A Choice of Treasons (23 page)

They stuffed anything they could find as padding around the two marines that didn’t have seats. York climbed into the pilot’s couch, started throwing switches, felt the hum of the drive as it warmed up. He rested his hands on the controls, hesitated for a moment, realized he was just simply enjoying this. He had screens in front of him, could see the
feddies
transiting in, could see the positions of those already under drive to engage Telyekev, and he enjoyed the danger, the adrenaline, the fear, the drugs, the overload. It was what he always wanted, needed, when he wasn’t there. It was all as it should be.

CHAPTER 11: DESPERATION

By the time York reached
Cinesstar
there were five
feddie
warships standing-to just beyond
heliopause
, and more on the way. They were still too far out to target accurately on the planet’s surface, but soon they’d make their second jump in-system and Telyekev would have his hands full.

York cut the courier’s drive about three thousand meters from
Cinesstar
, let the small ship drift toward the larger one while he shook off the numbing effects of
higee
. He threw a full visual on one screen, picked the ship out as a large, bright glint resting among the background of stars, turned his attention back to the navigational display.

He opened a secure hailing channel, broadcast a clearance request and received a coded denial response from
Cinesstar’s
computer. He repeated the request as he nudged the courier into place about fifty meters from the ship, but apparently there was no one manning her com. He keyed the com in his vac suit. “Notay. We’re going to have to board her. Flush cabin pressure and get that hatch open while I get us in as close as I can.”

“Yes, sir.”

York glanced at the visual on his screen.
Cinesstar
was a heavy cruiser, even bigger than
Invaradin
, a blunted, spear-blade shape pocked with weapons turrets and gunnery pods.

Notay blew the courier’s cabin seals, and as York’s vac suit began to expand he nudged the courier sideways with her attitude jets, positioned her about twenty meters from
Cinesstar’s
aft personnel hatch.

“That’s perfect, Cap’em. Hold her right there.”

York locked the courier’s autopilot onto
Cinesstar
so it would hold the relative position of the two vessels. He cut the courier’s internal gravity, popped the release on his harness and floated free of the pilot’s couch. By the time he got to the hatch Notay and four of her marines had already jumped the gap between the two ships and opened
Cinesstar’s
hatch. The next marine made the jump while York test fired the small steam jet in each heel of his suit.

He’d positioned the courier with its hatch looking directly at
Cinesstar’s
personnel hatch. He triggered a quick, hard burst from his heel jets and the rim of the courier hatch fell away from him, suspending him in the vastness between the two ships.

At the halfway point he tucked his knees into his chest, rolled over backwards half a turn and pointed his heels at
Cinesstar’s
hatch, then fired his heel jets in a slow, gentle deceleration that brought him to a stop almost within the hatch. One of the two marines waiting there snagged him, pulled him into the airlock, closed the outer hatch and activated the pressurization cycle.

For a moment a blast of air buffeted him as the suit went limp. Then the inner hatch burst open and he and the two marines floated out into a maintenance bay. The fact that they were still floating free inside
Cinesstar’s
was not a good sign.

Notay and the other three marines had already stripped off their vac suits. York hooked his legs around the arm of a maintenance robot, got his helmet off, tossed it to one of the marines, pushed off toward the lift while trying to break the seals on his suit and barking orders over his shoulder. “Sergeant. Go below and check engineering, see if there’s anyone down there who can get this bucket fired up. I’m headed for the bridge. Stay in contact.”

The lift wasn’t programmed to respond to his vocal commands and he lost precious moments breaking the seals on his gauntlets before he could manually punch in his destination. When the lift doors popped open York pulled his way to the scan console and tried to fire it up: nothing. Without access codes he was locked out of the system. The com was at least open for general non-critical access, but the helm, damage control, fire control, and engineering consoles were all dead and locked up tight. Berkma had mentioned a
limited crew
. Where the hell were they?

He strapped down at the com, opened up an exterior channel, found that Telyekev had set up a command grid and was broadcasting a coded combat summary. He threw the summary up on a screen, flinched at what he saw—four more
feddie
warships had transited in at the edge of the system for a total of nine. One had tried to make a second jump to within targeting range of Dumark, had taken a direct hit in transition and was no longer a threat. Another four had moved more cautiously, transited in to a distance safely beyond
Invaradin
,
Nostran
, and
Irriahm
. The remaining four were scattered out at the edge of
heliopause
, probably setting up transitions at that moment to join their comrades. With those odds, the time Telyekev could buy them was minimal, but it might make the difference. It had to make the difference.

Telyekev’s command grid also showed sixteen more transition wakes out beyond the system, all at distances of less than a light-year and converging on them rapidly, though only three were close enough to arrive before it was all over.

Notay’s voice spoke from his implants, “Cap’em. We found a maintenance crew down here. Chief in charge, name of Cappik, wants to talk to you on ship’s com.”

York activated an interior com channel, and on one of his screens brought up the image of a middle-aged chief petty officer dressed in stained and smudged coveralls. Cappik spoke without waiting for York. “Your people tell me we’re under attack.”

York nodded. “That’s right. Not specifically this ship, but the whole system. Where’s
Cinesstar’s
crew.”

“Crew?” Cappik asked. “There’s no crew on this ship. We’re the only ones here, and we’re just running final systems checks before they install her access codes.”

“No access codes?”

Cappik shook his head. “Just certain open access points so we can do our job. We’ve . . .”

