A second later, the plasma washed over and melted the cannon.
“Ten dead,” said a shock trooper.
“Keep your eyes open for more.”
“They know we’re here,” Marten said. Then he knew what he had to do. “Once you reach the girders put away your spikes.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Maybe,” Marten said.
He put one spike-pad away. Then he reached out. With full exoskeleton power, he clutched hold of the girder. His power-gloves bent the metal. It would leave a handprint, all right. He moved his left hand, and as he tried to slip off the spike-pad, it flew away. He sighed, and then he grabbed the girder with his left. He shimmied down the giant strut, wrapping his battlesuited legs around part of it.
“Marten’s a monkey,” Vip said.
“Just make sure you follow me,” Marten said.
A man cursed as two more PD’s popped up. Plasma rolled at them, but not before five more shock troopers died.
“Bastards!” cried a man.
We all are, Marten decided. Them and us, maybe everybody in the solar system.
Soon others crawled behind him and down the girder. Attached to their battlesuits were breach-bombs and plasma cannons, while hooked to their arms were laser tubes.
“This is thirsty work,” said Lance. He tried for levity. He sounded as frightened as Marten felt. Neurostim didn’t seem to last long while they were doing this.
Marten concentrated on crawling. His skin itched. He wanted more neurostim. No, no, keep your head clear now, Marten, my man. Just enough neurostim to dull the fear. Or maybe just enough to mask it.
The fear, dread, anger and hard work made him sweat. But finally, Marten reached the end of the giant strut. The inner armored skin of the Bangladesh had countless crisscrossing tracks, deep grooves. It was how they moved the shields around, he guessed. He licked his lips. He didn’t know if this would work. If it didn’t… the Gs would hurl him against the underbelly of the particle shield. If he landed with his feet, he might not die on the spot. Maybe crush his bones, though. He shook his head. This was all insane. They shimmied down a giant strut while the Bangladesh sped through space. Suddenly the strut vibrated.
“What was that?” Omi said.
“Why is it shaking?” whined Vip.
“Hurry!” shouted Marten.
“Use yours thrusters?” Vip said.
“No!” shouted Marten. “Don’t be a fool. The beamship’s fleeing at full acceleration.”
“If you use your thrusters,” said Lance, “you’ll barely crawl at one G, but the ship will move at eight.”
“Then it’s bye, bye,” Kang said.
Marten reached for the beamship’s inner armor. He also turned on the battlesuit’s magnetic-clamps at full power. His hand attached to the armor. The clamps were also on his elbows, belt, knee and toes. Like a fly, he attached himself to the beamship. Slowly, with a clang, clang, clang he crawled along the surface.
“Move,” he said to the others.
The ship underneath him shuddered. Marten looked over his shoulder. The struts trembled. Then his eyes opened wide. The struts, the giant girders, blew off and out of the ship’s grooves. The particle shield detached, and it began to tumble away in seeming slow motion. Over the comlink, shock troopers screamed in rage and fear. Some tried to jump, their thrusters burning hard, spewing out hydrogen particles. For a second a man actually crossed the meter of distance he needed to go. Then he stopped and flipped back hard into space.
In silence, the handfuls of shock troopers on the beamship’s armored skin watched their comrades recede into space. As the particle shield faced them, they saw other shock troopers leap off the shield as their thrusters burned. It was a pitiful sight. Hydrogen spray spewed out the packs, but it was much too little. They dropped farther and farther behind as the Bangladesh continued its acceleration at eight gravities.
“Poor bastards,” said Lance.
“What’s going to happen to them?” asked Vip.
“What do you think?” snarled Omi.
Then Kang reached them. His normally slit-shut eyes were as wide open as theirs. Through his helmet visor, he looked terrified.
“Wu is gone,” Marten said. “So now you’re second in command.”
“If Mad Vlad still lives that is,” said Lance. “If he’s dead then you’re the mission commander.”
“What do we do now, Kang?” asked Marten.
Kang licked his lips. He peered at the tumbling particle shield. Soon he faced Marten. “You got any suggestions?”
12.
Cheers and wild whooping filled the Bangladesh’s command capsule.
“Ha-ha, look at them go!” shouted the Pakistani First Gunner. “Bye, bye, you traitorous scum.”
“I love it. They’re trying to jetpack their way to us.”
“Good luck,” said the Tracking Officer.
“Enough of that,” Admiral Sioux said.
“What’s wrong, Admiral?” asked the Second Gunner.
“They’re soldiers just like us,” Admiral Sioux said. “We defeated that batch. And I’m glad for it. But let’s not mock brave soldiers.”
“They’re the enemy,” the First Gunner said.
“Traitors to Social Unity,” said someone else.
“Admiral, I detect enemy on the inner armored skin.”
“See,” the First Gunner said. “They’re still going to kill us.”
“Or they’re going to try,” said the Tracking Officer.
“That’s what I meant,” the First Gunner said. “I hate traitors. If we defeat them, I plan to cheer while Security teams hold them down and slit their throats.”
“What about re-education?” asked the Tracking Officer.
“Not for traitors,” said the First Gunner.
Admiral Sioux only half-listened. She couldn’t find it in herself to hate the enemy soldiers. Fight them, oh yes. But hate? She studied the situation through her VR-goggles. Some of the HB missiles had passed the Bangladesh. They rotated and watched, but didn’t’ fire the lasers. Why?
“Launch Tube Twelve in operative condition, Admiral,” a damage control officer said.
“Here are another swarm of missiles,” the Tracking Officer said.
The First Gunner swore in frustration. “Slitting their throats would be too good. Torture them first.”
“Better hope they don’t play back the bridge vid,” the Second Gunner said.
“Belay that sort of talk, mister,” the Admiral said. “No one is taking my ship.”
“Yes, Admiral. I’m sorry, sir.”
Admiral Sioux suddenly thought she understood the enemy’s plan. The HB lasers and other missiles weren’t firing because these soldiers were on the beamship. Not very many were on, but as long as the soldiers tried to breach the Bangladesh, it was safe from HB missile attacks.
“Pilot,” the Admiral said. “Get ready to rotate the Bangladesh one-hundred and eighty degrees.”
“Admiral?”
“Do it at my command,” said Admiral Sioux.
“What are you planning, Admiral?” the Tracking Officer asked.
“How much fuel do you think those missiles have left?”
“Not much,” the Tracking Officer said. “But what does it matter? It was enough to reach us.”
“Ready,” the Pilot said.
“Now,” said Admiral Sioux.
The Bangladesh’s mighty engines turned off. Side jets fired. The massive beamship rotated in space. Soon the front of the Bangladesh was aimed where the engines had been burning these many days. They were aimed at the Sun. Then the huge engines engaged, pushing at eight gravities as the beamship braked hard.
The HB missiles coming upon the Bangladesh sped that much more quickly at the beamship.