“Quiet, middy! One demerit!” Unkind, but I was in no mood for banter. I slapped open the bridge hatch. “Mr.
Tamarov, you have the conn.” I grimaced. “I’ll change clothes, and meet the General at the aft... “
I trailed off, my hackles rising. A dozen men, suited? Something was wrong. For an instant I hesitated, reluctant to make a fool of myself. Then I lunged for the console caller.
“Sandy, belay that order! Seal the lock! Acknowledge!”
No answer. “Sandy!”
MY SHIP! I slammed the emergency airlock override on my console.
A red light blinked its warning; the override had failed.
I bellowed into the caller. “General Quarters! All hands, prepare to repel boarders! Prepare for decompression! Boarders in the aft airlock, Level 2!”
Alexi and Derek gawked.
“Repel Boarders” was the oldest, most obsolete drill in the U.N. Navy, but still we practiced it, along with General Quarters and Battle Stations. I wondered if it had ever before been used in earnest.
I slapped the emergency hatch close. The bridge hatch snapped shut, with enough force to break the arm of anyone caught in its way. I punched in the safe combination, hauled out a familiar key. “Alexi, open the munitions locker! Arm whoever you can round up! Get an armed party down to Level 2!”He took the key. “Aye aye, sir! What--”
I snatched the laser pistol from the safe, shoved it in my belt. “The General-- He’s no General, he’s trying to take over the ship! A dozen men in suits? They’re expecting trouble, maybe decompression. Move!” I slapped open the hatch; Alexi flew out into the corridor. I shut it after him, raced back to the caller.
“Chief, seal the engine room!”
“Aye aye, Captain. Hatch sealed.” His tone was calm.
The speaker blared. “Captain, they’ve got lasers! They’re making for the ladder, we can’t--”
Silence.
I keyed my caller to shipwide frequency. “Mr. Vishinsky to Level 2, flank, with your whole squad! Meet Mr. Tamarov at the munitions locker. All passengers, to your cabins! Seal your hatches and put on pressure suits! Mr. Holser, to the aft lock!”
Derek awaited orders, pale but composed. The Pilot gazed at me steadily; he hadn’t moved since I first seized the caller.
“Captain, are you sure--”
“Shut up.” My thoughts raced. We needed time. Until Alexi organized a fighting party, my laser pistol was the only weapon available. “Derek, hold the bridge. No one but an officer may enter. I’m going to the lock.”
“But--aye aye, sir.” Derek’s hand hovered over the emergency close. I emerged cautiously, fingering my laser, recalling Mr. Vishinsky’s example in the crew berth.
The corridor was empty.
I ran toward the ladder. Just in time, I thought to stop and peek over the rail. Two figures in bulky pressure suits were climbing cautiously, weapons ready.
My first shot caught one of them squarely in the chest. A searing flash, the smell of roasting meat. Gagging, I ducked just as a bolt sizzled into the railing at my side.
If they were already on the ladder we were in horrid trouble.
All my fault; if I’d had my wits about me I’d never have let them aboard.
I took a deep breath. Vax would be a better Captain than I. I hurled myself around the rail and down the steps, firing as I went. My second shot dropped the other intruder. I leaped over his body, stumbled, almost fell the rest of the way.
I caught myself, staggered to the bottom of the ladder, firing wildly along the corridor. Several suited men retreated around the corridor bend toward the aft airlock.
Heedless, I ran forward, still firing. I would exhaust my laser in no time, but at all costs I had to keep the attackers from advancing until our armed defenders arrived. Return
bolts of fire seared the bulkhead a meter from my head. I crept forward toward the bend, caught a glimpse of the airlock, and beyond.
Bodies sprawled in the corridors, some suited. A party of our seamen had thrown up a makeshift barricade in the corridor past the airlock, almost around the far bend. Crouched behind their flimsy barrier of tables, they waited for their assailants, armed with nothing but clubs and the ship’s fire hose.
More suited figures emerged from the gaping lock. Only a few had lasers; the rest carried a motley assortment of weapons. Ancient electric rifles, stunners, knives. Steel bars were jammed against our emergency corridor hatches nearest the airlock, to hold them open.
A few men ran at me, clumsy in their heavy suits. I fired.
A lucky shot brought down the closest. The others skidded to a stop. Coolly I aimed at another, pressed the trigger. The pistol beeped: out of charge. I cursed.
Again they came at me. One hurled a billy club directly at my head. I ducked, but it slammed into my forehead in a flash of white fire. Half-blinded, dizzy, I fell to my knees. A cry of triumph. As I reeled, they dashed forward. A club loomed, poised to smash out my brains.
“CAPTAIN!” A raging giant hurled the club-wielder to the deck. Vax Holser recovered his balance, lashed at a second attacker, fist and club flailing with deadly accuracy. The miner fell back.
Vax wheeled on his remaining enemy. The man raised his pistol. Vax’s club shattered his suit visor. He dropped.
Dazed, my head on fire, I clawed to my feet.
“That one’s the Captain!” Someone pointed. A laser bolt splashed into the bulkhead in a shower of sparks. My knees buckled.
Vax’s huge hand closed around my waist. He swept me into his arms and ran for the ladder, bolts sizzling at his feet.
My weight an unnoticed burden, he pounded up the ladder toward the bridge two steps at a time. The tread of boots thudded behind us.
“Bridge, I’ve got the Captain!” Vax’s bellow rang in the deserted corridor. The camera swiveled. The hatch slid open.
Vax charged onto the bridge.
Derek slapped the hatch shut. The Pilot, halfway between hatch and console, gaped at his semiconscious Captain inert in the enraged middy’s arms.
Vax lowered me into my chair. Blood dripped into my right eye; I wiped my forehead on my sleeve.
“Sir, are you--”
I snarled, “Disengage capture latches fore and aft!”
“Sir, we’re still-- Aye aye, sir.” He keyed the console. Usually we parted the latches from the lock control panels, but as on any ship, I could disengage from the bridge.
“Pilot, prepare to rock the ship! Break contact!”
“Sir, we’ll decompress!”
“Break us loose! They’re still boarding!” My head was spinning, but I knew what had to be done.
“Aye aye, sir! Captain, the safety line is tied. We’ll tear the lock right out of the ship!”
“God damn you, Pilot, rock us loose!” The stanchion in Hiberniawas rated higher than the mooring line; that much I knew. It would hold. The line would snap or it would break the station airlock. I didn’t care which.
I grabbed the caller. “All hands, all passengers, be ready for decompression in thirty seconds! Everybody get suited! Thirty seconds to decompress!” More blood oozed down my
face. “Fighting parties, withdraw! Get into suits!” Emergency suits were stored throughout the ship for a decompression emergency. They held only half-hour tanks. It would have to be enough.
“Now?” The Pilot’s hands were on the controls.
“Wait.” The delay was agonizing. Every second allowed more attackers to board us. On the other hand, my crew needed time to suit up.
“Twenty seconds to decompress!... Fifteen!” Surely everyone had reached a suit by now. On my console, I slapped shut the corridor hatch switches. Seventeen lights blinked green; two blinked red where the enemy had jammed our hatches. We would decompress not one section, but three.
However, the rest of the ship should be airtight, unless stray laser bolts had pierced the bulkheads.
“Ten seconds! Five!” It had to be done, whether or not the passengers were ready. “Beware decompression! Now, Pilot!” He fired the maneuvering jets in alternation, each squirt rocking the ship around the rubber suckers holding the airlocks together. A long terrible moment passed when it seemed we wouldn’t break free.