Hazard rushed to the Indian while the other two members of the damage-control team raced to their partner and sprayed extinguisher foam on her backpack.
Over the woman’s screams he heard Varshni’s gargling whisper. «It’s no use, sir … no use …»
«You did fine, son.» Hazard held the little man in his arms. «You did fine.»
He felt the life slip away. Lightning does strike in the same place, Hazard thought. You’ve chased your last salvo, son.
Both the man and the woman who had been working on the power cable had been wounded by the laser beam. The man’s right arm had been sliced off at the elbow, the woman badly burned in the back when her life-support pack exploded. Hazard and the two remaining damage-control men carried them to the sick bay, where the station’s one doctor was already working over three other casualties.
The sick bay was on the third level. Hazard realized how vulnerable that was. He made his way down to the CIC, at the heart of the station, knowing that it was protected not only by layers of metal but by human flesh as well. The station rocked again and Hazard heard the ominous groaning of tortured metal as he pushed weightlessly along the ladderway.
He felt bone-weary as he opened the hatch and floated into the CIC. One look at the haggard faces of his three young officers told him that they were on the edge of defeat as well. Stromsen’s status display board was studded with glowering red lights.
«This station is starting to resemble a piece of Swiss cheese,» Hazard quipped lamely as he lifted the visor of his helmet.
No one laughed. Or even smiled.
«Varshni bought it,» he said, taking up his post between Stromsen and Feeney.
«We heard it,» said Yang.
Hazard looked around the CIC. It felt stifling hot, dank with the smell of fear.
«Mr. Feeney,» he said, «discontinue all offensive operations.»
«Sir?» The Irishman’s voice squeaked with surprise.
«Don’t fire back at the sonsofbitches,» Hazard snapped. «Is that clear enough?»
Feeney raised his hands up above his shoulders, like a croupier showing that he was not influencing the roulette wheel.
«Miss Stromsen, when the next laser beam is fired at us, shut down the main power generator. Miss Yang, issue instructions over the intercom that all personnel are to place themselves on level four—except for the sick bay. No one is to use the intercom. That is an order.»
Stromsen asked, «The power generator …?»
«We’ll run on the backup fuel cells and batteries. They don’t make so much heat.»
There were more questions in Stromsen’s eyes, but she turned back to her consoles silently.
Hazard explained, «We are going to run silent. Buckbee, Cardillo, and company have been pounding the hell out of us for about half an hour. They have inflicted considerable damage. However, they don’t know that we’ve been able to shield ourselves with the lifeboats. They think they’ve hurt us much more than they actually have.»
«You want them to think that they’ve finished us off, then?» asked Feeney.
«That’s right. But, Mr. Feeney, let me ask you a hypothetical question …»
The chamber shook again and the screens dimmed, then came back to their normal brightness.
Stromsen punched a key on her console. «Main generator off, sir.»
Hazard knew it was his imagination, but the screens seemed to become slightly dimmer.
«Miss Yang?» he asked.
«All personnel have been instructed to move down to level four and stay off the intercom.»
Hazard nodded, satisfied. Turning back to Feeney, he resumed, «Suppose, Mr. Feeney, that you are in command of Graham. How would you know that you’ve knocked out Hunter?»
Feeney absently started to stroke his chin and bumped his fingertips against the rim of his helmet instead. «I suppose … if Hunter stopped shooting back, and I couldn’t detect any radio emissions from her …»
«And infrared!» Yang added. «With the power generator out, our infrared signature goes way down.»
«We appear to be dead in the water,» said Stromsen.
«Right.»
«But what does it gain us?» Yang asked.
«Time,» answered Stromsen. «In another ten minutes or so we’ll be within contact range of Geneva.»
Hazard patted the top of her helmet. «Exactly. But more than that. We get them to stop shooting at us. We save the wounded up in the sick bay.»
«And ourselves,» said Feeney.
«Yes,» Hazard admitted. «And ourselves.»
For long moments they hung weightlessly, silent, waiting, hoping.
«Sir,» said Yang, «a query from Graham, asking if we surrender.»
«No reply,» Hazard ordered. «Maintain complete silence.»
The minutes stretched. Hazard glided to Yang’s comm console and taped a message for Geneva, swiftly outlining what had happened.
«I want that tape compressed into a couple of milliseconds and burped by the tightest laser beam we have down to Geneva.»
Yang nodded. «I suppose the energy surge for a low-power communications laser won’t be enough for them to detect.»
«Probably not, but it’s a chance we’ll have to take. Beam it at irregular intervals as long as Geneva is in view.»
«Yes, sir.»
«Sir!» Feeney called out. «Looks like Graham’s detached a lifeboat.»
«Trajectory analysis?»
Feeney tapped at his navigation console. «Heading for us,» he reported.
Hazard felt his lips pull back in a feral grin. «They’re coming over to make sure. Cardillo’s an old submariner; he knows all about running silent. They’re sending over an armed party to make sure we’re finished.»
«And to take control of our satellites,» Yang suggested.
Hazard brightened. «Right! There’re only two ways to control the ABM satellites—either from the station on patrol or from Geneva.» He spread his arms happily. «That means they’re not in control of Geneva! We’ve got a good chance to pull their cork!»
But there was no response from Geneva when they beamed their data-compressed message to IPF headquarters. Hunter glided past in its unusually low orbit, a tattered wreck desperately calling for help. No answer reached them.
And the lifeboat from Graham moved inexorably closer.
The gloom in the CIC was thick enough to stuff a mattress as Geneva disappeared over the horizon and the boat from Graham came toward them. Hazard watched the boat on one of Stromsen’s screens: it was bright and shining in the sunlight, not blackened by scorching laser beams, unsullied by splashes of human blood.
We could zap it into dust, he thought. One word from me and Feeney could focus half a dozen lasers on it. The men aboard her must be volunteers, willing to risk their necks to make certain that we’re finished. He felt a grim admiration for them. Then he wondered, Is Jon Jr. aboard with them?
«Mr. Feeney, what kind of weapons do you think they’re carrying?»
Feeney’s brows rose toward his scalp. «Weapons, sir? You mean, like sidearms?»
Hazard nodded.
«Personal weapons are not allowed aboard station, sir. Regulations forbid it.»
«I know. But what do you bet they’ve got pistols, at least. Maybe some submachine guns.»
«Damned dangerous stuff for a space station,» said Feeney.
Hazard smiled tightly at the Irishman. «Are you afraid they’ll put a few more holes in our hull?»
Yang saw what he was driving at. «Sir, there are no weapons aboard Hunter—unless you want to count kitchen knives.»
«They’ll be coming aboard with guns, just to make sure,» Hazard said. «I want to capture them alive and use them as hostages. That’s our last remaining card. If we can’t do that, we’ve got to surrender.»