Starfist - Kingdom's Swords Part 12

GOVERNMENT HAS CHOSEN TO INTRUDE UPON US IN THIS SLY AND COVERT WAY,.

PRETENDING TO EXTEND THE HAND OF FRIENDSHIP TO OUR PEOPLE WHILE.

HOLDING A SWORD OVER US, IS THE VERY MARK OF SATAN, AND WERE IT KNOWN.

AMONG RIGHTEOUS AND HONORABLE MEN, THEY WOULD RISE UP AS ONE AND.

DEMAND THAT YOU INSTANTLY WITHDRAW YOUR DETESTABLE OPPRESSORS FROM.

OUR LANDS AND PROVINCES.

THEREFORE, WE MUST NOW SET ASIDE THE PATIENCE AND MERCY OF OUR LORD.

JESUS CHRIST AND TAKE UP THE SWORD OF JEHOVAH. IT IS WITH THE GREATEST.

SADNESS WE NOW INFORM YOUR EXCELLENCY THAT WE HAVE BEEN FORCED TO.

SEIZE THE CARGO SHIP, SS CAMBRIA, THE PROPERTY OF THE SEWALL SHIPPING.

COMPANY, ITS CARGO, CREW, AND Pa.s.sENGERS. CAST THEN YOUR EYES TOWARD.

THE NIGHT SKY AND WITNESS THE ANGER OF THE LORD!.

REVELATION 10:18.

Madam Chang-St.u.r.devant blew out her cheeks and looked up at her chief of staff. "Long-winded b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, aren't they? What's the quote from the Book of Revelation?"

"'By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.' That's why I think they plan to blow her up, ma'am."

"Yes, and seems to me they plan to blow her up so everyone'll know about it. And they're going to do it when it's night in this hemisphere. It's eight hours now, so it'll be either tonight or tomorrow. We need to know where that ship is now and how far it is from Earth's...o...b..t, and I want to know who's on board her and what she's carrying."

"The navy's checking now to get a fix on her position, ma'am, and I have some of that information. She's carrying a full load of ore from the mines on Siluria-it's worth trillions. If she goes up, Sewall may well be bankrupted, ma'am, and you know the effect that could have on the economy. Sewall gave us a partial list of pa.s.sengers, but since it was made up months ago, we can't be sure it's complete. 133 133 Amba.s.sador Jamison Franks III and his team were to have been picked up on Thorsfinni's World."

"Oh, that's perfectly delightful!" Madam Chang-St.u.r.devant banged her fist angrily. Jamison Franks was well-known in the political world of the Confederation since he came from a prominent family that contributed liberally to various parties, chief among them the one Madam Chang-St.u.r.devant represented.

"We don't have much time, Glecko. a.s.semble my cabinet. Make sure the Combined Chiefs are there, especially whatshisname, the Chief of Naval Operations."

"It is already being done, ma'am."

"Has anyone tried to contact the Cambria Cambria ?" ?"

"Yes, ma'am. They are not responding." Madam Chang-St.u.r.devant shook her head in exasperation. "So there'll be no negotiations." She grimaced. "Well, find out all you can about this Army of-of-what do they call themselves, the Army of Zion? And find out what the h.e.l.l we're doing on-on Kingdom, did they say? Christ, I remember something about that place in a meeting months ago now, but d.a.m.ned if I can remember the circ.u.mstances. Find out why these guys are upset with us." She stood up. "Okay, let's get to the war room."

