Authors: David Feintuch
Thurman was a General in our Home Guard; naturally his receptionist would be military as well. As I sidled toward Thurman, holovid in hand, the aide frowned at Mikhael.
“You’re not Burns,” he said. Instantly Mik flung me through the office hatch, tugged at his laser. Two techs swarmed atop him.
It was Thurman himself who gave us a chance. He ran after me, slapped shut the hatch, no doubt to bar Mikhael from his office. The hatch slammed closed, cutting us off from the melee in the anteroom. I scrambled to my feet, worked the bulky stunner clear of my suit pouch.
Ignoring the laser pistol clipped to his belt, Thurman bent over the console, grabbed his caller. I leaped at him.
Perhaps he’d once been stunned, and hated it as much as I. He recoiled, spinning his chair to the bulkhead. I clambered after. Too late, he remembered his pistol. I brandished my stunner, inches from his chest, shook my head, held out a hand.
He considered refusing—you could see the debate in his eyes—but after a moment, reluctantly, he unclipped the laser pistol, handed it to me butt-first. Once I had it, I shoved my stunner in my pouch.
“You’ll never get away with it.” General Thurman’s face was bitter.
“Stuff it in a sack.” I glanced about, dazed at the pace of events.
Thurman’s office had once been the warship’s bridge. Though they’d brought in amenities over the years—softer chairs, a spacious desk, a well-stocked cooler—the reinforced bridge hatch remained a fortress, and right now it was all that protected me.
Frantic hammering, on the corridor hatch. I glanced at the console. Like
Olympiad
’s
,
it was a complicated array of lights and switches, far beyond my understanding. “Over there, by the far bulkhead,” I snarled. There was no way I could study the console with Thurman ready to jump me from behind.
“Give it up, joey. You haven’t a chan—”
I set the pistol to low, flipped off the safety, aimed just in front of his boot. The deck plate crackled. He yelped, and scuttled across the office.
“Commandant, are you all right?”
Ignoring the speaker, I unclasped my helmet, studied the console. None of the switches was marked “laser safety.”
Mik would know.
But I couldn’t open the hatch; they’d be armed and ready. “Where’s the corridor camera control?”
“What are you talking about?” His tone was surly.
“There’s always a camera outside the bridge hatch.” Else, a Captain couldn’t be sure whom he was admitting.
Thurman snorted. “It’s been broken for years.”
“Don’t give me—”
“Try it. Just to the left of that red lever.”
Cautiously, I did, my eye on the screen. Either he was lying as to the proper switch, or the camera really was broken.
“General Thurman? Sir?”
I put my mouth to the hatch. “Mikhael? Mr Tamarov?”
No answer.
I was in big trouble.
All right, how would Fath handle it? How would Anthony?
Deviously.
“I want the use of your laser cannon,” I said grandly. “How do I turn off the safeties?”
Thurman pressed his lips tight.
“How?”
His eyes took on a resolve I didn’t like. Quelling my revulsion, I took aim with the pistol. “You’d best tell me,” I said. I tried to make my voice menacing, but managed only a shrill squeak. I blushed.
“Kill me and you’ll never know.”
“Release the General, joey! We have your cohort.”
I said, “Don’t play games. Time is short.”
“Quite short. They’ll burn through anytime now.”
“You don’t know much about bridge hatches,” I said scornfully. Of course, neither did I. I hoped I was right.
“Five minutes or twenty, they’ll be along. You’ll be killed, unless you give me the pistol.”
“Where’s the laser safety?” I sighted on his face.
He met my gaze. “Aren’t you old Derek’s son? Will you kill a man in cold blood?”
“Yes. Five. Four. Three.”
Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but he said nothing.
“Open the hatch, joey, or I’ll take you apart! This is your last warning!”
“Two. One.”
General Thurman shut his eyes.
Trembling, I put the pistol in my pouch, disgusted with myself. I couldn’t do it.
He shot me a look of triumph.
“Please, give me the codes.” My tone was plaintive. “My father’s life depends on it.”
“Who? Derek’s dead. You mean Seafort?” Thurman’s voice was contemptuous. “He’s no more your father than I am.” Cautiously, he rose to his feet. “Here, I won’t hurt you.”
“Why’d they take him?”
“For trial. All his life he’s gotten away with the most outrageous … Such arrogance, even treason. Not this time.”
I cried, “Why do you hate him so?”
He jabbed a finger outward, perhaps toward
Olympiad.
“He traffics with those Satanic … damn them! The fish were supposed to be dead!” He advanced on me. “He’s done for, joey. Don’t make it worse.”
