Scourge
All of Liang’s forces had been deployed inside and were now engaged in shooting up the station.
‘So now it’s time to go,’ said Clay, because he did not like the introspective silence the three on the bridge had fallen into.
Scotonis took a moment to reply, so perhaps he was having second thoughts. Perhaps he, too, had felt that odd sense of pride in seeing the troops they had brought here storming the station.
‘Make him do it,’ murmured Trove. ‘Let’s see if he has any value at all.’
‘Yes, time to go,’ Scotonis said, then turned his gaze up to the camera through which Clay was watching him. ‘And time for you to make yourself useful.’
A familiar sinking sensation occupied Clay’s gut. ‘In what way?’
‘One of our anchors is failing to disengage,’ said Scotonis. ‘I want you to suit up, head down to the barracks section and collect a two-kilo demolition charge from there – Liang left plenty behind for resupply. Then place it on the anchor concerned, which is clearly visible just beyond the disembarkation ramp.’
‘You what?’ Clay exclaimed in dismay.
‘You know how to put on a suit and you know how to operate that type of charge,’ said Scotonis. ‘Which of my instructions are you finding unclear?’
‘Send one of your crew,’ argued Clay.
‘Yes, I could do that.’ Scotonis nodded introspectively. ‘I could order one of my crew – twelve of whom have already died and eight more of whom are in Medical – to go and risk their lives while you sit there comfortably in Messina’s quarters.’
‘They would be better at it,’ protested Clay desperately. Why was Scotonis doing this? Did he intend to leave Clay behind on Argus, too?
‘No, it’s a simple task,’ said Scotonis. ‘All it requires is a little technical knowledge, which you have – and a little bravery, which we have yet to ascertain.’
Trove’s words finally hit home and Clay realized what this was all about. He reckoned there must have been some disagreement concerning him. Doubtless Trove – and maybe others – had argued against Scotonis’s decision not to kill him. This was therefore in the nature of a test. This was to see if he ‘had value’; it was his hazing, his baptism by fire. Obviously Scotonis knew his crew well enough to consider it necessary. And quite likely it was necessary, if Clay was not to end up being murdered in one of the ship’s corridors during the return journey to Earth. Clay had to show these people he was one of them.
‘Very well,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.
He unstrapped himself from his chair and stood up, tried to think of something appropriate to say, but found his mouth had dried out.
‘And close up the space door on your way back in,’ said Scotonis, offering him something. ‘We can’t control that from up here – it can only be accessed remotely by Liang or closed by using the panel beside it. That’s another divisive allocation of control from Galahad.’
Clay reluctantly turned and headed for the door, and went through it. For a while he walked in a dismal haze, then shook himself out of it as he reached the executive quarters. Here he located a suit storage room, which he quickly entered. He had hoped for a nicely armoured VC suit but his search revealed that only an adapted Martian EA suit remained – offering no protection at all. He began to don it slowly, then mentally pushed himself to hurry up. The quicker he moved, the sooner this nightmare would be over.
Once he had the suit on, he ran diagnostics and found no further excuse for delay. He headed down to the barracks, now open to vacuum, and stepped through the airlock to gain access. Inside the new disembarkation tube, he gazed at the mess all about him: fragments of material drifting through vacuum; equipment abandoned at the last moment, such as packs, magazines for missile-launchers and one or two weapons; and four corpses with suits burned black, hideously mutilated faces gazing through their spattered visors. He moved along the tube, avoiding the entrance into the section where the maser had struck, and entered the next section. Further equipment here, stacked in a more orderly manner.
Clay walked over to a stack of plastic crates whose labels indicated that they contained explosives. Checking the contents lists below the labels, he soon found what he wanted and pulled open that particular crate. Two-kilo demolition charges were stacked inside it like packets of butter. He pulled one out and studied the inset detonator, which was no more difficult to operate than setting up a wristwatch. He stood up, still holding it, and headed for the space door.
The disembarkation tube took him to the open space door, now hinged down to act as a ramp. The vista of Argus Station beyond was nicely lit up by the Scourge’s exterior LED lights. He paused at the threshold and gazed across a plain of metal extending to Tech Central, studying the torn-up areas where the station’s weapons had been destroyed, but the only movement he could detect there was of corpses drifting amidst wrecked robots and other shattered equipment. The battle was now taking place inside the station, so there was no danger for him here. He had been stupid to be so fearful.
With new confidence Clay strode down the lowered ramp, paused to locate the cable emerging from underneath the ship, and traced it to an anchor embedded in the station’s hull just twenty metres away. He headed over there and started to position the charge against it at the joint where the cable connected.
‘Ruger, get a damned move on, will you?’
This sudden order from Scotonis made him jump, the demolition charge tumbling away from him until he snagged it out of the air.
‘It’s not sensible to be too hasty when dealing with explosives,’ Clay replied sniffily, securing the charge in place before flicking on the timer of the detonator. He set the countdown to five minutes, which should give him plenty of time to get back inside the ship and see the space door safely closed.
‘Are you done?’ asked Scotonis.
‘Yes, I’m done.’ Clay stood up.
‘Then perhaps you’d better take a look over at the station’s technical control centre.’
Clay glanced that way, and gaped. He could see the flashing of weapons, fragments of metal and the debris of ceramic bullets cutting lines across the station’s hull. A number of Liang’s troops were now running back towards the ship, under fire from Tech Central, where Clay could now see construction robots scuttling into view.
‘Move it, Ruger!’ Scotonis bellowed.
Clay moved it, but had to slow down as, in his panic, his gecko boots threatened to detach themselves from the hull. He concentrated on walking as fast but as safely as possible, which didn’t increase his pace much above a stroll. Finally he mounted the sloping ramp of the space door, headed up inside and turned to the console that controlled the door. A glance at the approaching troops made him realize he might already be too late; nevertheless he clicked through the menu to set the motors running, and slowly the door began to rise.