Admiral Joseph K. C. B. Porter, Confederation Chief of Naval Operations, ran a hand nervously over his enormous muttonchop whiskers and looked at his reader again. "Madam President, we have a fix on the Cambria Cambria . She's approximately seventeen hours out of Earth orbit, given her present course and speed, which seem fixed. It gets dark in this hemisphere at this season beginning at about nineteen hours on the eastern seaboard, so it'll be full dark here at Fargo by twenty-one hours tonight. If they really intend to blow the . She's approximately seventeen hours out of Earth orbit, given her present course and speed, which seem fixed. It gets dark in this hemisphere at this season beginning at about nineteen hours on the eastern seaboard, so it'll be full dark here at Fargo by twenty-one hours tonight. If they really intend to blow the Cambria Cambria up, they're going to do it sometime tonight. It's nine hours now. We don't have much time to react." up, they're going to do it sometime tonight. It's nine hours now. We don't have much time to react."

"Can we react?" Chang-St.u.r.devant asked. All eyes turned to Admiral Porter, who was not enjoying the attention.

"Yes, ma'am, we can have a ship at her location in two hours. But a rescue operation might be very chancy. If they've rigged the ship with explosives and intend to immolate themselves along with her, we could lose a navy ship and its entire crew."

"Well, gentlemen, my chief of staff informs me we have a break. The d.a.m.ned fools-this Army of Zion, as they call themselves-neglected to send their message to anybody but us." She paused.

"How does that give us a break, ma'am?" a cabinet officer asked.

"Simple. Since the rest of the world doesn't know what's going on, we can minimize the embarra.s.sment of being ridiculed by these fanatics by striking first. It'll be bad news for Sewall and Lloyds, but I think we can work out some subsidies that'll keep the company and its insurers afloat until they can make up the losses. We can find an explanation for the disaster that'll satisfy public opinion."

"Madam President, are you saying that...?" Admiral Porter shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I am saying, gentlemen, that we dispatch a destroyer to the position of the SS Cambria SS Cambria and blast it out of s.p.a.ce before the fanatics do it for us, in front of half the world, to the utter embarra.s.sment of this administration and the frustration of our foreign policy, which demands that we deploy our military forces and blast it out of s.p.a.ce before the fanatics do it for us, in front of half the world, to the utter embarra.s.sment of this administration and the frustration of our foreign policy, which demands that we deploy our military forces 134 134 whenever and wherever they are needed. I am not going to stand for a bunch of crazies dictating to my government. The d.a.m.ned fools who took over the Cambria Cambria screwed up when they didn't send their message to the G.o.dd.a.m.ned press. We have to act quickly and decisively before they realize their mistake, before they execute their threat." There was utter silence in the war room. screwed up when they didn't send their message to the G.o.dd.a.m.ned press. We have to act quickly and decisively before they realize their mistake, before they execute their threat." There was utter silence in the war room.

"Gentlemen, the pa.s.sengers and crew on that ship are doomed no matter what. I believe-we believe-this Army of Zion intends to immolate itself along with them. I will not risk the entire crew of a navy ship to attempt a rescue." Madam Chang-St.u.r.devant turned to Admiral Porter, who unconsciously was slumping as far down in his chair as possible, as if that would excuse him from what he knew was coming. "Admiral," the President of the Confederation Council of Worlds said calmly, with complete confidence in her voice, "give the order."

Captain Lewis Conorado, Confederation Marine Corps, lay in his bunk thinking. There was no doubt in his mind that the fanatics who'd taken control of the ship were going to kill them all. Otherwise, why sabotage the navigation system and the lifecraft? n.o.body, not even the terrorists themselves, was going to get off the Cambria Cambria alive. Conorado knew he had to act. He had to do something, no matter how desperate. It was not in his nature to sit by when threatened. There were three of them in the main part of the ship and two more in the propulsion unit. The three he had seen were all armed with military hand-blasters. If he could just get one of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, he'd have a chance at the rest of them. But then what? Evidently they were going to set off some kind of bomb in the propulsion unit, and when it went, everything else would go too. So suppose he somehow could overpower the three men up here. How could he get to the ones in the power plant before they set off the bomb? Probably it was already set to go off, so if he did succeed in eliminating all five of the terrorists, how could he defuse the d.a.m.ned bomb? What a prizefight, and he was the underdog! alive. Conorado knew he had to act. He had to do something, no matter how desperate. It was not in his nature to sit by when threatened. There were three of them in the main part of the ship and two more in the propulsion unit. The three he had seen were all armed with military hand-blasters. If he could just get one of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, he'd have a chance at the rest of them. But then what? Evidently they were going to set off some kind of bomb in the propulsion unit, and when it went, everything else would go too. So suppose he somehow could overpower the three men up here. How could he get to the ones in the power plant before they set off the bomb? Probably it was already set to go off, so if he did succeed in eliminating all five of the terrorists, how could he defuse the d.a.m.ned bomb? What a prizefight, and he was the underdog!

