“I heard it.”
“Get those people down here.” I pointed to the crew who were still firing from the top of the ladder. “We’ll make our stand in the cargo bay.”
“Right.”
They must know that we’re carrying Anya in this ship. For some reason they want her alive. They don’t want her to surrender to the Commonwealth, but they’d rather take her back to Hegemony territory, if they can.
I ran past the dead and smoking bridge, ducked down the ladderway to the lower deck and raced for the cargo hold where Anya’s cryosleep capsule lay. Her sarcophagus, I thought.
Four Skorpis warriors were already prying the cargo bay hatch open when I hit the lower deck. They were in space suits and did not hear me running up the passageway toward them. I gave them no chance. I fired my rifle from the hip as I ran toward them. The oxygen tanks on their life-support systems exploded, blowing them to sticky shreds.
Twelve more space-suited warriors came pounding up the passageway from the other end, where the air-lock hatch was. Too many for me to handle by myself, especially when they were firing laser rifles at me. I backpedaled, then turned and ran into the nearest protective hatch. I found myself in the transceiver station, a flat open bay with a small console standing to one side.
Using the passageway hatch to shelter me, I fired at the Skorpis who stood near the cargo bay hatch. I saw one sag and slide down the bulkhead, his helmet smoking where my rifle beam had caught him. The others turned toward me, in dreamlike slow motion, raising their rifles toward me. I fired twice, shattering a helmet visor and burning a hole through the arm of another Skorpis. They backed away, firing. I ducked back inside the transceiver bay hatch.
A standoff. They could not get into the cargo bay; neither could I.
I wondered if the ship was still hurtling toward Loris, and if the planet’s defensive systems would blast the Skorpis battle cruiser and us with it. Or had the cruiser’s captain maneuvered us away from our collision course with the planet?
Footsteps running up the passageway. I glanced out and saw Frede leading the rest of the crew. I counted only thirty.
“Look out!” I yelled. “They’re at the other end of the passageway, by the cargo bay hatch.”
Frede and her people flattened out against the bulkheads, firing and being fired upon as they, one by one, ducked into the transceiver bay with me.
“We caught the other boarding party coming through the after hatch,” she said. “Took some casualties.”
“So I see.” None of them were unwounded. Frede’s face was smeared with blood and sweat.
But she grinned. “We wiped them out. Killed every last one of those damned cats.”
That leaves only a couple of hundred, I thought. It was obvious that the Skorpis battle cruiser had attached itself to our air lock. We were not dealing with a shuttle load of warriors, not the way they were pouring reinforcements into our ship.
“They’re regrouping down the passageway,” I said. “Probably getting reinforcements before they charge us.”
“The first landing party, up by the main air lock—”
“They’ll be coming down here the same way you came. We’ll have our hands full.”
“Still thinking of taking their ship?”
I laughed bitterly.
Looking over the ragged remains of my crew, I saw that little Jerron was badly burned in the abdomen and left leg. He lay panting, wide-eyed with shock, with our medical officer bending over him.
“Magro,” I called to the comm officer. “Can you power up the transceiver?”
He was grimy and breathing hard, like all the others. But he gave me a nod and said, “I can try, sir.”
“What are you thinking?” Frede asked.
Peering down the dimly lit, smoky passageway, I could see no Skorpis. They were beyond the air-lock hatch, preparing their next attack on us.
“They want the cryo capsule in the cargo hold,” I told Frede. “Maybe we can beam it down to the planet.”
“We’d have to drag it in here,” Frede objected.
“We could cut through the bulkhead. Are there any flight packs stashed in that cargo bay? That would make it easier to move the capsule.”
Clearly, she did not think much of my idea. But she said, “I’ll get a couple of people to cut through the bulkhead.”
Nodding, I turned my attention back to the empty passageway. The Skorpis could cut through the ship’s outer hull and get into the cargo bay that way, I knew. Would they try that, or would they first try to wipe us out and walk into the cargo bay after we were done with?
Why not blow a hole in the hull right here, in the transceiver bay, and kill us all at one stroke? Blow out the hull, expose us to vacuum; none of us had space suits. Explosive decompression, we’d be dead in an instant. The thought startled me. But then I reasoned that if they had wanted to do that they would have done it by now. A blast big enough to puncture the hull would probably damage Anya’s cryosleep capsule, as well, and it seemed that they wanted Anya alive. If possible.
Waiting, wondering what would happen next, was harder than actually fighting. Behind me I heard the crackling sizzle of lasers cutting through the metal of the bulkhead separating us from the cargo bay. The passageway remained empty. Whatever the Skorpis were planning, they were taking their time about it.
I heard a crewman sing out, “Watch it, the section’s falling.”
Glancing over my shoulder I saw a whole section of the bulkhead, its edges glowing red, fall inward, scattering the crewmen who had burned it through. It thumped loudly, making me wonder if the Skorpis could hear it.
“Damn,” I heard Frede call, her voice echoing in the nearly empty cargo bay, “not a flight pack in the place. We’ll have to muscle it.”
I called Dyer and told her to watch the passageway. Then I stepped through the jagged hole in the bulkhead to join the team of sweating, grunting, cursing men and women who were tugging at the massive cryosleep capsule.
“Heavier than a sergeant’s ass,” one of the men muttered.
“Heavier than your ass, anyway.”
It was like dragging one of the stones for Khufu’s pyramid without the aid of rollers. The capsule screeched along the metal deck plates, moving grudgingly, a millimeter at a time. I called almost all the remaining members of the crew to help us, as I watched through sweat-stung eyes while Magro bent over the transceiver console, a puzzled frown on his face as he pecked tentatively at the keyboard.
At last we hauled the capsule onto the transceiver stage. I felt as if I had dragged the planet Jupiter through a light-year of mud.
Trudging slowly to Magro at the console, I asked, “You do have power, don’t you?”
“Yessir,” he said, still frowning at the readouts. “But I don’t know where we are in relation to the planet. I need a navigational fix.”
I turned to Frede, who was leaning against the side of the capsule, mopping her sweaty face. “How can we—”
“Here they come!” yelped Dyer. And a grenade went off at her feet, blowing her legs off.
Chapter 29
I grabbed for my rifle and raced to the hatch just as a Skorpis warrior stepped through, pistol in one hand, grenade in the other. My senses were so hyper that I could see the slits of his irises moving in his eyeballs as he raised his arm to throw the grenade into our midst.
I fired and the grenade exploded in his hand, hot shrapnel streaking through the transceiver bay. I was knocked off my feet by the blast, my arm and chest stung by searing bits of sharp metal. Most of my crew were already diving to the deck. Magro ducked behind the transceiver console as several shards of shrapnel peppered its plastic stand.
The bulkhead along the passageway began to glow a dull red and I realized that the Skorpis were doing what we had done: burning their way through the bulkhead.