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helplessness. Mac James had him boxed; not being a hardware man, he lacked the
knowledge to hack the electronics back into working order.
Mac James drawled lazily at his captor's back. 'The sensors and analog screens
are operational, boy, but you'll need to engage the power switch.'
Jensen hesitated out of principle. The control panel might possibly be
booby-trapped: Yet logic dictated that Mac James would hardly plot murder
while still under restraint, not unless he planned to die slowly of
dehydration. Alert for surprises, Jensen hunted among the controls and flipped
the appropriate switch.
The analog panel hummed to life, and snow hazed the monitor, while the sensors
gathered data.
Presently, the haze subsided to black, which was normal; no image would
resolve until Marity re-
entered normal space.
Jensen tried the power switches for weaponry, without success. The guidance
computer also proved to be dead, and only the
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watching presence of MacKenzie James prevented Jensen from hammering the
panels in frustration. The chronometer by Marity's autopilot alone showed any
indicators, the most maddening of which informed that re-entry into sub-light
at Castleton's was barely thirty minutes off.
Jensen paced. Careful to stay within the perimeters of Marity's artificial
gravity, he avoided the congealing runnels of Evans's blood, and also that
portion of deck included in MacKenzie's field of view. He dared not give the
skip-runner captain his liberty. Yet to risk re-entry near a base under
Khalian control without fire power or maneuverability begged the most terrible
fate. Not least, a concern the young officer would never have admitted out
loud, was the fact he had never seen action against the enemy. Jensen had
never doubted his courage. But the possibility of closing with the enemy in a
small, converted merchanter like Marity frayed his confidence to tatters.
The chronometer on the autopilot clicked over; seven minutes to re-entry. Mac
James once again appeared asleep. His behavior seemed inhuman, until Jensen
recalled that Marity had docked at Point
Station forty-eight hours before under emergency priorities. By the grimy,
unkempt appearance of the captain's person, he probably had not slept while he
effected repairs on his ship. Jensen himself had not rested for nearly as
long, but excitement and stress had put him on a jag that precluded
relaxation.
At a minute and a half to re-entry, MacKenzie James opened his eyes. The
corpse of his mate lay undisturbed on the deck. Jensen stood at the analog
screen, his gun clenched in anxious fingers. Beneath the Freer robe, his left
hand gripped the keys to the nooses which secured MacKenzie James with white-
knuckled indecision.
One minute to re-entry; Mac James quietly recommended pressing the toggle to
unshutter the shield generators. Though to do so felt like capitulation,
Jensen did not cling to foolish pride. A suspicion crossed the young officer's
mind, that more of Marity's systems might be operational than the control
monitors indicated. But no time remained to run cross-checks. The buzzer
signalled phase-out of
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Marity's autopilot, and the eerie instant of suspension which heralded
transition from FTL to normal space followed after. Jensen watched the analog
screens with taut anticipation.
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Castleton's appeared as a dun ball, mottled gray at the terminator; the larger
of two moons showed as a sliver to dayside, but Jensen spared the scenery
barely a glance. The sensors finished processing data, and the screen became
peppered with silvery specks; scouts by their formation. Larger shapes nestled
among them, unquestionably cruisers, with a third one tucked away behind the
mass of Castleton's.
'Godfrey,' Mac James observed, his neck craned awkwardly to allow a view of
the screens. 'They didn't waste time expanding their strike force, now did
they?'
'They might not be Khalia!' Jensen snapped.
A buzzer clipped his outburst short. Lights flashed warning on the analog
panels, and one of the flecks gained a faint halo of red.
'Well, Fleet or enemy, boy, one of them is about to fire on us.' Mac James
shrugged irritably at his bonds. 'If you like slavery, or maybe even
vivisection, just keep sitting there doing nothing.'
Jensen raged, uncertain; Marity's sirens wailed with sudden violence, her
shields crackling under the impact of a hit.
'Warning rocket,' Mac said tersely. 'Probably they're provoking to see whether
we want a fight. Power up the transmitter, boy.' Jensen hesitated.
'Do it now!' barked MacKenzie James, adamant as a Fleet rear admiral.
Another red halo bloomed on the analog screen. Jensen slapped the transmitter
switch. The gabble of alien speech that issued from the speaker caused the
last bit of color to drain from his face.
'Now listen carefully, boy,' said the hell-begotten captain from the floor.
'Do exactly as I tell you, or we'll both get our guts ripped out.'
'You planned this!' Jensen accused, horror sharpening the immediacy of their
peril.
'Yes, now shut the hell up and listen!' MacKenzie said.
The patter of Khalian changed inflection, and a singsong voice in poorly [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]