York stopped listening. No access codes! None! Without access codes the ship was completely locked up. There was nothing he could do but gather up his marines and get the hell out of there, make a run for it, try to get back to the embassy without being targeted by a
feddie
warhead. The courier had no shields, not against that kind of firepower, and as those
feddies
got closer even a small ship under drive was a wonderful target—

York’s thinking froze suddenly as Cappik’s words hit him: “. . . certain open access points . . .” The man was still talking; York interrupted him. “When did they program these open access points?”

The man paused, thought for a moment. “About two months ago, just before they pulled her out of the station yard and put her in orbit.”

That meant someone in the system had the ring-zero access code, and there was only one person the navy would trust with that. York looked carefully at Cappik. “If I get you access, how soon can you get me full combat status?”

“Combat status?” Cappik asked. “That’ll take hours. We’re on minimum idle, barely above complete shutdown. We’d likely—”

“We don’t have hours,” York growled. “I’ll get you access and I want full combat status five minutes later.”

Cappik frowned angrily, leaned toward the pickup. “Five minutes! You’ll have to override every safety interrupt in the ship’s systems. Do you realize the chances you’d be taking, the damage you could cause?”

A crewman questioning properly issued orders! Behind Cappik Notay stiffened, frowned, and something angry crawled up York’s throat. “Do you realize the damage a warhead would cause if we don’t have shields?”

Cappik shook his head. “This is all irrelevant. We’re noncombatants, station personnel. This is a combat situation and we don’t get involved in that.”

“Don’t get involved?” York asked.

“Exactly. We leave that to you people. My people and me are leaving, going back to the station.”

“Chief,” York asked carefully. “We need your help. We need this ship to evacuate the embassy, and without you we’ll be a cloud of radioactive gas long before we can protect ourselves.”

Cappik shrugged. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to handle this yourself.”

York nodded, and his voice came out low, calm, and hard. “Then I’m making it an order.”

Cappik stiffened. “You don’t give me orders.”

“The entire system is on full alert,” York said. “I’ve been properly placed in command of this ship, no matter how briefly, and you’re on this ship. Failure to obey my orders constitutes a capital offense.”

Cappik bared his teeth. “Don’t give me that space lawyer bullshit. My crew and I are leaving. Now.”

In the periphery of the screen York saw the man’s people milling about behind him. A few were angry, most were scared, their attention more on Notay standing directly behind their leader than on the man himself, or on the rest of Notay’s marines who’d quietly edged back a few steps, were now behind everyone else, their hands resting carefully on the weapons at their sides.

“You’re refusing my order?” York asked.

Cappik growled, “Yer god damn right.”

“Ok,” York said. He looked at Notay. “Sergeant, take Chief Cappik out and shoot him, vent him to space, then put his assistant in charge. Now!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Notay said calmly, and before Cappik could react she grabbed him by the back of his collar with one hand, pressed the muzzle of her sidearm under his chin with the other, and yanked him out of the pickup’s range.

“Wait,” Cappik screamed angrily. “You can’t do this. You have no right.” His people stood frozen, terrified, and the tone of Cappik’s voice suddenly shifted. “This is insane. It’s an outrage.” York heard the sound of an opening hatch. “Wait! Wait! Stop. Stop. I’ll do it. I’ll do what you want.”

York shouted, “As you were, Sergeant.”

York heard the sound of scuffling off camera, then Cappik was thrown heavily against the pickup, blocking the view. He straightened slowly, stood upright, the collar of his coveralls torn half away, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, his lips and hands trembling. Notay stepped into the picture behind him, gun in hand. Behind them all the other marines had pulled their sidearms.

York looked at Notay. “Notay, you and your people stay down there, keep an eye on them. When I give an order, if one of them hesitates for so much as a second, shoot ‘em and replace ‘em with someone smarter.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

He looked at Cappik. “I’m going to have access shortly, so get ready to give me full combat status five minutes later.”

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment, switched off the circuit, put in a call to the embassy. A com technician answered and York didn’t have time to be polite. “Where’s Berkma?”

“The commodore’s in her office though—”

“Put me through to her, now.”

The tech didn’t argue. There was a short delay, then Berkma appeared on York’s screen. “Are you alone?” York asked.

“Yes,” Berkma said, obviously unhappy with York’s abruptness. “Why?”

“Because this ship is locked up tight. No access codes, and without access we can’t do anything. You have the ring-zero access code, don’t you?”

Berkma frowned. “Yes. I’ll program access as soon as I get up there.”

“And how long from now will that be? An hour? Two?” York looked at the readout on his console. “It’s been thirty-seven minutes since I left the Yard. I don’t know how things stand down there, but I’ll guess you’ve got one load of marines and sent the shuttles back to the saloon for the rest.” He could see in Berkma’s eyes he was right. He looked again at the scan summary. There were now six
feddie
warships in a group confronting Telyekev and his three ships, both sides starting to take long-range shots with their transition batteries. Another
feddie
had transited in at the edge of the system, and soon there’d be more.

Berkma’s eyes were filled with indecision.

York continued relentlessly. “You know the situation with
Invaradin
,
Nostran
, and
Irriahm
. By the time you get those marines into the embassy, then make four, maybe five, shuttle trips up here—long before then this ship’ll be vapor and there’ll be a big hole where the embassy used to be. Our only chance is for me bring this ship from cold stop to combat status in a matter of minutes, then set this ship down somewhere on the surface near you. And to do that I have to override every fail-safe procedure in the operating system. And I can’t do that without ring-two access. That’s captain’s access or better. But you haven’t programmed those access codes.”