Awfully lucky.
"Ambassador. . .?"
"Yes?" croaked Hawkes, opening his eyes again. He listened to the harsh sound of his voice—realized he was more tired than he thought. "What?"
"Better get ready to signal the bridge. I think I've found what we need."
Hawkes pulled the hand-link from where he had stuffed it inside his sash. Unwrapping the length of fabric, he used it to wipe the drying sweat away from his face and neck. As he did, Jarolic called out again, "These old ships, they have conduits for taking on and discharging liquids from the big station globes. I'm betting we can flush a big enough drop at one time to get the effect we're hoping for."
"How is it you know about this kind of thing?"
"In my line of work, you pick up a lot of facts about moving water around."
Hawkes opened a line of communication to the bridge. Swelver answered immediately, letting him know that the fighter bay had taken heavy casualties, but that they were ready to follow through. "Just tell us when, sir."
The ambassador called out to Jarolic, asking, "How much longer?"
Up above, trying to familiarize himself with the dump controls, the environmentalist continued working as he shouted back, "One minute . . . five, maybe. I know that's not very precise, but I can't be sure. . . ."
And then Hawkes heard the scuffling out in the hall. Instantly he reached for his blade. His arm moved slowly. It was stiff—sore. Tired. Closing his fingers loosely around the hilt, he withdrew the weapon, pulling it to the ready. His sash and hand-link in his other hand, he told Swelver, "It could be any time—keep watch. We've got com—"
Hawkes jumped backward as three pirates entered the room. Each of them was armed and ready. His sword came up just in time to knock back the charged staff of the closest one.
"Get him!" ordered the one in the rear. "This has been too much for too little. Kill him, and let's get this X'd and off!"
The narrow confines of the hall gave the ambassador a small advantage. As long as he could hold the three back, he would have a chance. However, if the pirates could force him back the few yards to the main chamber where Jarolic was working, they would have him.
Forcing away his fatigue, Hawkes turned himself sideways, presenting as thin a target as possible. His sword extended, he fenced with the staff wielder as best he could. It was not the best way for the staffman to use his weapon, but it did extend his reach over the ambassador's, and it was the only way he could manipulate the long weapon in the narrow hall.
The two parried with each other twice more, twice again. The charged staff crackled with power. Several times Hawkes tried to slip his blade past the pirate's defenses, but he could not break the man's stabbing pattern. Worse than that, each exchange forced the ambassador to take a backward step. The staffman was herding him, using his longer reach to push Hawkes back into the larger room.
"You'd better hurry," the ambassador shouted over his shoulder.
"I'm almost there," answered Jarolic desperately. "You've got to keep them back a few more minutes."
"It might not be up to me," Hawkes told him truthfully.
The staffman grinned and spun his weapon. Hawkes lashed out in both directions, knocking the charged rod against one wall and then the other. The pirate, younger and possessing the advantage, pressed it again, bringing his weapon back from the wall before the ambassador could reach him with his blade.
A drop of sweat fell from Hawkes's hair, rolling down his forehead and dropping into his eye. He blinked it away, fury and desperation flooding his mind. And then, suddenly, the drop reminded him of his sash, still hanging from his bracing hand tucked behind his back.
Instantly he whipped it around and up into the air, aiming it at the end of the staffman's weapon. The wet end of the sash snagged the rod and clung to it. The pirate lifted his weapon desperately to break the connection.
Hawkes let his end go, never intending to try and break the staff man's grip. Instead he lunged forward, stabbing the pirate directly through the heart.
Blood sluiced out of the invader's body and into his shock armor through the breach made by the ambassador's weapon. The protective panel shorted instantly, sending a rush of power through both the pirate's and Hawkes's body. The ambassador was flung in one direction, the invader in the other. Hawkes landed badly at the very edge of the larger room. The pirate was thrown into his two mates.
The pair of invaders brushed their dying companion aside and started forward for Hawkes. Stunned for the second time during the battle, the ambassador had yet to regain his feet. The armor shock had not been nearly as severe as the staff jolt he had taken earlier, but combined with his fatigue, it was almost enough to render him unconscious.
"You've been a lot of trouble, Mr. Hawkes," said the closest of the two advancing invaders.
"Now, that he has," agreed the one in the rear. "Far too much."
"But," said the first, ignoring his partner—his eyes carefully watching Hawkes, "your head is worth a great deal of bank to me and me mate here . . . so you won't mind if we just gather it and then take our leave."
The ambassador could not answer. Gasping for air he could not keep in his lungs, shaking spasmodically, he could barely keep his knees together under him. His sword hand was flat against the floor. Hawkes knew if he moved it he would only fall over.
The ambassador fought for control of his muscles. He willed his damaged nervous system to respond, to fight back, to defend him before everyone who had died ended up having died in vain. With all the energy
