broken Jovian from him. He spun and might have slain Omi.
But Marten had been waiting for something like that. As the myrmidon whirled, Marten pushed himself leg-first at the killer. He wrapped around the myrmidon’s torso as the killer struck Omi a devastating blow. Marten forewent style and knife-fighting theory. With two hands, he plunged the heavy blade into the myrmidon’s back. The myrmidon snarled, trying to twist around. Instead, he merely rotated Marten and himself as Marten yanked out the blade and plunged it in again. He did it a third time, hacking at the squat neck. It was like trying to cut gristle.
The myrmidon grabbed Marten’s foot and twisted. Marten bellowed, and he stabbed into the killer’s back. He rotated the blade, probing for a vital organ.
The myrmidon sagged as blood pumped from him. The door at the end of the room swung open then. The second myrmidon appeared, with only a cloth around his waist.
“Flee!” Marten gasped.
Omi’s face was puffy, with one of his eyes swollen shut. All three Jovians floated in the room, either dead or unconscious.
The myrmidon snarled as his muscles bunched. Omi shot out of the first door. Marten followed. In less than a second, each braced himself against the junction of floor and wall.
“Now!” shouted Marten.
Omi clicked his device, the one linked to Yakov. As the myrmidon hurtled after them, the ship’s engines engaged with terrific thrust. It brought pseudo-gravity to the ship. As before, it quit in three seconds.
Marten and Omi shot back into the chamber. The squat killer had hit his head against a bulkhead. He was dazed, but far from out.
Marten and Omi attacked. In a savage brawl lasting fifteen seconds, they took horrible buffets. In return, they killed the second myrmidon.
“We can’t stop now,” panted Marten, as he drew his knife out of the inert corpse.
Omi spit a globule of blood that wobbled in the weightlessness. His face was horribly bruised, and he could barely peer out of the least swollen eye. One of his arms dangled because the myrmidon had yanked it out of the socket.
“Wait,” Omi whispered. He let go of the bloody knife so it floated. Then he grabbed his arm, clenched his teeth and shoved his shoulder into place. He groaned, but instead of complaining, he grabbed the knife and nodded to indicate he was ready.
Marten’s ribs ached and he could hardly move his head because his neck hurt.
“Octagon has our needlers, right?” Omi asked.
Marten grunted a monosyllable answer.
They floated out of the chamber and toward Octagon’s room.
Marten was surprised Octagon hadn’t come charging to help his myrmidons. The Arbiter either believed they could handle the situation or he was too frightened by the ship’s sudden acceleration and Yakov’s warning that further maneuvering would take place.
“He can kill us both in seconds with that gun,” Omi whispered.
Marten reversed his grip, holding the point. During shock trooper training, he’d gained some efficiency hurling knives.
Omi tensed as he used the override unit. The door swished open. Each stood to the side. They glanced at each other across the open door, showing their surprise. Octagon should have fired warning shots.
Marten steeled his nerves and glanced into the room. He would only throw after assessing the situation. He laughed.
Octagon floated unconscious. Either the first or the second surprise thrust had rendered him helpless.
Marten rushed in, keeping his knife ready, in case Octagon was trying to fake them. He tore a Gauss needler from a holster at Octagon’s side—it was his own gun from the Mars System. Marten checked the charge. It was fully loaded. Too bad they hadn’t hit Octagon’s room first. Three Jovians would still be alive then.
The Arbiter groaned.
“Close the door,” Marten said.
As Omi hurried to comply, Marten searched the Arbiter, extracting what could possibly be dangerous devices. Then a thought struck.
“Hurry to the myrmidons,” he told Omi. “Search their uniforms for any hidden devices.”
“What sort of devices?”
“Something keeps hammer-guns from firing. If we can find those and put them on ourselves—”
“Right,” Omi said. He headed out.
Marten kept searching. He found a gray disk attached to the Arbiter’s stomach. Marten peeled it off.
Omi returned shortly, holding two similar gray disks.
“Was it on their stomachs?” Marten asked.
Omi nodded.
Marten ripped open drawers. He found Omi’s needler and a hammer-gun. “Take this,” he said, giving Omi the hammer-gun. “Then put a disk on a dead myrmidon and see if the gun shoots or not.”
“Does it shoot now?” Omi asked.
Marten aimed it at a bulkhead and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked in his hand as a heavy pellet dented the wall.
“It works,” Marten said.
Omi took it and hurried out again.
Marten continued to search the Arbiter’s desk. He discovered a monitor-board that showed areas of the ship. He moved toggles and heard voices from those areas. This was a spy-board.
Omi returned, with a grin on his puffy, bruised face. “I attached the disk to a corpse, aimed and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I backed up and tried it again. Again nothing. Then I aimed at the other corpse and put a hole in him. These work. Or they make it so the hammer-guns don’t work.”
“Put one on,” Marten said, as he attached a disk to his stomach. “We’ll give Osadar the last one.”
“She’s still in the cell.”
“We’re breaking her out.”
“Your new friends aren’t going to like that,” Omi said.
“Yakov will stay happy,” Marten said. “We’ll remove Tan and give him control of his own ship.”
“He might turn on us after we give him what he wants.”
Marten pondered that. This desk, this room, might contain more surprises. “Okay. You have a point. This is going to be our headquarters. One of us must always be here, monitoring the crew.” Marten explained what he’d discovered.
“Got it,” Omi said. “What do we do with him?”
Marten studied the unconscious Arbiter. “Tie him tight like a hostage. Then figure out this desk better, particularly the audio-feeds throughout the ship. I’ll get Osadar.”
“You’d better hurry.”
“I know. Surprise and speed are two of a soldier’s best weapons. I was listening that day.” Marten headed for the hall.
-12-
Marten steeled his resolve as he floated ahead of Osadar. He would have liked to talk with Tan, get to know her better as he studied her exotic features. The woman stirred him. Was that because he had been cooped up with Osadar and Omi for nearly a year? Or was it because he genuinely found the Strategist exciting?
Tan made muffled, protesting sounds.
Marten scowled. Was he doing the right thing?
Osadar cradled Tan like a small child, with a titanium hand clamped over the woman’s pretty mouth. Osadar had proven faster than the Strategist, who had tried to draw her shiny rod as they’d entered her quarters. Now
