As Kaleen continued counting down, service techs were scrambling for the hatches. Jonas’ group had begun getting some vision back, and two of the marines were actually shooting at Rimrunner. Their infantry weapons had no effect on the ship, of course. I suspected they were firing only because Jonas was screaming at them hysterically, and they wanted to be doing something. As Kaleen’s countdown continued, Jonas and the others finally broke, running for the hatches. Discipline be damned, Jonas was the last one to scramble through a hatch, with the countdown at “four.”
Precisely at “zero,” Kaleen disabled two of the shield projectors, and the outrush of atmosphere, assisted by our own maximum acceleration, blasted us through the resulting hole at more than four gees.
Chapter VIII
Rear Admiral Micah Jonas pressed his face to the small circular window in the hatch leading to the landing bay, puffing mightily and producing a steady stream of curses between puffs.
Kedron’s ship blasted out of the landing bay. Micah spun to hurry to the bridge when his legs suddenly went out from under him, and he crashed into one of his marine orderlies. The man bounced off Micah's bulk and drifted away.
The gravs were out! They were in free fall! Micah blanched. What about the rest of life support? Could that damned Kedron have sabotaged everything?
For a moment, Micah debated whether to head for the bridge or for his barge to escape. His mind was made up when he realized that it would take him at least ten minutes to get suited to enter the unpressurized hangar bay. If Kedron had sabotaged life support, he’d never make it. No, he had to gamble that Cord wouldn’t permit the massacre of Nemesis ’ crew of over five thousand people, even if Kedron suggested it. No, he had to get to the bridge. He had to regain control!
Nemesis had been in orbit around Thaeron for over fifteen years. Dreadnoughts are horribly expensive to operate, and smaller vessels are more appropriate for nearly everything. Essentially, Nemesis had been treated as an orbital fort, albeit one that was mobile, and had jump capability.
Because of her long sojourn in orbit, her crew was no longer practiced in null-grav activity. In addition, human nature had reared its head. As a warship, Nemesis was, of course, adapted to weightlessness. Tools and equipment, even bunks and desks, were designed with clamps and straps to secure them.
Unfortunately, her crew had grown lax about these precautions. Nemesis hadn’t seen null-grav in over a decade. Of her crew, only a few technicians had more than a few hours’ zero-gee experience. No weightlessness drills had been held in the last five years.
Predictably, the result of Kaleen's action was chaos. Both Nemesis ’ Captain and her Admiral were off the bridge when the gravs shut down. Moreover, of course, with Fleet Admiral Chu-Lo’s address blaring over every comm circuit, there was no way to even call the bridge.
All over the ship, chaos reigned. Cooks frantically dodged boiling food that surged from pots and kettles and began drifting around the galley. In the holds, handlers equally frantically dodged crates that, though weightless now, were not without inertia.
One enterprising gunnery tech had used Rimrunner ’s approach to run drills. When Rimrunner blasted free, the young tech debated opening fire, then remembered Admiral Jonas’ temper, and restrained himself. His finger was still poised over the fire button when he found himself floating free. Suddenly the fleeing ship had a much lower priority as a power cell case full of manuals drifted unerringly toward his head.
All over the ship, crewmembers caught or dodged pictures, caf cups, bookdisc readers, and all sorts of other impedimenta that had accumulated and had now become physical threats.
Hundreds of the crew flailed about in the center of compartments, unable to reach a bulkhead, deck or overhead to brace against. Others clung to anything stationary, unwilling to chance letting go. Many, perhaps most, were space-sick. Globules of vomit drifted about all over the ship, occasionally themselves triggering more attacks when they encountered crewmembers.
Moreover, over it all, Fleet Admiral Chu-Lo called for the arrest of Rear Admiral Micah Jonas and Captain Jamin Van-Lyn.
Ironically, Micah was bothered less by the zero-gee conditions than most of the crew. Though he hadn’t been in null-grav for some time, it took only a minute or two for him to reacclimate himself.
He began pushing against the other drifting bodies in the corridor, using the reaction to guide himself toward the bulkhead. Once there, he hooked an ankle over a projection and began shouting into his communicator. “Shoot! Destroy that ship! All ships pursue and destroy that ship!” However, the voice of Fleet Admiral Chu-Lo droned on. Cursing, Micah sighted on the next hatch, and kicked off. A quick glance back showed him Captain Van-Lyn following.
Despite his anger, Micah found himself enjoying the zero-gee. He’d forgotten how pleasant it was to not be dragged down by his own bulk. When he pulled himself through the bridge hatch, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself quite composed, not even puffing. He should do this more often!
However, the momentary pleasure couldn't overcome his raging fury. There were more immediate concerns. “Destroy that ship!” He screamed. “And shut off that damned lying broadcast!” Unfortunately, he was the only one who could hear his voice. Chu-Lo’s broadcast blared from every speaker. He pulled himself to the Comm Officer’s console, reached past the man, and twisted a knob viciously as the Comm Officer drifted helplessly nearby.
The volume of the broadcast subsided. He couldn’t turn the damned thing off, but by all the odd gods of the galaxy, he could turn it down so it wasn’t heard! He grabbed the drifting Comm Officer and dragged him to where he could grab hold of the console.
“Commander, you are to personally make sure the volume is turned all the way down on all systems until we can figure out how to disable that recording. Is that clear?” The Commander, clinging desperately to the edge of his console, nodded.
“Y-Y-Yessir!” The man tried to salute, but his arm's movement threatened to send him drifting away, and he hurriedly grabbed at a knob on the console. “Then,” Micah continued, “You are to find out where that damned broadcast is coming from, and stop it! That is your only priority from this moment!”
The Commander clung to his console with both hands. “Yes, sir!” He replied, but his expression spoke volumes. The man had no idea how the message was being generated or broadcast.
Micah looked disgusted, and then whirled toward the weapons console. “All weapons are to fire on that ship! I want it destroyed!”
The Gunnery Officer had managed to strap himself into his chair, and so was not as helpless as the Comm Officer had been. He began rapidly flipping switches and murmuring commands into his throat mike.
His expression, smug when he saw Micah’s reaction to the unfortunate Comm Officer, faded to one of astonishment, then discomfort as he stared at his readouts and screens.
“Well?” Micah demanded.
“I, uh, I don’t understand, Sir,” the Gunnery Officer said plaintively. “All my readouts show us launching missiles and firing laser and particle beam blasts, but we should have felt the launches, and my screens don't show anything at all.”
Micah threw up his hands. “Pah! Isn’t anyone on this ship competent?”
“Admiral.” Micah turned to see Van-Lyn in the bridge hatch. “May I speak with you, sir? In private?”
Micah's fury was unabated. “But…” He stopped and threw up his hands again. “Of course, Captain,” he said in a more moderate tone. He stepped through the hatch, and Van-Lyn swung it shut.