stepped to one side to allow him to pass. Maganda remained on the landing, peering through at Kordelasz and Alus as they approached the clones.
Maganda abruptly looked up the ladder to the quarter-deck and her hand stole to her sword. She unsheathed it in a smooth motion. The sound of booted feet descending the ladder reached Rinharte. She swore under her breath.
Leaving Kordelasz and Alus to deal with the three clones in the gangway, Rinharte stepped out onto the landing to join the midshipman. Looking up, she saw a further pair of clones coming down from the quarter-deck landing. She yanked out her blade and waited.
When the clones’ booted feet were at the same height as her head, she stabbed. The point of her sword took one in the ankle. He screeched and his leg buckled. She jabbed him a second time, in the torso, as he tumbled forwards. Maganda was busy doing the same to the other clone. She pinked him in the thigh, then in the chest. The first clone landed heavily at Rinharte’s feet. He was dead. Taking care not to stab herself, she bent over and man-handled the body across the landing to the head of the ladder. He tumbled down the stairs.
The remaining clone was made of sterner stuff. Ignoring his wounds, he stumbled against Maganda and caught her in a hug. Her arms were trapped at her sides. She writhed and struggled, but could not free herself.
Rinharte moved to help. She tried to pull the clone from the midshipman but he would not shift. Her own sword hampered her attempt to get a good grip. So she lifted it high and brought the pommel down on the back of the clone’s neck. Hard . He immediately fell limp. Maganda unwrapped his arms and pushed him away.
“No!” Rinharte cried. She reached out—
The unconscious clone fell back against the railing. Over-balancing, he tipped over. And hung there. Rinharte winced as the corpse slowly drifted away from the landing, floating serenely sixty feet above the wooden decking.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “We need one to question.”
She turned back to look through the hatch onto the upper-deck. In time to see Alus bury his axe in the head of a clone. It sliced through the man’s brow, between his eyes, bisected his nose and lodged in his lower jaw. As the boat-sergeant worried his axe-blade free, the two halves of the man’s head began to separate. Rinharte shuddered and looked away.
The other two clones in the gangway lay at Kordelasz’s feet. The marine-captain gazed down at them, blood dripping from his sword, an expression of martial glee on his face. He spun about. “This way, man,” he said quickly. “There’ll be more above.”
He broke into a run, heading for the ladder at the far end of the gangway.
“He has a point,” Rinharte remarked, more to herself than to Midshipman Maganda. There were twenty—no, nineteen —clones aboard Tempest . She turned and began to ascend the ladder. Maganda immediately followed her.
From the quarter-deck landing, Rinharte peered forward through the hatch. She saw a pair of marines struggling with twice their number of clones. The marines had not managed to pull out their weapons and were striking out with fists and boots. The clones seemed not to notice the damage inflicted upon them. Doors along the gangway slid open and more bodies appeared. Rinharte spotted Kordelasz and Alus at the far end of the gangway. They went to the marines’ rescue, the marine-captain’s blade flashing and clones falling about him. Alus gave great meaty swings of his boarding-axe, severing arms, legs, burying its blade in heads and chests. Yet clones continued to appear.
The doors nearest the hatch onto the troop-deck slid open. Two clones emerged from each. They turned and gazed blankly at Rinharte and Maganda. Moving slowly at first, but increasing their pace, they approached the hatch.
“Marine-Corporal! Get your men up to the quarter-deck. The clones have broken out!”
Rinharte glanced at Maganda and nodded in
Maganda abruptly looked up the ladder to the quarter-deck and her hand stole to her sword. She unsheathed it in a smooth motion. The sound of booted feet descending the ladder reached Rinharte. She swore under her breath.
Leaving Kordelasz and Alus to deal with the three clones in the gangway, Rinharte stepped out onto the landing to join the midshipman. Looking up, she saw a further pair of clones coming down from the quarter-deck landing. She yanked out her blade and waited.
When the clones’ booted feet were at the same height as her head, she stabbed. The point of her sword took one in the ankle. He screeched and his leg buckled. She jabbed him a second time, in the torso, as he tumbled forwards. Maganda was busy doing the same to the other clone. She pinked him in the thigh, then in the chest. The first clone landed heavily at Rinharte’s feet. He was dead. Taking care not to stab herself, she bent over and man-handled the body across the landing to the head of the ladder. He tumbled down the stairs.
The remaining clone was made of sterner stuff. Ignoring his wounds, he stumbled against Maganda and caught her in a hug. Her arms were trapped at her sides. She writhed and struggled, but could not free herself.
Rinharte moved to help. She tried to pull the clone from the midshipman but he would not shift. Her own sword hampered her attempt to get a good grip. So she lifted it high and brought the pommel down on the back of the clone’s neck. Hard . He immediately fell limp. Maganda unwrapped his arms and pushed him away.
“No!” Rinharte cried. She reached out—
The unconscious clone fell back against the railing. Over-balancing, he tipped over. And hung there. Rinharte winced as the corpse slowly drifted away from the landing, floating serenely sixty feet above the wooden decking.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “We need one to question.”
She turned back to look through the hatch onto the upper-deck. In time to see Alus bury his axe in the head of a clone. It sliced through the man’s brow, between his eyes, bisected his nose and lodged in his lower jaw. As the boat-sergeant worried his axe-blade free, the two halves of the man’s head began to separate. Rinharte shuddered and looked away.
The other two clones in the gangway lay at Kordelasz’s feet. The marine-captain gazed down at them, blood dripping from his sword, an expression of martial glee on his face. He spun about. “This way, man,” he said quickly. “There’ll be more above.”
He broke into a run, heading for the ladder at the far end of the gangway.
“He has a point,” Rinharte remarked, more to herself than to Midshipman Maganda. There were twenty—no, nineteen —clones aboard Tempest . She turned and began to ascend the ladder. Maganda immediately followed her.
From the quarter-deck landing, Rinharte peered forward through the hatch. She saw a pair of marines struggling with twice their number of clones. The marines had not managed to pull out their weapons and were striking out with fists and boots. The clones seemed not to notice the damage inflicted upon them. Doors along the gangway slid open and more bodies appeared. Rinharte spotted Kordelasz and Alus at the far end of the gangway. They went to the marines’ rescue, the marine-captain’s blade flashing and clones falling about him. Alus gave great meaty swings of his boarding-axe, severing arms, legs, burying its blade in heads and chests. Yet clones continued to appear.
The doors nearest the hatch onto the troop-deck slid open. Two clones emerged from each. They turned and gazed blankly at Rinharte and Maganda. Moving slowly at first, but increasing their pace, they approached the hatch.
“Marine-Corporal! Get your men up to the quarter-deck. The clones have broken out!”
Rinharte glanced at Maganda and nodded in
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