Grant saw them, faint and fuzzy at this distance. But the scene made a dreadful kind of sense to him.
“They’re chasing him!” Grant yelped. “The smaller ones are chasing the big one.”
“The
“Predators,” said Krebs. “Archer is right. They are chasing the whale. We’re seeing a hunt in progress.”
“What can we do?” O’Hara asked.
“Get closer,” Krebs snapped.
“Closer?”
“Yes! Before it runs away from us.”
The thrusters were running at full power, straining to cut across the Jovian’s path and close the gap between them. Grant felt as if he were running a marathon; every muscle in his body ached.
“It’s going too fast,” O’Hara shouted. “We’ll never catch up with it.”
Tapping into the sensor net, Grant saw the mammoth Jovian streaking through the depths, pursued by the ten smaller beasts.
“Get closer!” Krebs demanded. “Muzorawa, are the sensors getting all this?”
Zeb did not reply immediately.
“Muzorawa!”
“Yes, Captain,” Zeb said, his voice shaking. “The sensors … I…”
Grant pulled out of the sensor imagery and turned toward Zeb. Muzorawa just stood blankly at his console, his legs bent slightly at the knees, his feet held down by the floor loops, his arms floating chest-high, his head lolling to one side.
“I… can’t… breathe …” he gasped. “Pressure …”
“We’re too deep!” Karlstad yelled.
“What’s wrong with him?” Krebs demanded.
Karlstad stared frantically at his console. Grant could see a string of baleful red lights glowering along its screens. “His breathing rate’s gone sky-high. Something wrong with his lungs. Capacity is down, still sinking—”
“Archer,” Krebs ordered, “disengage Dr. Muzorawa and get him back to his berth.”
Grant quickly began to yank the optic fibers loose from Zeb’s legs.
“I’m sorry …” Muzorawa panted. “Too much … can’t…”
“Don’t talk,” Grant said, trying to sound soothing. “Save your strength.”
Muzorawa’s eyes closed. His head rolled slightly, then slumped down, chin on chest. He’s unconscious, Grant realized. Or dead.
“You’re the life-support specialist,” Krebs was snarling at Karlstad. “What should we do?”
“Get the hell out of this pressure!” Egon snapped.
“No!” she shot back. “Not yet. Not now, with those animals so close.”
“You’ll kill him!” Karlstad insisted. “You’ll kill us all!”
Turning back toward Grant, Krebs said, “Take him back to his berth. Lower the pressure in the chamber there.”
Feeling helpless, confused, Grant began to ask, “How do I lower—”
Krebs said, “Seal the hatch once you get him into his berth. I’ll take care of depressurizing.”
“You can’t depressurize it enough to help him,” Karlstad wailed. “Not unless we go back up toward the surface.”
Krebs turned toward him, looking as if she were ready to commit murder.
“I make the decisions here,” she said to Karlstad, her voice venomously low. Turning back to Grant: “Get him back to his berth! Now!”
“Yes’m.” Grant began pulling his own optical fibers free.
Suddenly the ship lurched as if it had been hit by a torpedo. Grant was torn loose from his foot restraints and went sailing across the bridge, optic fibers popping loose. He banged painfully against the far bulkhead as all the lights went out.
ATTACK
The emergency lamps came on, dim, scary. Grant blinked in the shadowy lighting. Everything looked tilted, askew. Then he realized that he was floating sideways next to the food dispenser, his right shoulder and side afire with pain. Red lights blinked demandingly on all the consoles.
“… back on-line!” Krebs was shouting. “The auxiliaries can’t power the thrusters for more than a few minutes.”
Muzorawa was floating in the middle of the bridge, a haze of blood leaking from his open mouth. Krebs bumped into him and pushed him aside, in the general direction of the sleeping quarters. O’Hara was at her console, but doubled over as if in overwhelming pain. Only Karlstad seemed to be unhurt, but he looked bewildered as Krebs rattled off commands rapid-fire.
“Get back to your console,” she said to Grant, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and shoving him toward the console. Grant’s shoulder and ribs were thundering with pain. I must have hit the bulkhead there, he realized.
“What happened?” he asked dazedly as he fumbled with his optical fibers.
“No time for linking,” Krebs snapped. “Go to manual control. Get the generator back on-line.”
“But Zeb—”
“There’s nothing you can do for him now. Get the generator back on-line!”
Grant saw that the same floor loop that had torn loose earlier was flapping again, held only by one remaining bolt. He slid his foot into the other and scanned the glowering red lights of his console.
“O’Hara!” Krebs barked. “Disengage and take care of Dr. Muzorawa.”
Lane looked sick, positively green in the eerie light of the emergency lamps. She nodded and began pulling off her optical fibers.
“I’ll handle the ship,” Krebs went on. “Karlstad, take over the sensors. Archer, why isn’t the generator back online?”
“I’m working on it,” Grant said, fingers racing across the console touchscreens.
The bridge seemed to be rising and sinking, twisting as if on a roller-coaster ride. Glancing to his right, Grant saw Krebs at O’Hara’s console, moving her fingers along the touchscreens, her mouth a thin, grim, bloodless line.
The ship lurched again, and this time Grant heard a definite thump, as if they had banged into an undersea mountain.
“Those sharks are attacking us,” Krebs said, her voice strangely low, controlled. “They think we are food.”
Karlstad screeched, “The hull can’t take this kind of pounding! It’ll crack!”
“I am trying to get away from them,” Krebs agreed. Turning to Grant she bellowed, “For that, we need power!”
“It’s not the generator,” Grant reported. “The generator’s working fine. It’s the power bus; it shorted out from the first concussion.”
Another thump. The bridge tilted crazily. Even the emergency lamps blinked.
Hanging onto one of the console’s handgrips, Grant worked madly to reboot the power bus. One by one the circuit breakers clicked on. One by one the red lights on his console flicked to amber or green. The thrusters came back on-line, although Grant saw that their telltale lights were amber. There must be a lot of damage, he thought. Maybe the tubes have been dented by the sharks. He wished he had time to link with the ship, then he’d know immediately what was wrong.
“Here comes another one!” Karlstad yelped.
“Thrusters to max!” Krebs said. She didn’t need Grant to turn them on, she did it herself from O’Hara’s console.
Even immersed in the thick liquid that filled the bridge Grant felt the surge of thrust. Another thump, but this
