Kozakowski did not deign to face the pilot as he rebutted. “CoDevCo’s Optigene clones are not superhuman. Just like anyone else, they cannot be roused straight from cold sleep into operations. The biochemical reanimation requirements take forty-eight hours alone. It would require another thirty-six to forty-eight hours for full restoration of autonomic and voluntary muscular function, and perhaps yet another day for full mental function. I hope it is enough that I have granted you full access to their equipment lockers. And I am still willing to take my place among the defenders, even if you do not permit any of my crew to accompany me.”
Jorge considered the offer: it was too measured to be fully convincing. So, Kozakowski, the first time you’re eager to help us is when you could be killed doing so? Or rather, so you can sabotage our defensive preparations and curry favor with your true masters? Or am I just being overly suspicious? “No, Mr. Kozakowski, as the original master of the ship, I think it important that you remain here on the bridge.” Velho picked up one of the autoshotguns that had been liberated from the Optigene clones’ combat stores. “I will oversee the defenses personally.” As if I really know what the hell I’m doing. This was not part of the job description when the government came looking for civilian prize crews. “Now, before I go, let’s see if we can give our attackers at least one nasty surprise. Is Mr. Vindar off Deal Two?”
“Yes, sir. Remote piloting protocols are engaged.”
“Are the thrusters still hot?”
“Enough for one good burst, sir.”
Kozakowski looked from one face to the other among the three bridge crew.
Jorge suppressed a smile at the CoDevCo factotum’s perplexity. “Piet, do you have the controls routed through to your board?”
“Aye, sir.”
Jorge eyeballed the trajectory of the intruder in relation to where Deal Two was dangling, only half in its docking cradle. “She might not come out of the clamps cleanly,” he warned.
Piet shrugged. “We knew that from the moment we came up with this harebrained scheme. But it’s the only shot we have, Jorge.”
“It is as you say, my friend. And we will let your instruments and eyes determine when to—”
“Engaging now!” Piet interrupted.
He triggered Deal Two’s emergency umbilical release, slammed the thrust relays on his remote operations board to maximum, yanked the tanker’s flight controls up and then savagely over.
In the screens, Deal Two’s thrusters blasted out a glowing wave of plasma. They propelled her up out of the docking cradles and then, gimballing, began to swing her in a scalded-cat hop toward the oncoming intruder—
But something unexpected was trailing behind Deal Two as Piet tried to effect his own, unorthodox ramming attempt: the tanker-tender’s umbilical was still attached to the Arbitrage, probably due to the prior damage—
Although the resistance only caused a mild jerk and delay in Deal Two’s half-Immelman attempt at smashing itself into the oncoming ship, that was time enough for the attackers to react. Two of the low, black, lusterless mini-domes near the prow of the enemy ship spun in the direction of the tanker—
— which was abruptly ripped end to end by invisible, crisscrossing beams which left glowing slices along Deal Two’s fuselage. One of those beams triggered an explosion which converted the whole boat into a tumbling storm of debris. The intruder jinked slightly to avoid a spinning, savaged bay door, and kept coming on.
No one said anything. Jorge Velho hefted the autoshotgun, reflected that he hoped his experience with semiautomatic sporting versions on his uncle’s sugar and silviculture plantation near Belém would stand him in good stead. “Ms. Tagawa has the con. And she will assume command in the event that I am — incapacitated.”
Ayana started. “Captain Velho, as the XO, I am expendable and should be—”
“Ms. Tagawa, the matter is not open to discussion. Ignoring my command prerogative for a moment, it is quite obvious that you are more familiar with the best protocols to employ in this scenario.” You seem to be much more familiar with them. Indeed, suspiciously so…“Arbitrage needs that expertise, whether in escaping, or negotiating a settlement with the intruders.” He told himself that only a tiny part of his motivation stemmed from male protective instincts that had been drilled into his genome through uncounted millennia. “Piet, keep a firm hand on the tiller.”
“Aye, sir,” said the South African ruefully.
Velho exited the bridge, pointedly resisting the urge to glance back.
At Ayana.
* * *
Nezdeh watched the external monitors as Ulpreln counted off the last ten meters to the Arbitrage. “Ten, nine…”
“Slow us.”
“Obeyed. Eight, seven.” The pause lengthened. “Six. And…”
“Now: final retroboost.”
“Boosting — and we are at relative-velocity all-stop, Nezdeh.”
“Still no countermeasures deployed by the target?”
Sehtrek glanced up. “None observable, Srina Perekmeres.”
She nodded and switched channels. Action: at last. “Primary EVA team?”
“We are ready.”
“Commence assault.”
“Complying.”
In the external monitors, Nezdeh watched the main EVA hatch, just aft of midship, open. A line of spacesuited figures emerged. Organized as three separate teams, they traversed the four remaining meters to a double-sized EVA portal in the Arbitrage’s hull, a small access bay for loading ship’s stores. Each team’s lead figure used active maneuver jets to reach the Aboriginal ship, towing three more figures behind. As two of the team leaders produced tools consistent with forced ingress procedures, the third team leader floated to the side, weapon ready.
“Secondary EVA team?”
Brenlor’s impatience was audible. “Here. And still waiting.”
Nezdeh almost rolled her eyes. And you shall continue to do so. For one more minute.
* * *
On the bridge of the Arbitrage, Emil Kozakowski was tempted to shove Tagawa out of the way to get a better look at the small external monitor that showed the would-be boarders who had gathered forward of Deal Two’s empty docking cradle.
“Yes,” Tagawa was telling Velho over the intercom, “a dozen boarders at bay Foxtrot-Twelve. I do not recognize their weapons or suits.”
Velho’s voice, Lilliputian as it escaped Tagawa’s earbud, began shouting for more personnel to deploy to the bay, drawing them from the teams watching other access points and from the reserves being held further in-hull. Kozakowski estimated that the defenders would outnumber their dozen attackers by better than six to one, once the repositioning was completed. He leaned toward the screen and Ayana. “What are the raiders doing at the bay, do you think?”
Tagawa did not even move her eyes toward him. “They seem to be attempting some kind of external electronic bypass.”
“Odd. How could they hope to understand the electronics of our ships?”
Now she did turn toward him. “I was wondering if you might be the very person to answer such a question, Mr. Kozakowski.” Her gaze was level. It was no more emotional than usual, but somehow, it conveyed a startling degree of animus.
Kozakowski felt his face grow hot. “I do not appreciate your insinuation, Ms. Tagawa.”
“And I do not appreciate your presence, Mr. Kozakowski. But, as to the matter of their boarding attempts: you will notice the large cases carried by two of the waiting team members on each of the boarding strings. I suspect that if they cannot bypass our electronics, they shall use explosives. I expect, given the technology we have witnessed so far, they would breach the hull easily.”