"To the season." They all repeated, then sipped from their glasses. As Jon swallowed, then raised his glass for a second sip, every alarm on his engineering panel began screaming.
His glass fell to the deck as he rushed back into his station chair and quickly scanned the instruments. He didn't need to look; he knew everyone on the bridge would be at their stations. He punched the comm for the pilot's station. "Willy, it's the pods. They're going out of match." Jon's fingers flew over the buttons. "I can't arrest it." He punched for the aft engineering section. "Animal!"
"This is Lefty, Pirate. Animal's up in the portside pod mount."
"Get them out of there! We're going to dump the pods!"
"What?"
"You heard me! Get them out of there. We don't have more than a couple of minutes!" Again Jon punched for the pilot. "Willy, I can only give you another two minutes of light drive, then we're going to have to dump the pods. You better get us headed to the nearest star and hope like hell there's a habitable planet around it."
The Governor rushed to the pilot's station. "What about it, Willy?"
The pilot's fingers flew over the keyboard of his console. "The nearest star is... four light-years... no data." He looked up at O'Hara. "We're already off the major trade routes. If we go to this place, we'll never be found."
"What about the distress beacon?"
Willy shook his head. "I already tried it. It won't jettison." He raised an eyebrow and looked at O'Hara; "It has to be sabotage."
O'Hara felt the color drain from his face. "Can we make it to a trade troute?"
Willy shook his head. "We'd need light drive for at least eighteen minutes to make it to a trade route." Again he shook his head. "Still, if we head toward this star we'll be even further out of the way."
O'Hara scratched the back of his neck, then thrust his hands into his pockets. "Willy, if you're right about this being sabotage, we better do what we can about getting everyone off this ship, and as soon as possible. Head for the star. Does it have a name?"
"No."
As Willy swung the ship to the right, the Governor walked over to the engineering section. "What about it, Jon?"
"Looks bad." He pointed at a readout. "Matching is already over critical. We heading for safe ground?"
"Yes. Willy said the nearest star is about four light-years away."
Jon did some mental calculations. "Then, if I can keep the pods on another two-and-a-half minutes, we'll be within impulse range." He punched for the aft engineering section. "Lefty. Is Animal's crew out of the pod yet?"
"Lefty here, Pirate. Everybody but Animal is out. The rest of the crew is standing by to close up the port."
"Never mind about that. Get them out of there, and when Animal gets out, seal off the compartment."
"Right."
Jon studied the readouts, flicked switches, and sweated. "Nothing's slowing it down, Mr. John. It's like every safety interlock in the joint has been shorted out." He punched again for the aft engineering section. "Lefty, run up that pod mount and chase Animal's buns out of there! We're running out of time!"
"Pirate... wait! Here he comes now, and he's pulling someone with him!"
"I thought you said the rest of the crew was out of there."
"I did, and they are. This is someone else. Have to go and help Animal. I'll call back when we have the compartment sealed off."
Jon watched the mismatch readout climb from the orange into the red. He punched the comm for the pilot's station. "Willy... how close are we? I have to pull the plug pretty soon."
"Almost there, Pirate. About twenty-five billion kilometers—"
"Pirate, we're out and the compartment's sealed!"
Jon slammed his right palm against the emergency pod jettison panel and a loud slam shook the ship. A row of red lights blinked on Pirate's panel as the impulse attitude correction systems attempted to push the wallowing ship on course. "It's the dorsal rear docking port... The Blitz must have been sheared off." He flicked switches and the screen above his panel showed the half-crippled advance ship struggling to get under power. The starboard pod was nowhere to be seen, but the port pod revolved dangerously close to the craft. "C'mon, Stretch. Get that crate under pow—" The screen went white, then dead.
O'Hara shook Pirate's shoulder. "What's wrong with the screen? Why can't we get a picture?"
Pirate watched as the row of red lights blinked off, signaling the successful sealing of the dorsal port. "The receptors in the rear cameras... they're burned out from the flash."
"Stretch! What about Stretch?"
Pirate shook his head. "Stretch, Fisty, Razor Red, and the others... they never knew what hit them." Pirate punched at his panel. "Dorsal engineering. Anybody there?"
"Here, Pirate. This is Nuts."
"Damage report."
"Except for a few bloody noses, we're all right. My board shows the Blitz missing."
Pirate closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "They've been exed." He punched again at the panel. "Willy, how close?"
"Twenty-three-and-a-third billion... take us close to twenty-eight days on impulse. I hear right on the Blitz?"
"Yes." Pirate punched again. "Animal?"
"I'm here, Pirate. Been listening on the net."
"Animal, who's that guy you pulled out?"
"It's hard to tell. He's been burned pretty bad. He was caught in the pass/repass field up near the pod. Lefty's trying to see if he can find some identification... Okay, here it is." Jon heard paper crackling. "I remember. He's an engineer we picked up when we were laying up on Palacine. His name's Stake Killing—funny name."
"Spell it."
"S-t-e-k-t K-y-l-l-i-n-g. Wait... there's more paper in here." Jon and the Governor heard a long, low whistle. "Pirate, you'll never guess who this guy is."
Jon reached out a hand toward the comm switch. "Karl Arnheim, right?"
"Right, but—" Jon Norden punched off the comm, then looked at O'Hara.
The Governor lowered his eyebrows a few notches. "How did you know it was Karl Arnheim?"
Jon leaned back in his chair. "Stekt Kylling. It's Norwegian for roast chicken." He shook his head. "And we always thought old Karl didn't have a sense of humor." He punched for aft engineering. "Animal, I want your crew to go over every rivet, nut, bolt, and connection in this ship, inside and out. There's no telling what else he buggered up, but you can count on it not being easy to find. Remember, he owned the outfit that built this ship." Pirate punched off, then looked at the Governor. O'Hara was staring at the dead screen, his eyes bright, a fist held to his mouth. He lowered his hand and looked at Pirate.
"Could he have died before he damaged anything else?"
"I doubt it, Mr. John. He knew enough to bypass our monitors and safety interlocks before throwing the pods into mismatch. He had to know he'd die if he remained in the pass/repass field more than ten seconds. I don't think he'd do that unless he was sure our number was up too."
O'Hara nodded, then rubbed his eyes. "I'll be off the bridge for a half-hour or so, Pirate."
"Where will you be—in case we need you?"
The Governor lowered his hand. "I'll be at the family quarters telling... well, telling them." He turned slowly and left the bridge.
Pirate punched in another code and the screen came to life with a display of the Baraboo's general schematic. "Somewhere in there old Karl has left a few more surprises for us."
THIRTY-EIGHT
Route Book, O'Hara's Greater Shows April 15th, 2148
En route to star system 9-1134. Fuel tanks for impulse and maneuvering power ruptured. Still maintaining forward speed, relative to 9-1134, of 6000 kps, but will need both forward and maneuvering power for course corrections and to make orbit, always supposing there is something there to orbit. Oxygen regeneration system sabotaged, reducing capacity to twenty percent. Water recycler sabotaged, all outside communications are out...