Hadeishi crouched at the junction between the shipcore and an access way to the main passenger airlock, morbidly amused to stand no more than a meter from where he’d been marched out in chains no more than an hour earlier. This time the roundabout was empty-all of the bodies had been dragged away and the Khaid marines were gone. Cautious, Mitsuharu held a small mirror mounted on a telescoping handle around the corner, looking for the expected guards. The airlock itself was open, but no one seemed to be in the gangway leading to the Qalak. There must be someone just out of sight on the other side…
Wary of showing himself in the crossroads, Mitsuharu backtracked to the nearest door and slipped inside. The room was one of a set ringing the top of the shipcore and seemed to be sleeping quarters for four. On the far side was a sliding doorway leading into a shared bathroom. Hadeishi wasted no time in passing through, giving the fresher a quick once-over-no weapons or tools-and then easing open the doorway to the second bunkroom.
Here he found the bodies from the roundabout and bridge. They were thrown in a heap-and the tik-tik-tik of the shipbugs was loud enough to hear through his helmet. Suppressing an urge to vomit, Mitsuharu kept to the edge of the room and made a quick exit out the far door.
Breathing fast, Hadeishi forced himself to stop-now he was in a short corridor leading back to the roundabout-and he was suddenly afraid he’d walked out in full view of any Khaiden camera pointing down the gangway between the two ships. Luckily, the corridor was not in line with the airlock itself. Breathing a sigh of relief, he ducked across to the other side of the passage and was about to chance angling back to the crossroads to get to the bridge itself when he realized that the thick trail of blood and offal leading into the charnel room had a companion. Not much more than a scrape of blood here and there, but a clear sign that someone had come out of the slaughterhouse-crawled across the corridor on hands and knees-and through a door at the end of the passage.
Well now, they missed someone on their sweep. He followed the trail down a short maintenance passage filled with racked air filtration membranes and into a space holding the plumbing risers for the bathrooms.
The blood trail led into an opening beneath the gray water return. Taking a risk, Mitsuharu cracked open his z-suit helmet, set down the pry bar, and then knelt on the deck, peering under the pipes.
The dim glow of his helmet lamp glittered back from a pair of pale gray eyes.
An elderly, silver-haired woman was squeezed in among the plumbing, her jumpsuit caked with blood, her face gashed open. Now he could hear her labored breathing and see the muzzle of an automatic-a Webley Bulldog, from what he could see-pointed in his general direction.
“ Sencho,” he said quietly, recognizing the rank tabs on her collar. “I’d better get you out of there.”
An hour later, on the bridge, Captain De Molay was lying back on the pilot’s shockchair, her face bandaged and a mug of instant kaffe clutched in hands shining with antibiotic biogel. She looked only marginally better and her breathing was still hoarse. Hadeishi was sitting at the captain’s panel, carefully paging through the onboard cameras, a long machete-like knife close by his hand, and two different earbugs inserted. The Wilful ’s systems were more of a hodgepodge than he’d believed, but on-board power was up, the transit coil was spun down to a low idle, reactors were cooking, and every kind of weapon on the ship had been gathered up by the Khaid and hauled away.
Well, he thought, almost everything. He patted the machete.
“You’re our new engineer’s mate then,” De Molay wheezed, trying not to cough. “Azulcay said you were showing some promise.”
“Kind of him,” Mitsuharu replied, glancing over at the main hatchway. The door was locked and barred, though he knew there was a shipbug swarm busily cleaning up the blood sprayed across the floor and walls outside. The thought still turned his stomach. “Are there any explosives on board? Grenades?”
“If the bastards didn’t take it,” she coughed, pointing at the bridge gun locker-whose door was hanging open, the locks sprung. “There might be some blasting putty in there. I keep some on hand when we have to clear a landing zone.”
Hadeishi nodded, distracted by a faint tremor suddenly running through the floor and making his fingertips buzz on the control panes. He checked the exterior camera feeds, and saw the Qalak ’s shipskin was deforming. The forests of radiating fins were drawing inward, while the destroyer’s transit drive foils were unwinding.
“She’s prepping to jump and take us with her. Finish that kaffe, kyo, we’re going to have to move.”
“Move where?” De Molay managed to lift her mug and drain the rest of the sludge. “Two poor pilgrims are we, with only one tired horse-not even one we can fly out of here!”
“No, not yet.” Hadeishi rummaged quickly through the gun locker-twice looted between the Wilful ’s crew and the Khaid-and came up with a half-used cylinder of grayish putty, no more than a finger in length. “No triggers?”
“Not in there, child.” De Molay attempted a smile, which made her cheek twinge. “Stowage bin beside the captain’s chair, the one with the broken lock.”
“Ah.” Hadeishi fished out three putty triggers, one of which was a remote-controlled detonator. “Domo arigato.” The triggers went into one pocket, the putty into another.
On the camera pane pointing down the gangway into the Qalak there was sudden motion. Mitsuharu leaned over, caught sight of four Khaid in z-suits strolling across the gangway, and motioned to De Molay. “Time to go, Sencho-sana.”
Moments later, with the bridge hatch propped open once more, Hadeishi was climbing down a service tube running between the decks, with Captain De Molay clinging to his shoulders. The old woman was light enough to carry, but no burden he wanted to freight for hours. A clumsy set of straps tied them together, and he could do no better with the time allowed.
He could feel, from the vibration of the ship, that the Wilful was underway, though her engines were still cold. Hadeishi assumed the Qalak was accelerating away from the ambush point and spinning up gradient. Hadeishi was hoping to find somewhere for them both to hole up before The dim lights in the shaft flickered-his stomach sprang up, reversed, and crawled back down his throat. De Molay groaned, her abdomen clenching in protest. She gagged, but managed to choke down the vomit.
“We’re away,” Mitsuharu said, when he felt steady enough to resume climbing down. “And who can tell where we’re heading?”
“I can,” De Molay wheezed, “if we can get access to a control panel in engineering.”
“ Hai, kyo. At our first opportunity.” They reached a junction between decks and Hadeishi struggled to step off the ladder and onto the service door landing. De Molay had to help, grasping at a stanchion with her weak hands, while he navigated the corner. Then Mitsuharu keyed through the door and saw they had descended far enough to reach the lower cargo deck.
“Wait here, kyo,” he muttered, setting her down. “I need to set some insurance.”
Back in the maintenance shaft, he tore open a series of access panels until he found an orange-colored conduit the thickness of his wrist. Gingerly-who knew how stable the substance was!-he tacked the blasting putty behind the communications main and then wedged the remote detonator into place. Working his way back to the corridor, he closed and locked the entrance to the shaft and then checked the detonator relay.
Cupped in his hand, the status light shone a pale green.
“What did you mine?” De Molay asked, peering up at him from the floor. She was still too weak to stand.
“Main shipnet relay from the bridge to down below, kyo.”
“And how did you know it was there?” She was frowning, and had the old woman her full strength, her expression would have been formidable.
Hadeishi shrugged. “ Sencho, I have many bad habits.”
Slinging her on his back again, Mitsuharu set off for his old quarters behind the fuel tanks.