Okay, okay, Conorado told himself, think it through, take it one step, one round, at a time. First step: get the three up here. How? He suddenly sat bolt upright in his bed, grinning, and swung his legs to the deck.

Round one to the Marine?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

The hours crept slowly by for the three men in the makeshift police operations center. Hamnes and Buskerud stayed constantly on the radio and vid hookups with the teams as they laboriously went from site to site, approaching cautiously and effecting traumatic entry into the cabins. Not a few citizens were terribly surprised to be interrupted at their long winter's pastimes as heavily armed men burst into their bedrooms.

Colonel Ramadan had already smoked two of his precious Anniversarios and shared a third, cut into equal halves, between Hamnes and Buskerud. After the one he had just popped into his mouth, he would be out until he got back to Camp Ellis.

"How many more sites do we have to search in those mountains?" Ramadan asked. Buskerud shook his head. "Lots, Colonel. We have only just begun."

"Well, the cops are sure on duty, but where in the h.e.l.l is the Dragon?" Ramadan groused, looking at his 135 135 watch again for the umpteenth time. "They should've been here an hour ago! Inspector, how's the weather holding?"

Inspector Hamnes finished talking to a team chief who had just come up with another dry hole and turned to Ramadan. "We're in luck there, Colonel. The weather report has been revised. The storm will last at least until morning. And when the sun finally rises, we'll have surveillance over every square meter of those mountains, especially on the routes leading to the sea. Do not worry, Colonel, we will get them." He went back to talking to the teams.

"This is an exceptionally good cigar, Colonel," Buskerud said, holding up his half of the Anniversario admiringly. "I compliment you on your judgment in smoking materials."

"And I on your taste, Ollie," Ramadan answered, bowing slightly toward the little man. Colonel Ramadan had decided that if Ollie Buskerud appreciated a fine cigar, he couldn't be all that bad. And he was indefatigable in his work, constantly plotting the sites to be searched, expertly guiding the teams to their targets.

"Your emba.s.sy is on the line at last, Colonel! I think your Dragon is down," Inspector Hamnes announced.

"Gentlemen," Ramadan said as he slipped quickly into his foul weather gear, "I'll be back within the hour."

It had been a long, long time since Colonel Israel Ramadan had driven a Dragon. The entire instrument panel seemed to have changed since his days as an enlisted man, but the power-up sequence had remained the same. The mechanic who had driven the Dragon to the emba.s.sy compound from the s.p.a.ceport only shrugged when Ramadan refused his offer to continue as driver. The commander of the Marine security detachment at the emba.s.sy raised his eyebrows in astonishment as the colonel mounted the ramp and b.u.t.toned up the Dragon, even after his offer to go along had been politely refused. But he was a captain and Ramadan was a bull colonel. The captain discreetly closed his eyes as Ramadan unskillfully slewed the Dragon through the main gate, knocking over a pillar as the behemoth slid out into the late afternoon traffic. The mechanic laughed outright but he shut up immediately at a withering glance from the officer.

Ramadan plowed along at twenty kilometers per hour, happily reliving his youth in the driver's seat, but he quickly regained his confidence and the Dragon picked up speed. A huge cloud of blown snow marked its pa.s.sage down the streets of New Oslo. Drivers pulled to the curb to let him pa.s.s and pedestrians gaped in wonder as the monster roared along.

