His fingers clenched, and the switch tripped. A red light on the wall flared. He hit the floor, twitching. A moment later, the klaxon blared, a high-pitched whine of alarm.
Lucas burst into the room, scanning for a coil of line. “Christ, that’s loud!” he yelled, the sound ringing in his ears.
Eliza shot him a look of apology, but he waved it off.
Morgan was at the bay doors, looking over the hinges and release mechanisms. He ran his hands over the metal as if to pull their workings out through osmosis.
Lucas darted around a corner and found a wide rack of tools, various metal fittings, and a wide assortment of pipe in differing sizes. Then he spotted it. A thick coil of woven rope. He threw it over his shoulder.
Eliza retrieved her knife from the unlucky officer’s back and took the sidearm from his holster. She posted herself at the corridor entry, peering around the corner, waiting for the guards sure to arrive any second.
Lucas joined Morgan at the bay doors. “We need this open now, my friend.”
Morgan nodded. “Almost have it. The hydraulic lines run this way,” he said, following the black rubber hoses to a panel with two levers. He put his hands on them and pushed. Nothing.
“We have company!” yelled Eliza. “Four, at least!”
***
The king pressed his hands against his ears, and he saw everyone else was doing the same. The wailing klaxon was distressingly loud.
He looked about the room, and finding a crew member, yelled above the alarm. “What is happening? Bring me the captain!”
The king’s scowl told the officer all he needed to know, and he nodded, then ran off for the bridge.
***
Eliza risked another look around the corner. She peeked her head around the corner, saw a bright flash, and jerked back as a lead slug slammed into the bulkhead, barely missing her eye.
“Make that five!” she yelled to Lucas. “Royal Marines. And they’re not happy.”
“Guess not,” offered Morgan. “Reckless bastards shouldn’t be shooting on a hydrogen ship.”
Eliza swung the officer’s sidearm around the corner, firing blindly twice down the corridor.
Lucas tossed the heavy rope coil on top of the bay doors. He found an end and began tying it off to the overhead bomb rack.
“How about we get out of here, hmm?”
Morgan tried the hydraulic levers again. He pushed them forward. Nothing. He pulled them back. Nothing. He punched the panel, screaming. “Dammit!” He looked around the bay for a solution.
Lucas cinched a fast bowline knot to the bomb rack. “Eliza, we are leaving!”
She fell back, joining them, but kept her sidearm trained on the bulkhead door.
Lucas turned to Morgan, yelling over the alarm. “Now, Morgan!”
Morgan raised his hands in surrender, then froze. An idea came to him. He slipped a knife from his boot and grabbed the twin hydraulic hoses in a tight fist. He slipped the blade under the rubber hoses, and slashed upward through them. The blade cut cleanly through, and the hoses leaped from his grasp, writhing like two angry snakes, spewing thin, brown liquid over him, Lucas, and half the bay.
But the doors fell open. With the pressure released, gravity drew the doors down. They hung barely halfway open, but it was more than enough for a man to slip through. The coil of rope fell through the gap, streaming out to its full length. Cold wind ripped through the gap, blowing Lucas’s hair back.
Lucas flashed Morgan a thumbs-up. He leaned over the gaping doors and looked down. Vertigo made his stomach clench, and he grabbed hold of the bomb rack frame above the open doors. He guessed they were two hundred feet off the ground. The rope covered maybe half that.
Morgan came up with the same math. “That’s a hundred-foot fall, Lucas…”
Lucas checked his watch. “You’ve got one minute to find your courage, my friend.”
Before he could reply, two marines burst through the door. Like the gate guards, they wore the striking scarlet jackets with
Lucas burst into the room, scanning for a coil of line. “Christ, that’s loud!” he yelled, the sound ringing in his ears.
Eliza shot him a look of apology, but he waved it off.
Morgan was at the bay doors, looking over the hinges and release mechanisms. He ran his hands over the metal as if to pull their workings out through osmosis.
Lucas darted around a corner and found a wide rack of tools, various metal fittings, and a wide assortment of pipe in differing sizes. Then he spotted it. A thick coil of woven rope. He threw it over his shoulder.
Eliza retrieved her knife from the unlucky officer’s back and took the sidearm from his holster. She posted herself at the corridor entry, peering around the corner, waiting for the guards sure to arrive any second.
Lucas joined Morgan at the bay doors. “We need this open now, my friend.”
Morgan nodded. “Almost have it. The hydraulic lines run this way,” he said, following the black rubber hoses to a panel with two levers. He put his hands on them and pushed. Nothing.
“We have company!” yelled Eliza. “Four, at least!”
***
The king pressed his hands against his ears, and he saw everyone else was doing the same. The wailing klaxon was distressingly loud.
He looked about the room, and finding a crew member, yelled above the alarm. “What is happening? Bring me the captain!”
The king’s scowl told the officer all he needed to know, and he nodded, then ran off for the bridge.
***
Eliza risked another look around the corner. She peeked her head around the corner, saw a bright flash, and jerked back as a lead slug slammed into the bulkhead, barely missing her eye.
“Make that five!” she yelled to Lucas. “Royal Marines. And they’re not happy.”
“Guess not,” offered Morgan. “Reckless bastards shouldn’t be shooting on a hydrogen ship.”
Eliza swung the officer’s sidearm around the corner, firing blindly twice down the corridor.
Lucas tossed the heavy rope coil on top of the bay doors. He found an end and began tying it off to the overhead bomb rack.
“How about we get out of here, hmm?”
Morgan tried the hydraulic levers again. He pushed them forward. Nothing. He pulled them back. Nothing. He punched the panel, screaming. “Dammit!” He looked around the bay for a solution.
Lucas cinched a fast bowline knot to the bomb rack. “Eliza, we are leaving!”
She fell back, joining them, but kept her sidearm trained on the bulkhead door.
Lucas turned to Morgan, yelling over the alarm. “Now, Morgan!”
Morgan raised his hands in surrender, then froze. An idea came to him. He slipped a knife from his boot and grabbed the twin hydraulic hoses in a tight fist. He slipped the blade under the rubber hoses, and slashed upward through them. The blade cut cleanly through, and the hoses leaped from his grasp, writhing like two angry snakes, spewing thin, brown liquid over him, Lucas, and half the bay.
But the doors fell open. With the pressure released, gravity drew the doors down. They hung barely halfway open, but it was more than enough for a man to slip through. The coil of rope fell through the gap, streaming out to its full length. Cold wind ripped through the gap, blowing Lucas’s hair back.
Lucas flashed Morgan a thumbs-up. He leaned over the gaping doors and looked down. Vertigo made his stomach clench, and he grabbed hold of the bomb rack frame above the open doors. He guessed they were two hundred feet off the ground. The rope covered maybe half that.
Morgan came up with the same math. “That’s a hundred-foot fall, Lucas…”
Lucas checked his watch. “You’ve got one minute to find your courage, my friend.”
Before he could reply, two marines burst through the door. Like the gate guards, they wore the striking scarlet jackets with
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