Incongruously, Marta noted that his perfect English inflection had vanished now that he was mad. Boy, she thought, half amused, I have really pissed this guy off! She didn't care what he would do to her once they were back in the cabin—at least it would be warm! She laughed, or at least she thought she did, remembering a poem she'd once heard about a man who froze to death in the Arctic only to be revived when his partner tried to cremate him in an oven. Sam Magee, that was his name!
Bengt began dragging Marta around to the left, back toward the cabin, when he screamed suddenly and just as suddenly let go of her. Marta slumped back into the snow. Bengt's high-pitched screaming diminished very quickly and then died away completely. She had no idea what had happened to him, and she didn't care. Marta sank back into the snow and lost consciousness.
Colonel Ramadan never would have found Marta Conorado if it hadn't been for her hand sticking up out of the snow bank where Bengt had left her. He stumbled forward and began pawing at the snow covering her body.
Buskerud came up behind him and laid a gloved hand on his shoulder as Ramadan furiously brushed snow away from Marta's still form. "Goddamnit, Ollie, help me! We've got to get her out of here!"
"Colonel, Colonel," Buskerud insisted. "Look. Look."
"What? What?" Ramadan looked up in annoyance at the guide.
Buskerud gestured at the ground in front of where Marta lay. At that moment the wind died away and the swirling clouds of snow subsided. Ramadan gasped as he looked out across a vast empty space, the valley of the Ume, only a handbreadth from where Marta was lying. "C'mon, Ollie, we've got to get her back to the cabin! Give me a hand!"
They uncovered Marta and lifted her up. Ramadan took off his gloves and began rubbing her face. "She's like ice, Ollie!" he gasped. Buskerud bent close over the pair to shelter them from the wind, which had picked up again.
"She vill haf bad frostbite," Buskerud said. "Does she live?"
Ramadan mentally kicked himself for not trying to get a pulse. He lay two fingers along the carotid just under her jaw and put his ear close to her mouth. Yes! A pulse, weak, but a pulse! He breathed on her lips and continued rubbing her face while calling her name as loud as he could in the rushing wind.
Marta's eyes fluttered open and she looked up at the ice-ringed, snow-blown face of Colonel Israel Ramadan. "Lewis," she muttered, "I'm so glad you've come home!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
Captain Tuit was the first crewman on the bridge after it became clear that Conorado had somehow secured it from the terrorists. "What? What happened up here?" He gaped at the bodies and the blood. He looked up at Conorado, who slumped in the captain's chair. "Lew, I knew you were a fighter, but—but how the hell did you pull this off?"
Conorado gestured vaguely at the bodies. "I had an ace in the hole, Hank. The bridge is now yours again, Captain." He stepped out of the chair, indicating Captain Tuit should occupy it.
"Lot of good that'd do, Lew. They wiped out the navigation system and took control of Minerva. The only thing I can do with this ship now is fire the goddamned verniers." He ran a hand nervously through his hair.
"Can we communicate with the two back in the propulsion unit?" Conorado asked.
"Yes," Jennifer answered. She and two other crew members had just arrived on the bridge. "We have a telephone hookup that is independent of Minerva."
"That's right," Tuit said, punching a button on the console by his command chair. "I'm putting this conversation on the speaker so you can all hear what these guys have to say." He waited several seconds before someone picked up the instrument on the other end.
"Brother Lordsday?" Increase Revelation asked tentatively.
"Hell no, this is Captain Tuit speaking. What in the hell are you two up to back there?"
There was a brief pause. "I am Increase Revelation, Captain. Please let me speak to Brother Lordsday."
"I got news for you, asshole, a real ‘increase’ in your ‘revelation.’ Your buddies are dead. Now disarm that goddamned bomb you got back there and get your tails up here so I won't have to come back there and kick them for you."
"Are the brothers dead?" There was another long pause. "The bomb cannot be disarmed, Captain. It is set to go off when we are precisely at the proper point. We are armed and we are prepared to hold this place until our work is done. But even if you get by us, Captain, you cannot disarm the bomb."