"We have a break!" Inspector Hamnes shouted as Ramadan clomped back into the command center. The inspector looked up and paused. Ramadan's face was flushed bright red and his face split from ear to ear with an enormous grin. "Colonel, you look twenty years younger than you did an hour ago!" the inspector exclaimed.

"I feel younger!" Ramadan exclaimed. "Been a long time since I drove a Dragon! Man, do we have a powerhouse there! What's up?"

"Your satellite surveillance got an infrared signal from a remote chateau, Colonel," Buskerud answered.

"The owners are in the city and they say there should not be anybody in there. We think it might be the kidnappers." His face too was flushed with excitement. "Best of all, Colonel, none of the teams in the field can get up there for a long time. That means we get to go in!" 136 136 "Huh? Inspector Hamnes?" Ramadan turned to the policeman.

"Yes, Colonel, Ollie and I have discussed the situation. Your arrival is absolutely fortuitous. We have three aircraft down due to mechanical failure. None of the other teams is close enough to get to this site today. The break in the cloud cover was only temporary. The storm has in fact increased in its fury. Only land vehicles could make it up there now, and none of the teams is close enough to a road to get through. You and Ollie must go."

"Then give me a gun and we're off," Ramadan said.

Captain Conorado rummaged through his luggage until he found it. The antique pistol was almost small enough to hide comfortably in the palm of his hand. He examined it closely now because he'd had no time to look at it when Dean and Claypoole had presented him with the thing back in Lima Company's orderly room. In fact, had he thought about it at the time, he wouldn't have bothered to pack the weapon in the first place.

It had a detachable magazine that fit snugly into a well in the b.u.t.t. He pressed the stud on the right side of the grip and the magazine popped out. The magazine was spring loaded. There was a spot of rust on it. Rust on a weapon? Conorado smiled to himself as he thumbed seven tiny cartridges out onto his bed. He'd be sure to remind those lads about their dreadful lack of maintenance, giving him a rusty weapon, even if it might save his and everybody else's life on the ship!

Conorado was familiar with the projectile weapons the Siad warriors had used on Elneal, so the tiny pistol held no mystery for him. He just wondered if seven rounds of .32 caliber ammunition would be enough to bring down three full-grown, determined men. Well, this particular pistol had worked well enough on Wanderjahr. Claypoole had killed a man with it at close range, shot him in the head, so it would do the job here-if he didn't miss. Conorado knew that in any kind of face-off with firearms, the first shot was the one that counted; not necessarily the size or power of the bullet fired, but where it hit the opponent. The central nervous system would be best. Disabling that would bring a man down instantly. A bullet in the heart or an artery would kill a man but not necessarily prevent him from getting off a shot of his own even after being hit. But Conorado realized if he couldn't get a head shot, he'd have to shoot at the center of ma.s.s, the chest. And how many bullets would it take to bring down a man with a gun like this? Two? If he could only get one of the three men on the bridge alone, he was sure he could bring him down with the tiny pistol and take his more potent blaster. Then he'd have a fighting chance!

He reinserted the empty magazine, worked the slide, and dry-fired the pistol several times to get the feel of it. The action was smooth and it did not take much pressure on the trigger to trip the hammer when it was all the way down. If he c.o.c.ked the hammer first, the gun would fire with almost no pressure at all on the trigger. There was a lever on the left side of the gun's slide; when he pressed it downward, it dec.o.c.ked the hammer. As far as he could tell, that was the only safety device. He fiddled with the empty pistol for a while, then reloaded the magazine, pulled the slide back, and put the gun into battery. He dec.o.c.ked the weapon. He was ready. He would shoot his man at very close range, less than a meter, so aiming should be no problem. He wondered how much noise the gun would make when it fired. So long as it fired, that did not matter.

