passageway. The MP and his men were impeding the flow.
"Let's move
along," the MP began. "We can discuss this in the—"
"The charge
is murder," Maigrey interrupted. "One count, probably
others will surface on investigation. Inform my lord that I will be
in touch with him concerning this matter."
The MP
considered. Whatever else is going on, this man is obviously guilty
of something, he thought. I'll be safe in hauling him off, dumping
him in the brig for a while. "Yes, my lady. Take him below,"
he ordered his guards.
"Bitch!
I'll see you in hell!" Nearly escaping his captors, the major
made a lunge at Maigrey.
Deftly, she slid
her hand into his front shirt pocket. The MP saw something sparkle
brightly before her fingers closed around it. The major's guards
wrestled him back.
"And now,
my lady"—the MP reached out to take hold of her—"if
you will accompany me—"
"Officer!"
A medic shoved his way between the two of them. "Officer, what
the devil are you doing? Clear this area! My stretcher bearers can't
get through! These men are critically wounded!"
The major,
swearing at the top of his lungs, continued struggling. "You
can't do this to me! I'll have you up on charges! Every last one of
you! I'll see you terminated!" He was a big man; the MPs were
having trouble holding on to him. The shouting was drawing a crowd of
curious onlookers.
"I insist
that you clear this area! Clear this area!" The medic danced
around, waving his arms and yammering.
The flow in the
corridor bottled up. Some men tried to shove past, others stopped and
craned their heads, hoping to catch a glimpse of the latest crisis.
In the distance, at the end of the corridor, a group of marines
appeared, trundling a canister of brain-gas down the passage.
"Hey!"
the sergeant of the marines shouted. "Clear this area! We gotta
get through!"
"Sir—"
one of the MPs began.
"Bloody
outrage—" the major howled.
"I insist—"
the medic shrieked.
"Clout him
one if he doesn't shut up!" the MP bellowed, and, being rather
vague as to his pronoun, he had the satisfaction of seeing everyone
in the immediate vicinity relapse into sudden silence.
Deciding that
the best thing to do was to get his prisoners out of here, the MP
turned to Maigrey. "My lady, if you will accompany—"
He stopped talking, mouth open, but no words came out.
The woman was
gone.
General Dixter's
forces, trapped on Charlie deck, had surrounded the control room and
were keeping the marines at bay by holding the entrances into the
hangar bays against them. Dixter's main fear was that Williams would
use brain-gas, a chemical which rendered an enemy immobile by either
knocking him out or, in some extreme cases, killing him. The marines
had masks to protect themselves against the gas; the mercenaries did
not. If the marines used brain-gas, the battle would be over.
Williams had, in
fact, received the supply of brain-gas he'd requested from Phoenix, but he had been prevented from using it. Brain-gas was generally used
out in the open air. Computer analysis had revealed the possibility
that, released inside a small area, the poisonous fumes might be
sucked inside Defiant's ventilating systems, plunging everyone
aboard ship into an inadvertent siesta. The marines, unable to use
the gas, were forced to rely on small-arms fire and grenades. Rockets
and mortars were out, they might puncture the hull. And so the
mercenaries had a chance. Inside a small control room, their computer
expert—a heavy set woman named Lilly—ignored the fighting
swirling around her, worked diligently at wresting command of the
hangar bay doors away from central control.
The mercenaries
who still had planes to fly were gathered in the ready room.
"I need
volunteers," Dixter told them, "to stay behind, hold the
control room, keep the tractor beams out of commission."
Humans, aliens
exchanged glances. Everyone knew that those who stayed behind were
doomed—a
"Let's move
along," the MP began. "We can discuss this in the—"
"The charge
is murder," Maigrey interrupted. "One count, probably
others will surface on investigation. Inform my lord that I will be
in touch with him concerning this matter."
The MP
considered. Whatever else is going on, this man is obviously guilty
of something, he thought. I'll be safe in hauling him off, dumping
him in the brig for a while. "Yes, my lady. Take him below,"
he ordered his guards.
"Bitch!
I'll see you in hell!" Nearly escaping his captors, the major
made a lunge at Maigrey.
Deftly, she slid
her hand into his front shirt pocket. The MP saw something sparkle
brightly before her fingers closed around it. The major's guards
wrestled him back.
"And now,
my lady"—the MP reached out to take hold of her—"if
you will accompany me—"
"Officer!"
A medic shoved his way between the two of them. "Officer, what
the devil are you doing? Clear this area! My stretcher bearers can't
get through! These men are critically wounded!"
The major,
swearing at the top of his lungs, continued struggling. "You
can't do this to me! I'll have you up on charges! Every last one of
you! I'll see you terminated!" He was a big man; the MPs were
having trouble holding on to him. The shouting was drawing a crowd of
curious onlookers.
"I insist
that you clear this area! Clear this area!" The medic danced
around, waving his arms and yammering.
The flow in the
corridor bottled up. Some men tried to shove past, others stopped and
craned their heads, hoping to catch a glimpse of the latest crisis.
In the distance, at the end of the corridor, a group of marines
appeared, trundling a canister of brain-gas down the passage.
"Hey!"
the sergeant of the marines shouted. "Clear this area! We gotta
get through!"
"Sir—"
one of the MPs began.
"Bloody
outrage—" the major howled.
"I insist—"
the medic shrieked.
"Clout him
one if he doesn't shut up!" the MP bellowed, and, being rather
vague as to his pronoun, he had the satisfaction of seeing everyone
in the immediate vicinity relapse into sudden silence.
Deciding that
the best thing to do was to get his prisoners out of here, the MP
turned to Maigrey. "My lady, if you will accompany—"
He stopped talking, mouth open, but no words came out.
The woman was
gone.
General Dixter's
forces, trapped on Charlie deck, had surrounded the control room and
were keeping the marines at bay by holding the entrances into the
hangar bays against them. Dixter's main fear was that Williams would
use brain-gas, a chemical which rendered an enemy immobile by either
knocking him out or, in some extreme cases, killing him. The marines
had masks to protect themselves against the gas; the mercenaries did
not. If the marines used brain-gas, the battle would be over.
Williams had, in
fact, received the supply of brain-gas he'd requested from Phoenix, but he had been prevented from using it. Brain-gas was generally used
out in the open air. Computer analysis had revealed the possibility
that, released inside a small area, the poisonous fumes might be
sucked inside Defiant's ventilating systems, plunging everyone
aboard ship into an inadvertent siesta. The marines, unable to use
the gas, were forced to rely on small-arms fire and grenades. Rockets
and mortars were out, they might puncture the hull. And so the
mercenaries had a chance. Inside a small control room, their computer
expert—a heavy set woman named Lilly—ignored the fighting
swirling around her, worked diligently at wresting command of the
hangar bay doors away from central control.
The mercenaries
who still had planes to fly were gathered in the ready room.
"I need
volunteers," Dixter told them, "to stay behind, hold the
control room, keep the tractor beams out of commission."
Humans, aliens
exchanged glances. Everyone knew that those who stayed behind were
doomed—a
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