The Final Battle

“One last thing,” Horda said, “is a code word to make sure I’m not being forced to do this-” He chuckled as his fingers flashed over the keypad. “-which of course I’m not. There, done.” He stepped back. “The Matrix Starlight is all yours.”

“It better be,” Michael said, grim-faced.

“Relax. I could have screwed you, but I didn’t, so let’s move on. I suspect you’ve got a lot to do and not much time to do it in, so let’s see what we can do to help.”

Thursday, June 24, 2404, UD

Brooks Reef

The man’s face loomed large on Captain Horda’s holovid screen. The bridge filled with the flattened vowels of a native-born Hammer. “Scobie’s World mership Matrix Starlight, this is Hammer Warship Sapphire of Kraa. Chop vidcomm channel 67. Over.”

“Sapphire of Kraa, Matrix Starlight. Going to 67. Out.”

There was a short pause before the Hammer officer’s face reappeared. Tucked safely out of view, Michael held his breath. The Hammers had no right to stop and search the Starlight, but they might. They had never worried too much about the niceties of international law.

“Matrix Starlight, Sapphire of Kraa. Transmit ship ID and flight plan on datacomm 441, over.”

“Starlight, roger, stand by … Okay, Sapphire of Kraa; you should have it now.”

“Confirmed, stand by … You are cleared for transit, Starlight. Be advised that any deviation from your flight plan will result in the use of deadly force without warning.”

“Matrix Starlight, acknowledged. Out.”

Horda cut the link without any of the usual niceties. He sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. “Assholes,” he muttered. “Okay, Michael, you can come out now. We’ll comm Matrix about the instability in the pinchspace generators once we’ve cleared the reef. It’s in our house code, so the Hammers won’t take long to crack it, but we’ll be in pinchspace by then.”

“Good. There’s nothing I can do here, so I’ll be down in the cargo bay if you need me.”

“I’ll be here.”

Michael left Horda to ease the Starlight into the queue of traffic waiting to cross Brooks Reef, a slash through the fabric of space-time hundreds of light-years across but less than half a million kilometers deep, a gravitational anomaly that no ship could transit in pinchspace and survive.

The cargo bay was a hive of activity. Helped by the first mate and the chief engineer, Shinoda and her marines were cutting the Starlight apart, the pieces pushed into towering heaps around the massive cargo bay door. Michael nodded his approval. If the Hammers were to be distracted long enough for him and his marines to survive, the more debris the better. He beckoned Shinoda over.

“This looks good.”

Shinoda looked around. She nodded. “You said you wanted 500 cubic meters of junk, so we’re got a ways to go yet, but we’ll get there.”

“I’m still worried about getting a decent spread. All that stuff is no good if it stays in one big clump.”

“I know,” Shinoda said. “Fifty kilos of plastic explosive would have come in handy.”

“Yeah, it would. I think I need to talk to Marty again.”

“You do that. I’ve got a ship to shred.”

Michael waited for Marty to finish. With exemplary forbearance, the chief engineer was busy explaining to Marine Prodi why using a laser cutter in close proximity to a high-pressure hydraulic system was a bad thing. Laser cutter … hydraulics; an idea popped into his head. That might do it, he thought.

When Marty had satisfied himself that they weren’t all about to be killed, Michael took him to one side.

“What pressure do you keep the ship’s atmosphere at, chief?”

“A bit under three-quarters of normal atmospheric pressure.”

“What’s the hull rated to?”

“Ah, now there’s a question.” Starlight’s chief engineer thought for a minute. “Test pressure is two atmospheres,” he went on, “but she’s designed to cope with three, though I think that’s optimistic given her age.”

“And can you boost the pressure in just one compartment, say, this one?”

“Sure.”

“And the cargo bay door will still open despite that overpressure?”

“All our doors and hatches have to. It’s a safety requirement.”

“Is your hydraulic fluid flammable?”

“Of course it is,” Marty snapped. “You think those penny-pinching management assholes would let me buy the good stuff?”

“How much oxygen do you carry?”

“Oxygen?” By now Marty looked completely baffled. “Um, let me see … We have reserves of 4,000 cubic meters in cryogenic tanks. That’s at one atmosphere, of course.”

“Sounds like a lot.”

“It is, but we’re certificated to carry eight crew and forty passengers. We have to be able to keep them alive for three weeks if we have problems with our carbon dioxide scrubbers.”

“So if you wanted to fill this cargo bay with oxygen, you could do that?”

“So many questions. I hope you’ll tell me what the hell you’re talking about, Mister Helfort.”

“Sorry, chief, I will. Just bear with me.”

Marty sighed and shook his head. “Let me think … not completely, but near enough. The only problem is that you’d have a huge-” The chief engineer stopped as realization dawned. “I see what you’re getting at,” he said. “Leave it to me. I think I need to do a few calculations.”

Shinoda came over to where Michael stood. “We’ve missed something, sir. Kalkuz. He’s no fool. Asking him about the backup protocols would have told him that Horda helped us.”

“Damn,” Michael said. “I didn’t think … and if DocSec get their hands on Kalkuz-and they will-Horda’s as good as dead.”

“Along with the rest of the crew.”

Michael nodded. He felt sick. “No need to ask what I have to do.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“My fault. I should have thought things through before I got you to talk to Kalkuz. Leave it to me. I need to talk to Horda.”

Friday, June 25, 2404, UD

Deepspace

Horda sat and stared at the holovid screen. He looked worried; a finger tapped out his concern on the tabletop. “The Starlight is not one of your fancy warships,” he said after a while. “You do know that?”

“Of course I do,” Michael replied; he looked equally troubled. “All I ask is that you get the best you can out of your ship.”

“I’ll do my best, but will it be enough? I don’t believe in committing suicide.”

“I don’t either, but we have to try. There’s too much at stake.”

“So you keep telling me,” Horda muttered, scowling, “even though you won’t tell me exactly why you have to get back to Commitment in such a hurry.”

Michael bit his lip in frustration. “Can you drop the Starlight where I want it or not?” he asked.

“What if I can’t?”

Michael stared at Horda for a long time. “If you can’t,” he said at last, “then we’re screwed and you know it,