The Aftermath

The big Hawaiian pecked at his console’s keys. “Activating weapon system, sir.”

“I’ll handle the weapons officer duty,” Yuan said. “You’re my backup, Koop.”

“Backup. Right.”

Yuan couldn’t see Koop’s face, but he heard the resignation in his voice. Maybe it was resentment, he thought. The first mate was ordinarily the weapons officer in battle. But Yuan wanted that task for himself. That’s where the fun is. The chase and then the kill.

* * *

Dorn had swung Hunter into a wide turn away from the asteroid. Sitting beside him, Elverda watched the image of the asteroid as their ship’s cameras swiveled to keep it in view. Off in the distance behind the rock she could see the faint gleam of the cluster of bodies floating in the emptiness.

And then a ship rose up from behind the rock, a big vessel that radiated power, purpose, menace.

“I’ll have to increase our acceleration,” Dorn said, a tendril of concern in his voice. “You’d better get to your compartment and into your bunk.”

“I’ll stay here,” Elverda replied, “with you.”

He turned his head to look at her, but said nothing. His prosthetic hand pushed the throttle forward. Elverda sensed nothing at first, but then inexorably the thrust built up and she felt herself sinking into the chair’s liquid-filled cushions.

“We have a chance,” Dorn said, “if we can accelerate quickly enough. He’s starting from a standstill.”

“He was hiding behind the asteroid,” she said, puffing out the words.

“Clever. But we can outrun him.”

“If he’s alone.”

He turned toward her again. “Yes. If he’s alone.”

* * *

Yuan’s two other ships were designated Viking 2 and Viking 3. They were smaller than Viking itself, each crewed by only three people.

Yuan bared his teeth in a feral grin as his main screen showed their quarry’s vector racing away from the asteroid—and toward his other two ships, which were now accelerating to an intercept point on the renegade’s extended track.

The screen was showing a holographic view now, allowing Yuan to see the game in three dimensions. It’s not a game, he told himself. This is real. This is what Humphries is going to pay that bonus for. But he couldn’t help smiling grimly as he watched the three-dimensional view. It’s so simple. I played more complex games when I was a kid. This one’s easy.

“He’s increasing his distance from us,” the navigation officer said. Then she added, “Sir.”

“For the moment,” Yuan murmured. “We’ll catch up with him.”

Tamara said, “Two and three report they’re on course to intercept.

“I can see that,” said Yuan, without taking his eyes from the main screen.

“Do you have any further orders for them?”

Despite his focus on the screen, Yuan noted that Tamara did not address him properly.

“Officer Vishinsky,” he said. “You will use correct military respect when speaking to your captain. Is that understood?”

“Understood, captain,” she replied instantly.

“Good.” The whole crew knows we’re sleeping together, he said to himself. Can’t have them thinking that our sex life gives her any special privileges. Can’t allow discipline to get sloppy.

Glancing at her, he saw that Tamara was sitting rigidly at the comm console, looking neither right nor left. You don’t have to call me captain in bed, he said to her silently. Then he turned his attention back to the game that was unfolding on the main screen.

* * *

“We’re outrunning him,” Elverda said. It came out as a gasp, almost. The acceleration was weighing her down, making her bones ache, her chest almost too heavy to speak.

“Get into a suit,” Dorn said.

“Why? We’re pulling away—”

Dorn raised his arm and pointed. Two new radar images were gleaming on the main screen.

“He isn’t alone,” said Dorn.

“We’re trapped!”

“It looks that way.” But his fingers were playing on the console keys. “I’m cutting our acceleration. Get into a suit, please.”

“What about you?”

“You first.”

Elverda struggled to her feet. The acceleration made her feel heavy, as if her legs were made of lead. But lead wouldn’t hurt so much, she said to herself. She took three steps toward the hatch, then felt a red-hot searing pain flash through her chest. She turned back, groped for the chair and sank into it again.

“I can’t…” she panted.

“If I cut the acceleration much lower they’ll catch up to us in less than an hour.”

“Do what… you need … to do,” Elverda said through teeth gritted by pain.

“Strap in, then.”

She fumbled for the restraint straps from the seat’s back and buckled them across her chest and lap. The pain was getting worse, flaring down her arm now, even along her jaw. Her thoughts swimming, she wondered if the chair’s wheels were locked into their grooves on the deck. I should check that they’re locked. But she could barely move her head.

“They’ll be firing at us soon,” Dorn said. His voice was flat, as unemotional as ice.

Elverda could feel her heart clenching beneath her ribs. How many g’s are we pulling? she asked silently.

The ship rocked. Red warning lights sprang up on the console.

“Good shooting,” Dorn muttered.

Elverda’s vision was blurring. The radar images on the main screen looked like streaks to her, arrows hurtling toward her. It was all going gray and hazy.

Through the fog of agony she saw Dorn turn toward her, the human side of his face twisted with sudden alarm.

As if from a great distance she heard Dorn’s voice: “Cease firing. We have a sick woman on board. She needs immediate medical assistance. We surrender.”

ATTACK SHIP VIKING: BRIDGE

“A sick woman?” Yuan echoed, startled by Dorn’s plea, and shaken even more by the sight of the cyborg’s half-machine face on his main screen.

“It’s a ruse,” said Tamara.

Dorn’s voice, taut with stress, came through the speaker again. “I have Elverda Apacheta with me. I think she’s having a heart attack.”

“He’s slowing down,” the nav officer reported. “Two and three have him boxed in.”