“Done for?”
“The Church has him, and means to be rid of him. He’ll hang, or better yet, burn. There’ll be no appeal to home system.” Another step. He nodded to the hatch. “My men are waiting. You’re trapped; it’s just you and me.”
My voice was odd. “Yes. Just you and me.” I retreated toward the hatch panel.
Behind me, a clunk. A whirring sound. It seemed familiar.
Inexorably, Thurman advanced. “Easy there, lad. You’re young, and scared. Don’t be foolish.”
“No, sir. I won’t be foolish.” I yanked out the stunner, set it to the lowest setting, jabbed it at his midriff. He stumbled, fell twitching.
The scream of metal on metal. They were working at the hatch.
In three or four minutes, when he began to revive, my panic had escalated to near frenzy. Shuddering, Thurman managed to sit.
Or better yet, burn.
I touched him lightly with the stunner. He went down, all jerks and spasms.
A minute passed. “Don’t—” A voice from the grave.
I stunned him again.
After the fifth time he had a sort of convulsion. Sweating in my suit, I dragged him to the bulkhead, leaned him against it, waited for him to claw his way to consciousness. “The codes.” Waiting had given me a better idea. “All of them. Authorize me to the puter.”
“N—n—gah, no don’—” I touched the stunner to his arm.
For minutes he drooled and twitched. When he spoke I could barely make out the words. I had him repeat it over and again, until I was sure I had it right.
To the console.
No. First, a detour to the corner, to spew forth the contents of my stomach.
Wiping bile, I trudged to the console, tapped in the sequence he’d given me.
A warm contralto filled the room. “Yes, General?” Fine by me, if the puter thought I was Thurman. But my voice would give me away. I tapped, “Alphanumeric input only.”
“
SET FOR ALPHANUMERIC.
”
“Status, laser cannon safeties?”
“
SAFETIES RELEASED
.”
I typed, “Engage laser cannon safeties.”
“
ENTER SUPERVISORY CODE
.”
Holding my breath, I stabbed out Thurman’s numbers.
“
SAFETIES ENGAGED. WARNING: LASER DEFENSES CANNOT BE ACTIVATED WITHOUT RELEASE
.”
“Do not release except by authorization from this console. Override any instructions to the contrary.”
“
INSTRUCTIONS ACKNOWLEDGED
.”
Good. “Query: how may comm room be bypassed, for transmissions directly from this console?”
“
ENTER DESIRED FREQUENCIES AND BEGIN TRANSMISSION
.”
“Do you monitor incoming responses?”
“
AFFIRMATIVE. I DEDUCE YOU WISH THEM ROUTED DIRECTLY TO THIS CONSOLE AS WELL.
”
“Yes.” My tone was fervent. “I mean … I typed it. “Yes. Use frequency of last transmission from
Olympiad
.”
In the corner, General Thurman moaned. Abruptly his neck arched. His feet drummed the deck.
I tried not to hear. “Puter, do I begin talking now?”
“
AFFIRMATIVE.
”
“Olympiad,
come in. Mr Tolliver! Someone answer!” It wasn’t very professional, but how should I know the proper drill?
A time passed.
“Mr Tolliver! Olympiad! Where are you?” I jabbed at the keyboard. “Puter, are you transmitting?”
“
YOU ARE
.”
“UNS
Olympiad
to Station, go ahead.”
An unfamiliar voice.
“I need Mr Tolliver!”
“State your message.”
“You frazzing grode, this is Randy Carr, ship’s boy, and I need Mr Tolliver RIGHT NOW!”
Almost instantly, a new voice. He must have been listening. “This is Tolliver. What do you want?”
“Sir, I’m on their bridge. I mean, the Commandant’s office. They captured Mr Tamarov. I have the Commandant and his authorization codes, and the hatch is sealed. Laser safeties are locked; they can’t fire. Take the Station!”
“How?”
“Bring Olympiad! Board us!”
A silence.
“You propose I sail
Olympiad
within range of your cannon?”
“The safeties are locked.”
“I’ve no way to know that.”
“For Christ’s sake, why would I lie?” Fath would be outraged at my language. Sorry, sir. I’m beside myself.
“Mr Carr, can you prove you’re not a prisoner?”
At the hatch, the scream of blades had stopped. But the room seemed warmer. Cautiously, I touched the hatch, yanked back my hand. It was warm. And if I listened hard, I could hear the hiss of a torch.
“Mr Tolliver, we’ve no time! They’re trying to cut through the hatch! For God’s sake, hurry!”
“Can you put Mr Tamarov on the line?”
