In spite of everything, Creek felt bemusedly offended; apparently this marine thought so little of his quarry that he could take a meal break. Creek pulled out the Colt .45.
Robin's eyes widened. What are you doing? she mouthed to Creek, silently. Creek put his finger to his lips as a warning and then crouched up and looked down the Promenade Deck. The three other marines were still out there, facing away from Creek, Robin, and the fourth marine. Down the deck Creek saw little shops and kiosks that would normally provide passengers with all manner of goodies to stuff themselves silly upon. He focused on one he remembered sold soft drinks, about 60 yards down the Promenade and just slightly ahead of one of the marines. Creek raised his gun, steadied his aim, and shot at it.
It was a good hit. The bullet hit the kiosk and tore through the aluminum drink dispenser, dislodging the fiber hose inside that connected to the C02 canister. The hose flailed back and forth in the drink dispenser, rattling and hissing. The marine closest to the kiosk barked in surprise and opened fire on the drink stand; the two other marines, hearing the commotion, rushed to their comrade's location and pumped bullets into the kiosk as well.
The noise was deafening—loud enough that the three marines could not hear when Creek turned, ran halfway down the stairwell, and shot at the fourth Nidu marine, who was already standing and turning toward Creek; he'd heard the shot being fired above him. Creek's shot was badly aimed and went wide, the result of trying to run down stairs and aim at the same time.
The marine was surprised but competent; he raised his rifle and let out a short burst. Creek saw the rifle lift and moved to avoid fire. He didn't. Creek felt shocking clarity of pain when one bullet of the four glancingly tore through pants and connected with the communicator in his pocket, exploding the communicator and sending its shrapnel into his leg. Creek stumbled but fired again, hitting the marine in the hand. He roared and raised his hand in pain; Creek, steadier now, shot him in the throat He went down.
Down the Promenade Deck the three other Nidu marines stopped their firing and examined the wreckage of the kiosk.
"Robin," Creek hissed. "Let's go. Now."
Robin came down the stairs and saw Creek's leg. "You've been shot," she said.
"My communicator was shot," Creek said. "I was just a bystander. Come on. Our chariot awaits."
From down the deck they heard bellowing in Nidu.
"I think they just noticed their friend is missing," Robin said.
"Go get the pod opened," Creek said. "I'll hold them off."
"What are you going to do?" Robin said.
"Something messy," Creek said. "Go." Robin went toward the pod. Creek took the marine's knife from its sheath, and then searched for which of the marine's hands carried the network implant that allowed him to use his weapon. It was on the marine's right hand, disguised as a decorative applique on the outermost finger. Creek put a knee on the hand to pin it down and then severed the finger with the knife. He dropped the knife, grabbed the finger and the rifle and then jammed the finger into his right palm, pressed up against the rifle stock. The implant had to be within a few centimeters of the trigger or the rifle wouldn't work. It was painful to leave the Colt behind; it was a beautiful weapon. But it was down to four bullets and Creek didn't think his aim was that good.
"Harry!" Robin said. She had wrenched down the manual bar to open the airlock door that would let them into the lifepod.
"Coming," Creek said, and started walking backward to the lifepod, limping from the communicator fragments in his leg, rifle up and sighted in toward where he knew the other Nidu marines would be coming.
The first came around the corner in a rush and screamed when he saw the marine on the floor. A second later he appeared to notice Creek. He bellowed and raised his rifle; Creek, who had sighted him in, let out a burst of fire to his chest. The kickback of the rifle was impressive and caused the last few shots of the burst to miss; the first three, however, connected just fine. The marine flew back to the ground, twitching and bellowing. Creek turned and hobbled quickly toward the lifepod. He was pretty sure the downed marine would keep the others from rushing down the deck long enough for him and Robin to get on their way.
The lifepod was a compact ball designed to do exactly one thing—get passengers away from a broken ship. The inside held ten seats: two levels of five, arrayed in a circle, each emanating from the white plastic molding that formed the inside shell of the lifepod. Each seat had four-point belts designed to keep people pinned to their seats while the pod fell away from the ship. Save for a porthole on the door, there were no windows, which would have compromised the structural integrity of the pods. Save for the door sealer, which also served to begin the launch sequence, there were no controls; the pods were programmed to hone in on pod beacons when they were in UNE space or to preassigned locations in other worlds. When you entered a lifepod, it was with the recognition that to do otherwise would be to perish. That being a given, you didn't get a choice where you got to go. It was survival at its most minimum.
Creek entered the pod and threw his rifle (and its attendant finger), into the closest seat. "Sit down," he said to Robin, who took a seat on the other side of the pod from the rifle and began to strap herself in. Creek grabbed the door sealer and yanked it down; the door vacuum-sealed itself with a hiss.
Creek glanced through the tiny porthole and saw the other two marines finally creeping past their downed teammates. One of them saw the outside door to the pod closing and raised his rifle to fire. The airlock door, which sealed the pod from the ship, slammed shut, blocking Creek's view; as it did so Creek heard the dull thunk of bullets striking its other side.
"What do we do now?" Robin said.
"Lifepods automatically start a countdown once you seal them," Creek said, strapping himself into his seat. "We should be launching any second now."
"Good," Robin said. She sat back, closed her eyes, and waited for the launch.
A minute later she opened her eyes again. "Harry," she said. "We're still here."
"I know," Creek said.
"I thought we were supposed to launch," Robin said.
"We were," Creek said.
There was a very loud bang on the other side of the door.
"What was that?" Robin said.
"I'm guessing it was a grenade," Creek said. "They're trying to blow their way through the outer door."
"What do we do now?" Robin said.
"I don't know," Creek said. He reached over and collected up the rifle and the Nidu marine's finger. If any of the other Nidu marines had noticed that both of these objects were missing, there was a reasonably good chance that the rifle had already been disconnected from the network and would be useless as anything but a club. Creek didn't see much point in passing on that bit of information to Robin.
"They're in the pod," Picks said.
"Stop their countdown," Captain Lehane said. "But program in their destination coordinates."
"Done," Picks said, after a second. "Now what do you want to do?"
"Ready the other pod launchers to go," Lehane said, and glanced back down to his monitors, where he could see the Nidu marines congregate around the pod airlock. "And wait for the flies to come to the honey."
After a few seconds Picks glanced over at the monitor. "Those two must be going bugshit in there, wondering why the pod hasn't launched."
"It won't be long now," Lehane said. Four more Marines showed up on the Promenade Deck, and then another two. Four more and they'd be ready to go.