Conorado stood up and slipped the loaded pistol into a pocket of his coveralls. How would he get to his 137 137 first man? "Important information" for their leader? What? What kind of information could he possibly dream up that'd get him on the bridge and make one of the terrorists let his guard down for only a second? He'd think of something. But wait a second! As soon as he brought his man down, that G.o.dd.a.m.ned computer would sound the alarm, like it did when the terrorists killed the engineers in the propulsion plant! He took a deep breath. Oh-kaaaay, he'd have to get all three of them at the same time. He'd have to get to the bridge or wherever the three of them were congregating. That'd mean two quick pops apiece and one bullet left over for emergencies. Now what kind of cover story could he come up with to get that close to all three of them? Think! Think! he told himself. Conorado sighed. I don't have a chance, he thought. Then: What the h.e.l.l? They won't be expecting an attack and I'll hurt them at least, and by G.o.d I'll go down fighting!

Conorado smiled. At least he wouldn't be facing that kangaroo court at the end of this voyage! He shook his head, squared his shoulders, and stepped out into the companionway.

Ramadan drove the Dragon while Buskerud navigated. In places the road into the mountains disappeared completely under heavy snow cover, and as they drove higher and higher, Ramadan began to worry about running off the roadway and over one of the dizzying cliffs that fell away into deep gorges.

"Do not vorry, Colonel, I knows de vay!" Buskerud crowed happily as he monitored the terrain through the Dragon's...o...b..ard navigation system. "Ah, dis is a wunnerful machine, Colonel, wunnerful!"

"You ain't seen nothing yet!" Ramadan answered over the tactical net. "Watch me take out that peak over there!"

"No, no, Colonel! No!" Buskerud protested, not sure whether Ramadan was joking or not. "Dere is good chance of big landslide! Besides, de vay sound carries in dese mountains, firing your gun could warn de peoples at the chalet. Ve are only a few kilometers from dere now."

"All right. You tell me when to park this thing and we'll go take a look-see." After about twenty more minutes of climbing they reached a pa.s.s between two peaks where Buskerud indicated Ramadan should pull over to the side of the road, which had been exposed at that spot by the gale-force wind howling down between the peaks. The visibility there was greatly reduced by blown snow.

Buskerud opened an equipment bag he'd brought with him and took out snowshoes. "Ve vill need dese, Colonel. The chalet is in de forest on de leeward side ov de mountain, so da snow vill be very deep dere. Alzo, be absolutely sure dere iss no exposed skin on your face, or it vill freeze in dis weather." They shrugged into heavy parkas and strapped on the snowshoes. Ramadan showed Buskerud how to use the tactical headgear he provided from the Dragon's equipment locker.

"We'll need this to communicate in that weather," he said. Then he showed Buskerud how to operate the shoulder-fired blaster he gave him from the onboard weapons locker. "I will walk the point," Ramadan said. "You guide me from a few paces behind and be ready to support me if we run into any hostile fire. Handling these blasters through gloves will be awkward, but just remember, do not touch the firing lever until you are ready to shoot and sure of your target. And don't forget, Ollie, I'll be in front of your muzzle." He grinned and slapped Buskerud on the back. "Ready?" Buskerud nodded, and then Ramadan lowered the Dragon's ramp. A cloud of windblown snow gusted into the Dragon as they stomped down the ramp and onto the road.

138 "Go left, Colonel," Buskerud said into his throat mike. "Dere is a path about thirty meters behind vere ve are parked. You vill see it as an opening in de trees. De chalet is about half a kilometer back in de voods."

