force of sailors and legionnaires from the loss of Ship 2 and focus their minds on the task ahead. “Okay,” Santana said. “If you don’t have a weapon, and you’re healthy enough to fi?ght, then draw one from Sergeant Ibo-Da. And remember . . . There are some very good reasons why boarding parties rarely use projectile weapons. Like the possibility that you might destroy the very thing that you’re trying to capture. So be careful with those slug throwers.
“Once we put down inside the landing bay, the T-2s will exit fi?rst,” Santana continued. “Sergeant Fox and Private Urulu will neutralize whatever kind of reception party the bugs have waiting for us. Commander Schell, if you would be so kind as to supply some qualifi?ed people to blow that space elevator, you can count on Sergeant Snyder and Private Ichiyama to get them there.”
“No problem,” the naval offi?cer said approvingly. “However, I suggest that the demolition team avoid fi?refi? ghts, and go straight to the space elevator.”
“Roger that,” Santana agreed. “Once the landing bay is secured, the rest of us will head for the control room. And it would be a good idea to keep our pilots out of the fi?ghting unless you’d like to walk home. Does anyone have questions?”
“Yes, sir,” Shootstraight put in. “How are we going to get off this tub without pressure suits?”
It was an obvious problem, or should have been, except that the legionnaire hadn’t thought of it. Fortunately, Schell was there to fi?eld the question. “Rather than blastproof doors, the Imperator’s launch bay is protected by a permeable force fi?eld. So the landing area will be pressurized. Unless they have the means to bring the ship’s overshields back online that is. . . . In which case we are in deep trouble.”
“Aren’t you glad you asked?” Bozakov inquired, as he slapped a fully loaded mag into his assault rifl?e. That produced some very welcome laughter, for which Santana was grateful, as the shuttle began to close with the ancient dreadnaught.
Confi?dent that preparations were under way, the cavalry offi?cer went back to check on Vanderveen. All of the naval personnel were better at zero-gee maneuvers than the soldier was, but by being careful never to release one knob-style pincer-hold before securing the next, Santana managed to pull himself back toward the stern without coming adrift.
Having received some pain tabs and antibiotics from the legionnaires, not to mention plenty of water to wash them down with, Vanderveen was feeling better by then. So when Santana arrived, he found the diplomat working side by side with a navy med tech to prepare for the likelihood of additional casualties. One of the RAVs had been taken aboard, and with some help from the diplomat, the supply-starved corpsman was in the process of looting it.
“Isn’t this the same woman I found nailed to a cross?” the cavalry offi?cer wanted to know.
“It is,” Vanderveen admitted. “But that was then—and this is now. One of the navy docs looked me over and says I’ll be fi?ne. . . . Assuming nobody shoots me.”
“I want you to stay on the shuttle until the fi?ghting is over,” Santana said sternly.
“Or what?” the diplomat wanted to know.
Santana recognized the same defi?ant look he had fi?rst seen on the planet LaNor. He smiled sweetly. “Or I’ll tell your mother and let her deal with you.”
Vanderveen laughed, the shuttle slowed, and Tanaka’s voice came over the intercom. “We’re sixty seconds out—
prepare for landing. And remember, there’s a good chance that the Imperator’s argrav generators are still running, so prepare for the sudden restoration of gravity.”
“Be careful,” Vanderveen said softly, as she looked up into Santana’s eyes. “We have some unfi?nished business to take care of.”
“Yes,” Santana agreed solemnly. “We certainly do.”
ABOARD THE RAMANTHIAN DREADNAUGHT
As seen from the Imperator’s enormous fl?ight deck, the permeable force fi?eld looked like a blue whirlpool. It rotated from left to right and crackled as it spun. The movement could have a mesmerizing effect if viewed for too long. Which was why File Leader Sith Howar was careful to look away from time to time in spite of the fact that a shuttleload of alien escapees might arrive at any moment. The whole affair had been handled badly. That was Howar’s opinion. First, his superiors mistakenly assumed that the animals would attempt a rendezvous with a Confederacy relief force. Then, when the enemy ships failed to materialize, the higher-ups assumed the escapees would attempt to board one of the merchant vessels and positioned all of the available fi?ghters to block such an effort. Finally, when it became clear that the humans were headed for the Imperator, the eggless incompetents dumped the whole mess on him. “You will defend the space elevator to the very last trooper.” Those were his orders—and there was no mention of reinforcements.
Still, having become acquainted with the slaves during the time they’d been aboard the warship, Howar was confi?dent of his ability to eradicate the aliens. The accomplishment would hasten both his promotion and the point at which he could transfer to a more civilized world. Such were the Ramanthian’s thoughts as the incoming shuttle nosed its way in through the center of the whirling force fi?eld and immediately put down on the durasteel deck. The boxy vessel was already taking small-arms fi?re by then, but nothing too powerful, lest the defenders inadvertently damage the dreadnaught’s hull.
Still, one of the crew-served energy projectors was able to score a direct hit on a landing skid. That caused the vessel to slump sideways but in no way impeded the ramp, which was in the process of being lowered when four T-2s jumped down onto the blast-scarred deck.
File Leader Howar had heard about human cyborgs, and even fought some of them via virtual-reality training scenarios, but never actually confronted one. So when four of the exotic creatures appeared, and opened fi?re with their arm-mounted weapons, the offi?cer was shocked by the sheer violence of the attack. The fi?re from more than two dozen assault weapons served to slow the cyborgs but in no way damaged them, as the legionnaires began to advance. Howar fi?nally found his voice as bolts of coherent energy scored direct hits on the same crew-served energy weapon the Ramanthian was counting on to stop the alien monstrosities. “Take cover!” he shouted unnecessarily, and hurried to obey his own order.
Meanwhile, confi?dent that the other cyborgs had the situation under control, Snyder and Ichiyama took off at a trot. Each T-2 carried a gunner’s mate plus enough explosives to sever the twenty-three-thousand-mile-long space elevator. Something they needed to accomplish quickly before bug reinforcements arrived on the Imperator. A possibility that, though not apparent to Howar, was crystal clear to his most senior noncom, an irascible veteran