"And when, may I ask, will it go off?"
"You may ask, Captain, but I will not tell you."
"Now you listen here, you bowel-lurking little piece of turd slime—"
"Captain. Please. Instead of wasting time and breath cursing me, look to your eternal soul, for shortly, very shortly, we will all stand before our Creator. We will not talk again in this life. May God bless you all."
Tuit shrugged and set the instrument back into its holder. "Lew, you're one hell of a man to have stacked these guys up like this, but looks like we're finished."
"Guess that means we don't get no bonuses this trip," one of the crewmen interjected. The remark was so out of context everyone was forced to laugh, despite the desperation of their predicament.
Ambassador Franks came onto the bridge, took in the carnage, and asked, "Who did this?"
"I did, Mr. Ambassador," Conorado answered.
"Figures," Franks said. "Congratulations, Captain. At least we won't go up without a fight." He walked over to Conorado and extended his hand. "Now where do we stand?"
Tuit filled the ambassador in. "If we could fight our way in there and eject the bomb somehow, wouldn't that save us?"
"If we had a lifecraft that worked, maybe we could shoot it off into space, after sacrificing more lives to get into the propulsion unit, and it might just go off far enough away that we wouldn't go up with it, Mr. Ambassador. But all our lifecraft have been disabled," Tuit said. "We could bust in, find the bomb, and eject it outside the hull, but all it'd do would be to match vector with the ship."
"There is one possibility," Jennifer said. All heads turned in her direction. She hesitated. "Well, the vernier jets still work and—"
"Jenny, what good are they to us now?" Tuit asked.
"Well, Captain, if we could get one powerful burst out of them that would put the ship into a spin and then somehow, uh, well, detach the propulsion unit from the rest of the ship—detach it at just the right point in the arc, like a rock in a slingshot—"
"Cap'n," the navigator broke in, "she's got a point! The verniers are supposed to be used only for making slight course adjustments, as when docking," he explained to Ambassador Franks, "but if I can get one sustained burst out of all of them at the same time, it might just work. But all we're going to get is one goddamned chance. At the most I might get twenty seconds of thrust out of them. We're stern abeam to the moon now. I calculate it'll take fifteen seconds of sustained thrust to swing this crate around so she's bow on. Soon's the moon begins to appear in the bow viewing screens, we separate the propulsion unit. By then we should have generated enough centrifugal force to start carrying it away toward its apogee. That'll really mess up their schedule."
Everyone's attention now turned to Jennifer Lenfen. "Jenny, hurry it up," Tuit said. "I don't think we've got much time left."
"Well, each lifecraft has a small explosive charge set to detonate when the craft is launched, you know, to propel it free of the ship's gravitational orbit. I was thinking, if we can gather together a few of the charges, hook them up into a sequence with a fuse of some sort, we can—"
"Goddamnit, girl, set the charges off with enough explosive force to separate the propulsion unit from the rest of the ship! Time it precisely so it goes off at the arc of the ship's swing when we start the verniers, and it'll act like a stone thrown from a slingshot!" Captain Tuit stepped up to Jennifer, put his arms around her and kissed her.
By now the rest of the crew had gathered on the bridge. "Okay, here's how I'll work it. Everyone'll suit up prior to the blast. Passengers and crew not engag
ed in navigation or setting off the charges will secure the lifecraft. They'll provide some extra protection when the big bomb goes off. Navigator and I will remain on the bridge." He looked at Conorado. "Lew, I don't suppose you know anything about demolitions, do you?"
Conorado smiled. "‘If it absolutely, positively has to be destroyed overnight, send in the Marines,’" he quoted the old adage.
"Lew, it'll be a very dangerous operation. Whoever sets that thing off could go up with it. You'll have to be suited up for the operation. If a fragment penetrates your suit, you'll boil away like—"
"I know, Hank. I'll need a lot of wire or cable and a power source and some stuff to make a detonator. I'll also need a volunteer to assist me."
