“I’m sorry, Captain, but we wouldn’t get far. Not without some sort of hyperdrive.”
“Maybe we could use the shuttles to hijack one of the ships in orbit,” Lieutenant Farnsworth suggested. “They have hyperdrives.”
“Yes, they do,” the heavily bearded naval offi?cer agreed.
“But a successful hijack attempt would require the element of surprise. And once we steal a couple of shuttles, the Ramanthians would be expecting us to attack the orbiting ships.”
“That’s true,” Nankool said, as he spoke for the fi?rst time. “But what about the Imperator?”
Schell frowned. “She has a hyperdrive,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s true. . . . But what about the space elevator? It’s like a twenty-three-thousand-mile-long anchor chain.”
“Could we cut it?” Santana wanted to know. “Because the bugs wouldn’t expect something like that.”
“No,” Schell replied, as a steadily growing sense of excitement began to grip him. “They sure as hell wouldn’t!
And yes, assuming you have some explosives, we can cut it. Which I would enjoy a great deal.”
“Can we ride the space elevator up?” Farnsworth wanted to know. “Why steal shuttles if we don’t have to?”
“No, the elevator was designed to bring a whole lot of tonnage down to the surface in a short period of time,” the naval offi?cer answered. “But that’s okay. My people can fl?y anything. . . . And that includes Ramanthian shuttles. So, let’s go!”
It was a crazy plan, an insane plan, but anything was better than sitting in the ruins of Camp Enterprise waiting to die. So Santana sent Farnsworth plus a squad of war forms off to the airfi?eld. Two pilots were assigned to go with them—and help secure two Ramanthian shuttles. Once they were gone, the legionnaire worked with the surviving noncoms to organize an evacuation. Most of the sickest POWs had been killed when the dispensary was destroyed, but even the so-called healthy prisoners were weak, and some had been wounded. So the most critical patients were put aboard the RAVs, which could handle two people each, while those like Vanderveen were loaded onto makeshift stretchers. The rest were forced to walk. That meant that the entire column was vulnerable to air attack as the POWs and their would-be rescuers emerged from hiding to walk, limp, and in some cases hop toward the airfi?eld.
It didn’t matter where Santana was. Not at that particular moment, so the offi?cer chose to stay with Vanderveen as a pair of fi?ghters circled the camp and prepared to attack the POWs. So when the diplomat opened her eyes, it was the legionnaire she saw, walking at her side. Santana turned to look down at her, saw that her eyes were open, and took hold of her right hand. That hurt, but Vanderveen didn’t care, as the Ramanthian planes strafed the slowly twisting column.
But there was a price to be paid for attacking the war forms, as one of the Ramanthian pilots found out when a heat-seeking missile entered his port air intake and exploded. The fi?ghter came apart in midair, was consumed by an orange-red fi?reball, and transformed into metal confetti. Santana saw spurts of dust shoot up as pieces of debris landed around them and gave silent thanks as the badly mauled column made its way out onto the tarmac. “Pick up the pace!” he shouted. “Get in among those shuttles before the fi?ghters make another run!” There were four atmosphere-scarred shuttles parked next to the airstrip, and it was the legionnaire’s hope that the Ramanthian pilots would be reluctant to fi?re on them. The POWs responded as best they could, and the occasional rattle of gunfi?re was heard as Farnsworth and his detachment continued to mop up what remained of the airfi?eld’s security detail.
It wasn’t long before the cavalry offi?cer spotted Watkins and went over to kneel beside the body. The cyborg was lying on his back, staring sightlessly up at the sun, with a blue-edged hole between his eyes. Tragg, Santana thought to himself. The bastard is alive.
And as if to prove the offi?cer’s conclusion, there was a sudden burst of gunfi?re as one of the previously quiescent shuttles suddenly came to life and lifted off its skids. The copilot’s saddle-style seat was too uncomfortable to sit on, so Tragg had been forced to crouch next to the Ramanthian pilot. He aimed the gun at the bug’s head as a hail of bullets fl?attened themselves against the fuselage. “If I die, then you die, asshole. So get me out of here.”
Having seen his copilot gunned down in cold blood, the alien took the threat seriously and applied additional power. Thrusters roared as the shuttle gained speed and took to the air. The hard part was over, or so it seemed to Tragg, as Jericho’s surface fell away. Thraki ships were in orbit, or so he assumed, and the furballs would do just about anything for money. And, thanks to the heavy money belt strapped around the renegade’s waist, he could afford to pay. It was chancy, but Tragg was a gambler and always willing to place a bet. Especially on himself.
18
Never give up hope! Because when all seems lost, a hero will appear, and lead the way.
A Book of Visions
PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Dark gray smoke billowed up from what had been Camp Enterprise, a muffl?ed explosion was heard as fl?ames found their way into the armory, and engines screamed as a shuttle clawed its way into the sky. Santana had no way to know who was aboard, but assumed some of the Ramanthians were making a run for it, and he swore bitterly. Because the combined force of rescuers and POWs were going to require two shuttles, and only two remained. “Speak to me, Bravo Six,” the offi?cer said into his lip mike. “And tell me that the rest of those ships are secure. Over.”
“Roger that,” Lieutenant Farnsworth replied. “We weren’t able to capture any Ramanthian pilots—but the swabbies claim they can fl?y these things. Over.”
“I sure hope they’re right,” Santana responded, as the tail end of the column passed by. “It’s my guess that the fi?ghters will receive permission to fi?re on the shuttles any moment now, so load them quickly. Over.”
