“See any smoke?” Ti’s voice inquired in his ear.
“Nope.”
“That’s it, then. You people better get your asses Inside. And as soon as you’ve got everything nailed down, Leo, I’d appreciate it if you’d come up to Nav and Com.”
Something in the timbre of Ti’s voice chilled Leo. “Oh? What’s up?”
“There’s a Security shuttle closing on us from Rodeo. Your old buddy Van Atta’s aboard, and ordering us to halt and desist. I don’t think there’s much time left.”
“You’re still maintaining comm silence, I trust?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. But that doesn’t prevent me from listening, eh? There’s a lot of chatter from the Jump Station—but that doesn’t worry me as much as what’s coming up from behind. I, um… don’t think Van Atta handles frustration too well.”
“On edge, is he?”
“Over the edge, I think. Those Security shuttles are armed, y’know. And a lot faster than this monster in normal space. Just ‘cause their lasers are classed as ‘light weaponry’ doesn’t mean it’s exactly healthy to stand around in front of ‘em. I’d just as soon Jump before they got in range.”
“I read you.” Leo waved his work gang toward the entry hatch to the worksuit locker module.
So it was coming at last. Leo had devised a dozen defenses in his mind, upended beam welders, explosive mines, for the long-anticipated physical confrontation with GalacTech employees trying to retake the Habitat. But all his time had been gobbled up by the vortex mirror, and as a result only the most instant of weapons, such as the beam welders, were now available, and even they would have no use Indoors in a boarding battle. He could just picture one missing its target and slicing through a wall into an adjoining creche module. Hand-to-hand in free fell the quaddies might have some advantage; weapons cancelled that, being more dangerous to the defenders than the attackers. It all depended on what kind of attack Van Atta launched. And Leo hated depending on Van Atta.
Van Atta swore into the comm one last time, then dealt the off key an angry blow. He had run out of fresh invective hours before, and was conscious of repeating himself. He turned from the comm console and glowered around the Security shuttle’s control compartment.
The pilot and co-pilot, up front, were busy about their work. Bannerji, commanding the force, and Dr. Yei—and how had she inserted herself into this expedition, anyway?—were strapped to their acceleration couches, Yei in the engineer’s seat, Bannerji holding down the weapons console across the aisle from Van Atta.
“That’s it, then,” snapped Van Atta. “Are we in range for the lasers yet?”
Bannerji checked a readout. “Not quite.”
“Please,” said Dr. Yei, “let me try to talk to them just once more—”
“If they’re half as sick of the sound of your voice as I am, they’re not going to answer,” growled Van Atta. “You’ve spent hours talking to them. Face it—they’re not listening any more, Yei. So much for psychology.”
The Security sergeant, Fors, stuck his head through from the rear compartment where he rode with his twenty-six fellow GalacTech guards. “What’s the word, Captain Bannerji? Should we suit up for boarding yet?”
Bannerji quirked an eyebrow at Van Atta. “Well, Mr. Van Atta? Which plan is it to be? It appears we’re going to have to cross off all the scenarios that started with their surrendering.”
“You got that shit straight.” Van Atta brooded at the comm, which emitted only a grey empty hiss on its vid. “As soon as we’re in range, start firing on ‘em, then. Disable the Necklin rod arms first, then the normal space thrusters if you can. Then we blast a hole in the side, march in, and mop up.”
Sergeant Fors cleared his throat. “You did say there were a thousand of those mutants aboard, didn’t you, Mr. Van Atta? What about the plan of skipping the boarding part and just taking the whole vessel in tow, back to wherever you want it? Aren’t the odds a little, um, lopsided for boarding?”
“Complain to Chalopin, she’s the one who balked at drafting help from outside Security proper. But the odds aren’t what they appear. The quaddies are creampuffs. Half of them are children under twelve, for God’s sake. Just go in, and stun anything that moves. How many five-year-old girls do you figure you’re equal to, Fors?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Fors blinked. “I never pictured myself fighting five-year-old girls.”
Bannerji drummed his fingers on his weapons console and glanced at Yei. “Is that girl with the baby aboard, the ones I almost shot that day in the warehouse, Dr. Yei?”
“Claire? Yes,” she replied levelly.
“Ah.” Bannerji glanced away from her intent gaze, and shifted in his seat.
“Let’s hope your aim is better this time, Bannerji,” said Van Atta.
Bannerji rotated a computer schematic of a Super-jumper in his vid, running calculations. “You realize,” he said slowly, “that the real event is going to have some uncontrolled factors—the probability is good that we’re going to end up punching some extra holes in the inhabited modules while we’re going for the Necklin rods.”
“That’s all right,” said Van Atta. Bannerji’s lips screwed up doubtfully. “Look, Bannerji,” added Van Atta impatiently, “the quaddies are—ah, have made themselves expendable by turning criminal. It’s no different than shooting a thief fleeing from any other land of robbery or break-in. Besides, you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.”
Dr. Yei ran her hands hard over her face. “Lord Krishna,” she groaned. She favored Van Atta with a tight, peculiar smile. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to say that. I should have put a side bet on it—run a pool—”
Van Atta bristled defensively. “If you had done your job right,” he returned no less tightly, “we wouldn’t be here now breaking eggs. We could have boiled them in their shells back on Rodeo at the very least. In fact I intend to point out to management later, believe me. But I don’t have to argue with you any more. For everything I intend to do, I have a proper authorization.”
“Which you have not shown to me.”
“Chalopin and Captain Bannerji saw it. If I have my way you’ll get a termination out of this, Yei.”
She said nothing, but acknowledged the threat with a brief ironic tilt of her head. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, apparently silenced at last. Thank God, Van Atta added to himself.
“Get suited up, Fors,” he told the Security sergeant.
Nav and Com in the D-620 was a crowded chamber. Ti ruled from his control chair, enthroned beneath his headset; Silver manned the comm; and Leo—held down the post of chief engineer, he supposed. The chain of command became rather blurred at this point. Perhaps his title ought to be Official Ship’s Worrier. His guts churned and his throat tightened as all lines of action approached their intersection at the point of no return.
“The Security shuttle has stopped broadcasting,” Silver reported.
“That’s a relief,” said Ti. “You can turn the sound back up, now.”
“Not a relief,” denied Leo. “If they’ve stopped talking, they may be getting ready to open fire.” And it was too late, too close to Jump point to put a beam welder and crew Outside to fire back.
Ti’s mouth twisted in dismay. He closed his eyes; the D-620 seemed to tilt, lumbering under acceleration. “We’re almost in position to Jump,” he said.