"I volunteer," Jennifer said without hesitation.
"No!" Both Conorado and Tuit shouted at the same time.
"It was my idea and I want to be the volunteer," she said with determination.
"I should go too," the navigator spoke up forcefully.
"No, absolutely not, Clem," Jennifer said. "Your job is critical. Only you can handle the verniers well enough to spin this old crate around. It's my idea, I want to go."
"Me too," another crewman who'd just come onto the bridge spoke up.
"Bob! You're the only engineer I have left—" Captain Tuit began.
The engineer, Bob Storer, held up a hand. He was an older, husky individual with a military-style haircut. "I can help with the placement of the charges, Hank, and I can rig the detonation system Captain Conorado will need to set the charges off. And besides that, Captain, you don't need a goddamned engineer on this ship anymore."
Tuit was silent for a moment. "Okay," he said, "the three of you get to work."
The three quickly collected the propulsion charges from the ten lifecraft nearest the bridge and passenger compartments.
"These are set off electronically from the pilot's console using a 1.5 amp system," Storer explained. "I should be able to rig an electrical firing system to set them off in a series, using, say, three hundred meters of eighteen-gauge copper wire."
Jennifer looked at Conorado and raised her eyebrows. "Glad we did bring you along, Bob," she said.
"Okay, Bob, but we'll need a dual firing system in case there's a misfire on the first try. That'll require two completely independent electrical systems, both of them capable of firing the charges. That will mean two detonators in each charge so that the firing of either circuit will detonate all the charges. Can you set it up?"
"Sure," Storer replied. "We have two lifecraft we didn't raid, considering number thirteen is in the propulsion unit, so I'll use the propellant from one of those to rig the second set of detonators."
Conorado hefted one of the propulsion charges. "Well, I'll be—this is composition military stuff, Tetrytol, .75 kilograms per charge. Jesu, the detonation velocity of this stuff has got to be up somewhere near seven thousand meters a second! The navy uses compressed air to launch Essays. This stuff is powerful and dangerous. One good thing, though—they've got one set of built-in detonators. That'll make your job a bit easier, Bob."
"Well, the navy launches all the time," Jennifer said. "We only do it once, and when we're on our way, we don't intend to come back."
"It's amazing what salvage crews can do these days," Bob added.
Conorado let out a little laugh. "Good thing for us you civilians are so far behind the times. Bob, since we can't access the computer, what do you remember about the structure of the conduit that connects the last storage compartment with the propulsion unit? What's it made of?"
"Molycarbondum. It has the tensile strength of structural steel but one hundredth the weight."
"So in reality we're dealing with structural steel," Conorado said. "All right. That's something I understand. How much of it will we have to blow up to separate the conduit? I need to know how many struts we'll need to cut through and the area of the flanges and webs to calculate how much of this stuff we'll need."
"There are five struts to a section," Storer said, "but hell, I don't have any idea what the area of the flanges and webs is."
"Then let's get everything together and go back and measure the flanges and webs and set this damned stuff off," Conorado said.
The total area of the flange and web for one strut came out to 58.5 square centimeters. Conorado calculated in his head. "I'm a bit rusty on this stuff, but I think we'll need 1.5 kilograms to separate each strut. So we use all ten of these charges and we should be in business. Ah, one more thing. Distance. Depending on the size of the charge, you've got to put a certain distance between yourself and the explosion to avoid going up with the stuff. That's a minimum of 274 meters on charges up to twelve kilograms. Can we set this thing off from that distance, Bob?"
"I don't have enough wire! I had to double what I did have to make up the dual electrical firing systems. I could strip some more, but how much time do we have before that thing goes off?"
Conorado hesitated. "I don't know, but we've got to figure it'll go off any minute now. Hell, we can't be more than an hour away from Luna's orbit, and the damned thing's probably timed to go off for maximum visual effect on the people watching from Earth. Okay. We'll do it from right inside the storage bay. We can stack cargo between us and the blast." He turned to Jennifer. "You keep in touch with the bridge, Jenny. Tell them we're going to set the charges now and they should get ready to fire the jets on my command. We'll suit up and secure ourselves once the charges are in place and ready to be fired."