“They have him. Or maybe he’s dead.”
“I can’t risk
Olympiad.
If they hit our tubes, we’re stranded; tubes can’t be repaired outside a shipyard. I assume you’re under duress.”
“But I’m not! Mr Seafort’s in trouble, they’re talking about burning him! They’ve got shuttles here!” My voice was ragged. “I’m begging you!”
“I wish I could believe you. You say you have Thurman with you? Put him on.”
I pounded the console. “I can’t. He’s … I can’t!” If I looked again at the blood seeping from his mouth, I’d go mad. His fingers twitched.
“Then we’re at an impasse.”
A breath of air. An audible hiss. The General’s fingers eased.
My eyes darted from bulkhead to bulkhead. A vent. I dived for my helmet, got it on just as a wave of dizziness caught me. I slumped.
Minutes passed, or hours. Or years. By sheer effort of will, I raised my head.
“Mr Tolliver?” My voice was muffled.
“Yes?”
“They tried gas. I’m in my suit. My tanks are good for an hour.” I fought to slow the whirling room. “Sir, the Station’s yours. I’m not under duress.”
“How can I know?”
I tried not to vomit. “Think about my cell in
Olympiad.
Nothing in God’s universe would make me do this against my w—wi—will.” I swallowed a lump. I was failing. It would all be for naught.
“Oh, son. How can I trust you?”
I whispered, “Fath would.” It was my last effort. I lay my head on the console.
Eons passed.
“
Olympiad
to Station, Captain Tolliver speaking. We’re approaching at flank speed, at Battle Stations. Open all outer locks. We demand your surrender on behalf of our allies, the Government of Stadholder Anthony Carr.”
“Randy, are you in there? Open, it’s safe now.”
I raised my hand to the hatch control, hesitated. I knew the voice, but … “Have Mr Tolliver order it.”
Muttered epithets. A few moments passed.
“Mr Carr? Captain Tolliver here. Open, as he asks.”
“Aye aye, sir.” I slapped the control. The hatch slid open. Tad Anselm and I regarded each other. Wearily, I unclamped my helmet, brought myself to attention. “Ship’s Boy Randolph Carr reporting, sir.”
“As you were. Well done, joey.” Anselm peered in, glanced at Thurman. “Lord Almighty, what did you do to him? Medic!”
“Where’s Mik, sir? I mean, Mr Tamarov.”
His mouth tightened. “In sickbay. They were pretty savage. How on earth did you take over the master console?”
I told him, giving Mikhael all the credit. I’d done little but scream into my suit, and torture Mr Thurman.
“The Captain will be proud. I’ll see your exploit is Logged.” He clapped me on the shoulder.
“Pardon.” Lieutenant Frand brushed past, dropped into the console seat with a weary sigh. “Mr Carr, the codes, before you go.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.” Dutifully, I recited them.
Outside the bridge, three of Mr Janks’s detail had taken position in the corridor, fully armed. No Station personnel were to be seen.
“Let’s go.” Anselm herded me to the corridor.
“Where?”
“Back to the ship.”
“They took Mr Seafort groundside.”
“I know. The Captain wants to send a rescue party, but there’s a complication.” He grimaced. “Admiral Kenzig forbids it.”
I stopped dead.
“What?”
“Interfering in local politics. Meddling in Church affairs.”
My lip trembled. “Did you see Thurman lying on the deck? Think I did that for myself? It was for Fath! We’ve
got
to help him!”
“I think as highly of him as you—”
“Goofjuice!” I flung down my helmet.
Anselm’s tone was cold. “You forget yourself, Mr Carr!”
“No, you do!” I kicked my helmet across the corridor, barely missing a sailor striding past. “You told me he saved you! Who are you, Lieutenant?”
“Come along.” Now, his voice was ice. Catching the arm of my suit, he dragged me along the corridor, down a ladder, into a launch bay. He practically threw me into a waiting gig, took a seat alongside. The hatch slid closed.
I folded my arms, gritted my teeth.
Anselm said gruffly, “I’ll speak to him. Captain Tolliver.”
Satan himself couldn’t coax a word from me. I glared at the porthole, watched the Station drift away.
“I was sixteen when I met him. He saved me. From myself.” Tad turned abruptly, spoke to the empty seat alongside. “I’d ruined myself, with drink and sloth and despair. It’s as if he’d adopted me as he did Mikhael; he treated me as a son. I’m what I am because of … I’d give anything to save him.” A pause. “But Admiral Kenzig is the Navy we agreed to serve. He, and Mr Tolliver, and Mr Seafort. It’s about orders, and loyalty, and faith.”