‘Your Marines are with you?’
Price nodded.
‘Fine,’ Samson said. ‘You’re the expert in this stuff, so I’ll defer to you on the operational side, but if we can do it without killing anyone…’
Price gave a thin-lipped grimace. ‘It’s about taking back the ship, sir. Everything else comes second.’
‘I understand that,’ Samson said, ‘but when it comes to it, we might need them if we hope to get the ship to the depot safely. Harper is the only signals officer, so we’ll need her to make the Nexus transmission when we get back to the depot.’
‘I’ll do my best, but if it’s a question of them or us, it’ll be them every time.’
‘Agreed,’ Samson said, a sick feeling settling in his stomach.
‘We’ll hit hard and fast, and I’ve given Lieutenant Harper no reason to think I’m not with her. If they’re surprised, chances are there won’t be any resistance. We’ll pop a couple of stun grenades into the bridge. With a bit of luck their reaction won’t be to start shooting off rounds and we’ll have them restrained before they know what’s what.’
Samson nodded. Stun grenades might mean he could regain control with no loss of life. He wondered what it said about him that he didn’t have the natural killer instinct usually expected of officers dealing with mutiny. Perhaps it was the unique nature of their situation. Perhaps it was the fact he wasn’t entirely convinced his course of action was the correct one. Either way, it was no time to entertain notions of self-doubt.
‘When will you be ready to go?’ Samson said.
‘As soon as you give the word.’
‘Go.’
Price’s two Marines were waiting for them in the corridor, dressed once more in their boarding suits. While it was only to be expected, there was something about the sight of them dressed this way that sent a chill over Samson’s skin. Marines were scary. Marines in boarding suits were truly terrifying.
‘We’ve secured Mister Vachon, Sergeant,’ Corporal Féng said.
Samson wasn’t sure how to take the knowledge that Price had ordered one of the mutineers to be restrained before consulting him, but he supposed it was little different to having knocked out a guard at the door to gain access to him.
‘Breach and stun,’ Price said.
Féng and Smit nodded and started to advance down the corridor at a slow jog with their carbines levelled and ready to fire. Samson found himself praying that no one chose that moment to leave the bridge and visit the head. There would be no stun grenades for them. Price held out his hand to indicate Samson should remain where he was, and followed. They formed up at the door much as they had when they’d first boarded the ship.
There were muted calls of ‘ready’, then one of the Marines hit the door release. It opened far more smoothly than it had the first time, Kushnir’s application of soap and fresh grease showing some dividends. Samson didn’t see the stun grenades thrown, but he heard their clinking on the metal floor panels. Then there was a blinding flash from the hatch and, an instant later, a concussive bang that rattled Samson’s ears even at his distance, making him regret not having had time to don his own boarding suit.
The Marines advanced onto the bridge, shouting in their aggressive Marine way as they went. He realised he was holding his breath as he listened out for gunshots above the ringing in his ears from the grenade. He could easily imagine how much more debilitating their effects were up close. With luck, no one would die.
Price appeared out of the door a moment later, easy to identify even in his boarding suit by the way he walked long before his rank flashes and nameplate were distinguishable.
‘The bridge is yours, sir,’ he said. ‘No casualties.’
Samson breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Confine and separate the prisoners. I’m going to need to talk with them at the first opportunity.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Samson went up to the bridge, where a dazed Harper and Kushnir were being put into restraints. He would have given them both a withering look, but he didn’t reckon either of them were capable of recognising it. Now that order was restored, his confused emotions had crystallised into anger. However, it was difficult to wish immediate punishment on the pathetic specimens before him. Kushnir had thrown up on himself, and Harper looked like she might not be far behind. Price relayed the orders, and they went about carrying them out, leaving Samson alone on the bridge once more, this time accompanied by the faint smell of vomit.
His first act was to check how far Harper had progressed with her plans. They were stationary and the power plant had been idled back, but it was still running. She had been careful—procedure again—and been in the process of doing it slowly. He’d have to be equally slow and careful powering up to the level where it could produce plasma for thrust. Only then would they be able to get underway again. He hesitated before inputting the command—he’d have been much happier with Vachon down in the engineering bay keeping an eye on things. As it was, Samson was getting a taste of what it had been like for Arlen running the ship on his own. It was little wonder the Bounty was in such a state of squalor.
As he sat in the command chair thinking through the steps of what lay ahead, he knew he couldn’t do it alone. Price and his Marines were no use for running the ship—that wasn’t their area. He needed sailors. Specifically, an engineer and a signals officer. Kushnir was a useful pair of hands to have, but he was just a rating, and one of the Marines could do most of his tasks. Samson was well within his rights to push him out the nearest airlock, and he couldn’t deny he was tempted to do just that.