Both men were perspiring profusely before they finished rigging the charges. Meanwhile, using a front loader, Jennifer had stacked cargo containers in the form of a small square inside which they could fire the charges and expect some protection from the blast. They knew that as soon as the charges detonated, Minerva would automatically initiate emergency procedures to seal off the damaged compartment from the rest of the ship.
They crouched in the makeshift shelter. Conorado nodded at Jennifer, who was in touch with the bridge and her companions via the voice mike in her suit.
"Fire when ready, Captain!" She paused. "The verniers have been fired!"
"Mark!" Conorado shouted. Storer, a gloved hand paused above the detonator switch, began to count the seconds. They would mark the seconds, and if, due to a comm failure, the bridge did not give the signal to detonate the charges after fifteen seconds, they would set them off anyway.
At first there was no sensation of movement at all, but after five seconds the ship began to swing to her port. Ten seconds into the count the maneuver had become so pronounced the three bombers felt themselves pulled hard to the starboard quarter.
At precisely fifteen seconds into the maneuver Jennifer screamed "Fire!" The explosion was much more powerful than expected.
Lieutenant Commander Willa Stanton, on the bridge of the fast frigate CNSS Sergeant Major Richard Banks, had the Cambria in view. She had been told that terrorists had taken over the ship, murdered its crew and passengers, and were going to use it as a huge bomb to destroy Luna Station. She did not question her orders when given the assignment to destroy the Cambria, but what Fleet did not know was that Commander Stanton had once served under retired navy captain Tuit and she was well aware that he was captain of that vessel. Her feelings about her orders were mixed. What if Tuit and his people were still alive? she asked herself. Was there any other way to avoid disaster?
"Any success getting through to her?" she asked her communications officer. She had been told that Fleet had been trying for some time with no success to reach the Cambria, but Commander Stanton thought they might get a response now that her ship was close enough to have been detected by the cargo ship's sensors.
"None, Captain. They've taken control of her communications system; otherwise, her computers are programmed to respond to emergency messages."
"How long would it take to break the code and get through?"
"I've been trying, Captain—"
He's a 4.0 officer! Commande
r Stanton thought.
"—but it'll be too late before our system can break through. Fleet's cryptanalysts could do it in no time," he added wistfully.
Commander Stanton wondered again why Fleet had not already done just that. There were things about this mission that didn't make sense to her. Her orders to destroy the cargo ship were clear and apparently legitimate. But she did not quite believe the story she had been given. And she knew her orders came from much higher up than CNO or even the Combined Chiefs. That ship was worth trillions. Were the people on board really dead? Were they infected with some dreadful alien plague? Had they been taken over by something?
Commander Stanton's executive officer frowned. "Our orders are to shoot her, Captain, not try to talk them down," he reminded her.
Commander Stanton sighed. "Gunnery officer, are we in range?"
"Aye, Captain, in range."
"Very well. Prepare to fire main battery."
"Aye, Captain, main battery prepared to fire."
"Hey!" the exec exclaimed. "What was that?"
A small bright flash erupted on the Banks's viewscreens.
"She's separated into two fragments!" he exclaimed. "Captain, that was a damned explosion! The smaller of the two fragments appears to be her propulsion unit."
Commander Stanton stared at the screen for a moment. "Guns! Are you following what's going on?"
"Aye, Captain, the target is in two parts now."
"Lock on the smaller fragment."
"Aye, target locked on."
"Fire!"
The Cambria's propulsion unit disappeared in a very big flash.
"Secure your battery."
"Aye, battery secured."
"XO, prepare a boarding party, two volunteers only, and take the con. I'm going to board that vessel."
"Captain, you can't do that! Our orders are to destroy that vessel, not board her!"
"I'm the officer on the scene and it's my decision to board her. Get cracking."
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