toward me again, I aimed at his foot. A concentrated stream of needles hit, like a metallic fire hose, knocked the foot aside, toppled the man again. I staggered back to my door.

  But now I realized I couldn’t risk opening it; even if I got in, I couldn’t keep my suited assailant from crowding in with me. Already he was up, lurching toward me. I had to draw him away from the door.

  The shuttle sat unmoving. The mob kept its distance. I wondered why no one was shooting; I guessed they had realized that if I were killed there would be no way to enter the vital control areas of the ship; they had to take me alive.

  * * * *

  I made it past the clumsy armored man and started down the corridor toward the shuttle. I moved as slowly as I could while still eluding him. He lumbered after me. I reached the shuttle; a glance showed no one alive there. Two men lay across it. I pulled myself onto it and threw in the forward lever. The shuttle rolled smoothly past the armored man, striking him a glancing blow that sent him down again. Those falls, in the multi-gee field, were bone crushing. He didn’t get up.

  I reached the door again, rolled off the shuttle, and reached for the combination. I wished now I’d used a shorter one. I started again; heard a noise behind me. As I turned, a heavy weight crushed me against the door.

  I was held rigid, my chest against the combination key. The pressure was cracking my ribs and still it increased. I twisted my head, gasping. The shuttle held me pinned to the door. The man I had assumed out of action was alive enough to hold the lever down with savage strength. I tried to shout, to remind him that without me to open the doors, they were powerless to save the ship. I couldn’t speak. I tasted blood in my mouth, and tried to breathe. I couldn’t. I passed out.

  CHAPTER 2

  I emerged into consciousness to find the pressure gone, but a red haze of pain remained. I lay on my back and saw men sitting on the floor around me.

  A blow from somewhere made my head ring. I tried to sit up. I couldn’t make it. Then Kramer was beside me, slipping a needle into my arm. He looked pretty bad himself. His face was bandaged heavily, and one eye was purple. He spoke in a muffled voice through stiff jaws. His tone was deliberate.

  “This will keep you conscious enough to answer a few questions,” he said. “Now you’re going to give me the combinations to the locks so we can call off this suicide run; then maybe I’ll doctor you up.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “The time for clamming up is over, you stupid braggard,” Kramer said. He raised his fist and drove a hard punch into my chest. I guess it was his shot that kept me conscious. I couldn’t breathe for a while, until Kramer gave me a few whiffs of oxygen. I wondered if he was fool enough to think I might give up my ship.

  After a while my head cleared a little. I tried to say something. I got out a couple of croaks, and then found my voice.

  “Kramer,” I said.

  He leaned over me. “I’m listening,” he said.

  “Take me to the lift. Leave me there alone. That’s your only chance.” It seemed to me like a long speech, but nothing happened. Kramer went away, came back. He showed me a large scalpel from his medical kit. “I’m going to start operating on your face. I’ll make you into a museum freak. Maybe if you start talking soon enough I’ll change my mind.”

  I could see the watch on his wrist. My mind worked very slowly. I had trouble getting any air into my lungs. We would intercept in one hour and ten minutes.

  It seemed simple to me. I had to get back to the Bridge before we hit. I tried again. “We only have an hour,” I said.

  Kramer lost control. He jabbed the knife at my face, screeching through gritted teeth. I jerked my head aside far enough that the scalpel grated along my cheekbone instead of slashing my mouth. I hardly felt it.

  “We’re not dying because you were a fool,” Kramer yelled. “I’ve taken over; I’ve relieved you as unfit for command. Now open up this ship or I’ll slice you to ribbons.” He held the scalpel under my nose in a fist trembling with fury. The chrome plated blade had a thin film of pink on it.

  I got my voice going again. “I’m going to destroy the Mancji ship,” I said. “Take me to the lift and leave me there.” I tried to add a few words, but had to stop and work on breathing again for a while. Kramer disappeared.

  I realized I was not fully in command of my senses. I was clamped in a padded claw. I wanted to roll over. I tried hard, and made it. I could hear Kramer talking, others answering, but it seemed too great an effort to listen to the words.

  I was lying on my face now, head almost against the wall. There was a black line in front of me, a door. My head cleared a bit. It must have been Kramer’s shot working on me. I turned my head and saw Kramer standing now with half a dozen others, all talking at once. Apparently Kramer’s display of uncontrolled temper had the others worried. They wanted me alive. Kramer didn’t like anyone criticizing him. The argument was pretty violent. There was scuffling—and shouts.

  I saw that I lay about twenty feet from the lift; too far. The door before me, if I remembered the ship’s layout, was a utility room, small and containing nothing but a waste disposal hopper. But it did have a bolt on the inside, like every other room on the ship.

  I didn’t stop to think about it; I started trying to get up. If I’d thought I would have known that at the first move from me all seven of them would land on me at once. I concentrated on getting my han
ds under me, to push up. I heard a shout, and turning my head, saw Kramer swinging at someone. I went on with my project.

  Hands under my chest, I raised myself a little, and got a knee up. I felt broken rib ends grating, but felt no pain, just the padded claw. Then I was weaving on all fours. I looked up, spotted the latch on the door, and put everything I had into lunging at it. My finger hit it, the door swung in, and I fell on my face; but I was half in. Another lunge and I was past the door, kicking it shut as I lay on the floor, reaching for the lock control. Just as I flipped it with an extended finger, someone hit the door from outside, a second too late.

  It was dark, and I lay on my back on the floor, and felt strange short-circuited stabs of what would have been agonizing pain running through my chest and arm. I had a few minutes to rest now, before they blasted the door open.

  I hated to lose like this, not because we were beaten, but because we were giving up. My poor world, no longer fair and green, had found the strength to send us out as her last hope. But somewhere out here in the loneliness and distance we had lost our courage. Success was at our fingertips, if we could have found it; instead, in panic and madness, we were destroying ourselves.

  * * * *

  My mind wandered; I imagined myself on the Bridge, half-believed I was there. I was resting on the OD bunk, and Clay was standing beside me. A long time seemed to pass…. Then I remembered I was on the floor, bleeding internally, in a tiny room that would soon lose its door. But there was someone standing beside me.

  I didn’t feel too disappointed at being beaten; I hadn’t hoped for much more than a breather, anyway. I wondered why this fellow had abandoned his action station to hide there. The door was still shut. He must have been there all along, but I hadn’t seen him when I came in. He stood over me, wearing greasy overalls, and grinned down at me. He raised his hand. I was getting pretty indifferent to blows; I couldn’t feel them.

  The hand went up, the man straightened and held a fairly snappy salute. “Sir,” he said. “Space’n first class Thomas.”