Part 35 (1/2)

Sigmund charged out of the relax room, the broad shoulders of his battle armor sc.r.a.ping the door frame. He unlocked the arms locker and stuffed his pockets with stunners, grenades, and hand lasers. ”Kirsten, I'm back aboard. Where is Thssthfok?”

”The aux pantry on deck five, I think. That deck is in vacuum, except the pantry. Deck gravity, except in the pantry, is eight gees. I figure that should slow down even him.”

”And you?”

”Shut into the engine room. I put the stepping disc here into standby just before he tried to use it. The send address matched the disc from the fifth-deck pantry.”

Sigmund had stepped to a moving destination without a pilot at the helm! He shuddered, but that was hardly their biggest problem. If Thssthfok understood the discs, he could be anywhere on the s.h.i.+p. Or off off the s.h.i.+p. ”Jeeves-break velocity sync with the ground.” the s.h.i.+p. ”Jeeves-break velocity sync with the ground.”

”Done, Sigmund. Resuming a standard orbit.”

On the ground, Eric and Baedeker were arguing about an instrument calibration. If Thssthfok had gotten below, he was keeping his distance. Sigmund sent Eric a private warning, just in case-and rea.s.surance that Kirsten remained safe.

What else, Sigmund wondered. ”Kirsten, how is the bridge secured?”

”I left the disc there in send-only mode. That's how I got to the engine room. The bridge hatch is locked from inside. Only Jeeves or an oxy-fuel cutting torch is getting us back in there.”

”Jeeves. Any reason to suppose Thssthfok isn't in the pantry?”

”No, but he has bypa.s.sed our sensors before.”

”Good point. Kirsten, are you armed?”

”No, sorry. My priority was securing the bridge and engine room.”

”That was a good call, but now stay where you are. I'm going to check the pantry.”

THE CORRIDOR WAS VACUUM-STILL. Faint noises reached Thssthfok through the ceiling and floor. The pantry had become stuffy, and he bled oxygen from the tank of the unrolled rescue bag that sealed the hatch.

He ran through his options. He could wait here until armed jailors recaptured him. He could venture out, claws versus battle armor, claws doubly useless within a rescue bag. Or- His one viable option was obvious.

THE PANTRY HATCH BULGED SLIGHTLY. It might yet hold pressure. Sigmund switched to the intercom. ”Thssthfok, this is Sigmund. I'm going to open the pantry hatch. Remain where you are. There should be rescue bags inside with you. You have two minutes to get inside one.”

Sigmund stood to the side of the hatch, ready to shoot anyone leaving. Stunners didn't work in a vacuum. He'd tried to send a flash-bang grenade to the pantry, but the stepping disc inside was in send-only mode. That left only the laser he now gripped. ”All right, Thssthfok. Time's up.”

Sigmund released the latch. Air pressure flung open the door, ripping the handle from his grip. A white cloud burst out. Cans, bags, and an empty rescue bag rained to the deck as they cleared the hatch.

No Pak.

Sigmund backed away from the hatchway, lobbing a sealed rescue bag through the opening. After two minutes Sigmund approached cautiously. The pantry was a mess.

As for Thssthfok, there was no sign.

THE LITTLE s.h.i.+P was how Thssthfok remembered it, only messier.

Some of the mess was of Thssthfok's doing. He had emptied a large bag-flour, whatever that was-to carry his supplies. White dust covered him. The far more serious disorder was in the c.o.c.kpit. The command console had been opened and taken half apart! Cable bundles snaked out of the cabinet to tens of instruments and gauges.

Through the canopy, he saw the too-familiar walls of his onetime cell.

Before Thssthfok's latest escape, Eric had been suited up. Thssthfok doubted a mere s.p.a.cesuit offered protection against the nothingness of hypers.p.a.ce. And Sigmund's mysterious demo must take place in normal s.p.a.ce, where the Pak could see it.

The path to freedom was clear.

He flipped over the stepping disc to disable it, then set to work rea.s.sembling the little s.h.i.+p's flight controls.

”THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.” Sigmund broadcast over the intercom and the s.h.i.+p's public channel. If Thssthfok was alive and onboard, he would hear. ”In one minute, I'll open the entire s.h.i.+p to vacuum. Tell us where you are.”

No response.

”Kirsten, are you still suited up?”

”Yes. But, Sigmund ...”

”We don't know what Thssthfok is doing. I'll not put either of us at risk again. He's a lot less dangerous trapped in a rescue bag.”

”Opening the cargo bay means losing Brennan's old singles.h.i.+p, too.”

”It is far too heavy, Kirsten,” Jeeves said. ”I will double gravity in the hold to be sure.”

Sigmund said, ”Jeeves, disable the interior emergency hatches. Open the air locks and the cargo-hold doors.” To Kirsten, he added, ”I have weapons. I'll be outside the engine-room door in a few minutes. Once you're armed, we'll sweep the s.h.i.+p end to end.” And though he took no pride in it, Sigmund half hoped to find Thssthfok dead.

THSSTHFOK WORKED FEVERISHLY, ignoring Sigmund's threat. The little s.h.i.+p had an environmental system and its reservoirs were full.

Strobing red light flooded the canopy and an alarm wailed. The large exterior hatch began to rise and Thssthfok's weight doubled. The little s.h.i.+p's hull rang like a gong under the hail of loose tools and equipment being sucked out into s.p.a.ce.

The hail ended. The audible alarm trailed off to silence.

What the disa.s.sembled console did not tell him, the spliced-in human instruments did. The deuterium tanks were two-thirds full. The drive appeared operational. The radio and comm laser pa.s.sed muster-and at close range, the latter would serve as a weapon. The flight controls were operable, merely exposed for examination. (Well, more than flight controls. Things he did not immediately recognize could be examined later.) And now Sigmund had opened the cargo hold's exterior hatch. That saved Thssthfok the time to bypa.s.s the controls and loss-of-pressure alarms. A touch of the takeoff-and-landing jets would ease him from the cargo bay.

Stars beckoned.