Alarms sounded. Darla came to life with urgent warnings.
“Unstable airlock! Air loss in the aft lock! LEVEL 2 DECOM-PRESSION IMMINENT!Forward lock is sealed, outer and inner hatches! EMERGENCY! DECOMPRESSION AT AFTLOCK!”Cold hell had come to my ship. The mated airlocks broke apart. Outrushing air swept all loose objects toward the aft lock, where the boarding party had blocked both the inner and outer hatches to prevent our closing them. Nothing could hold back the air blasting out of that section until only vacuum remained.
“Ship in motion, relative speed point five kilometers!”
Lord God, we beg thy mercy.“Pilot, sail us clear before they start throwing things at us!” I thumbed the caller. “All stations report!”
“Engine room. We have power, no damage. Seals holding.” The Chief, his voice astoundingly matter-of-fact.
“Comm room reporting. Power, no damage.”
“Crew berth three, sir. We’re suited and ready. Mr. Tamarov is in charge. We’ve got lasers and stunners, sir.”
“Master-at-arms reporting. Crew berths one and two are all right, sir. I’m organizing fighting squads.”
“Galley reporting, sir. Everything’s all right here.” I giggled, unable to stop myself. All was well in the galley; our dinner was safe.
The bridge spun lazily. I blinked, pulled myself together.
“Someone get me water. Vax, situation report!”
“Aye aye, sir. On Level 2, sections six, seven, and eight are decompressed. That’s the airlock, the exercise room, the lounge, and fourteen passenger cabins. The area is held by hostiles. The rest of the ship has air and power. Undetermined number of boarders in sections six through eight. Sir, some of them may have gotten past the corridor hatches before you closed them.”
Vax was right. I’d held the hatches open as long as I dared, for the crew’s sake, so as not to trap them in the decompression zone when we rocked loose. The corridor between the airlock and the ladder, where I had fought, was in section eight, now decompressed. The foot of the ladder I had hurtled down was in section nine, and I’d met two invaders on its steps.
I drank greedily from the cup Derek thrust at me. “We’ll be alert for them.”
“Sir, the passengers are on half-hour tanks. We don’t have long to rescue them.”
“Lord God.” I marshaled my thoughts. “Mr. Vishinsky!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
“Did any boarders from section six get past the barricades in five?”
“No, sir. I wasn’t mere, but the word is they didn’t.”
“Very well. You’re under Mr. Tamarov’s command.
Alexi, you and Mr. Vishinsky go the long way around the corridor, to section ten.” By circling the disk our war party would surround the invaded sections.
“I’ll open the hatches in front of you. There may be hostiles in section nine. As fast as you can, secure and evacuate nine.
We’ll use it as an airlock to section eight; we’ll pump air from nine back into ten and then open from nine to eight. Got that?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“We know hostiles are in six, seven, and eight. Also our own passengers who are running out of air. As soon as nine is pumped out I’ll open the hatch to section eight. Clear eight and move on to seven, then six. Bring the passengers back to nine and we’ll cycle them back into ten, where they can desuit. Hurry.”
“Aye aye, sir. We’re moving!”
“May I go, sir?” Vax’s muscles rippled.
“No. You have to stay alive.” I wouldn’t repeat Captain Malstrom’s mistake. Vax was ready now, and I had to preserve him. I pressed a handkerchief to my forehead. I ached abominably.
Our fighting party climbed to Level 2 and circled the circumference corridor. Our airtight hatches had divided the disk into wedge-shaped slices, at either end of every section.
In radio contact with the master-at-arms, I opened each hatch as they approached. At last, I opened the hatch from eleven to ten, and the crewmen crowded in.
“Ready, Mr. Vishinsky?”
The speaker crackled. “You there, don’t stand in the middle of the corridor! Edwards, Ogar, Tinnik, you’re on point.
Why don’t you stay behind me, Mr. Tamarov, sir. Captain, we’re ready.”
I opened to section nine. I could hear Vishinsky shout as he pounded on cabin hatches. “Open up! I’m the master-atarms. This section will be decompressed in two minutes! Let’s go! Everybody forward to the ladder! Open your hatch or we’ll burn our way in!”
I thought to help. “Attention, passengers in cabins 208 through 214. This is Captain Seafort. Open your hatches and go into the corridor. You must be evacuated quickly!”
Perhaps the sound of my voice would reassure them. Then again, perhaps not.
A few moments later Vishinsky reported back. “Sir, we’ve made a quick search, no hostiles found. We’ve moved the passengers back into section ten. We’re waiting in nine.”
“Very well.” I closed the hatch between nine and ten. I flipped on the pumps and began decompressing nine. “Mr.
Carr!”
“Yes, sir.” He stood.
“Find the purser. The passengers will need help; some of them may be in shock. Take the section four ladder and go the long way around, to meet them. Bring them to the dining hall. You’re in charge.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Derek saluted. Vax opened the hatch for him and he hurried out.
I waited impatiently for the pumps to empty section nine.
Section eight was already decompressed, its airlock gaping wide. By decompressing nine we’d save the air it held, when the hatch to eight was opened. Finally the pumps completed their work. “Opening to eight, Mr. Vishinsky!”
“Aye aye, sir.” We waited, listening intently.
“Look out!” Vishinsky’s voice, a scream. “Ogar, zap the son of a bitch!” The attackers didn’t have to wield lasers to be dangerous. Any weapon that penetrated a suit was lethal.
The battle was fought in the eerie silence of vacuum, punctuated by grunts and heavy breathing from the suits of our attack party. The snap of the lasers disrupted the suits’ radionics when our men fired; it was audible on the bridge as a momentary whine.
“Everyone here, toward the ladder!” Vishinsky’s breath came in spurts, as if he’d been running. “Captain, we’re herding a group of passengers into nine. Ms. Edwards is with them. All right, they’re clear.”
“Hostiles?”
“We zapped two, sir. Haven’t found any more.”
“Right.” I closed the hatch between eight and nine. As soon as the console light blinked green I began pumping air from ten back into nine.
Alexi’s voice cut in. “Mr. Vishinsky, get your men ready to attack section seven.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Be careful, there’s an open airlock in seven,” I reminded them. It was a long way down to Miningcamp.
“Open the hatch, sir!” Alexi’s nerves were frayed. It sounded like an order. I hit the corridor hatch control.
“Oh, God, Tinnik’s hit!”
“Get down, you fool!” A thud. The confused sounds of attack and rescue. Vishinsky ordered passengers out of their cabins to section eight. A maddening delay. Calls of warning, flurries of shots.
The speaker rustled. A distorted voice, from a ship’s caller held against a spacesuit visor in vacuum. “Call them off, Captain!”
“Surrender,” I said. “You won’t be shot.”
“Call them off.” It was a snarl. “We’re in a cabin, and we’ve got five lasers aimed at the rear bulkhead. If we cut through we’ll decompress your whole disk!”
I blanched. “Wait!” Could we have lost, after all? “Now!”
“You’ll have my answer in a moment.”
“We want passage from Miningcamp, mister. You give us that, you get your ship back.”
“Wait,” I said again. I switched off the caller. “God damn them!” For a moment I savored the blasphemy. “Pilot?”