They slogged into the lee of the mountain and suddenly the wind died away. Under the trees, heavily laden with snow, it was so quiet the men could hear their snowshoes crunching on the frozen crust beneath them. But each breath burned with the cold, and visibility under the trees was almost zero because of the fine mist created by the ice crystals suspended in the air. "De trees vill thin out ven ve get near to de chalet, Colonel, and den de vind vill pick up again, so be careful." Ramadan guessed from the level of the snow packed up against the trees that it was at least two meters deep where they were. In time Ramadan began to sweat beneath his parka, but he paced himself carefully. The temperature under the trees had to be way below freezing, but out of the wind there was not a chill factor to deal with. Although the air burned fiercely as he sucked it in, he knew his body would heat it sufficiently by the time it got to his lungs so it would not do any damage. Long strings of ice began to form around the opening in his face mask, the frozen condensation of his breath. The trees began to thin. "Are we near the chalet yet?" he asked.

"Yes," Buskerud answered.

The wind picked up again, and suddenly Ramadan could make out in a clearing to his front a rustic building buried almost to its eaves in snow. "There it is," he whispered. He crouched beside the nearest tree. Buskerud came up and knelt beside him. They were silent for a few moments, catching their breath. A gust of wind howled across the clearing, swirling a cloud of snow that temporarily obscured the chalet. Ramadan put his arm around Buskerud's shoulders. "I'm going in first," he said, "when the next gust comes along. You cover me from here. Any fire from that house, you return it at once. Otherwise, come on up when I get to the front of the building. Have you been in touch with Hamnes?"

"Yes, Colonel, all along, as you showed me how to do with dis communications system."

"Okay. Soon as I move out you tell him we're going in and he should back us up as soon as there's a team available that can get up to this pa.s.s. But Ollie, we're on our own. Any resistance and we'll have to fight. Ready?"

"Ready, Colonel." Ollie Buskerud was familiar with danger. He had survived landslides, deadly falls, unexpected winter storms, and seen many other men die in the mountains. But he had never killed anyone. He checked the safety on his blaster. It was off. He clicked it on and off several times, to be sure it had not frozen in the safe position. He held the weapon carefully, as Ramadan had showed him, at what he called the "high ready" position, b.u.t.t under his right armpit, muzzle held up at about thirty degrees above his midsection, ready to employ the weapon from the shoulder or the hip in a 180-degree arc from where he crouched.

Ramadan disappeared into the next gust of wind, and before the snow had blown away, the colonel was nearly at the cabin door. Buskerud started after him. His breath sounded harsh in his ears as he shuffled quickly along on the top of the hard-frozen snow. "We are going in!" he announced over the command net, confident that the Dragon's system would relay his words immediately to Inspector Hamnes back in New Oslo. "Send backup," he half shouted. Hamnes knew precisely where the pair were from the GPS devices they carried that connected them to the string-of-pearls in orbit.

"None available!" Hamnes answered immediately. "Not until the storm clears. Be careful. Keep in touch with me, Ollie!"

139 Ramadan stepped lightly on the porch. The G.o.dd.a.m.ned door was open! He slammed through with his shoulder and rolled immediately to his right once inside, his blaster at the ready. "Ollie! Ollie!" he shouted over the tactical net. "Get in here right now!"

"Attention on the bridge!" Minerva screamed. "There is a pa.s.senger in the companionway! There is a pa.s.senger loose on the ship! It is Captain Lewis Conorado! Attention on the bridge!" I'm in for it now, Conorado thought as he hurried along the pa.s.sageway. A figure suddenly appeared before him. It was the man called Merab or something. He leveled his hand-blaster at Conorado and ordered him to return to his stateroom. Conorado raised his hands and stopped. "I must talk to your leader," he pleaded.

"No! Return to your place at once or I will shoot."

"Listen! I have something to tell you. It's very important. Please, I must talk to your leader. Look, I'm unarmed. I represent no threat to you." He could feel the tiny bulk of the pistol in his right pocket as he spoke.

"What?"

"I am not a Marine officer. I'm an intelligence agent planted on board this ship. We know what it is you are going to do but I was not quick enough to stop you. There are weapons cached on the ship, and my men and I were to use them against you. But you have to understand, my superiors expected a message from me hours ago, a.s.suring them you had been neutralized. When that message was not sent, they inst.i.tuted Plan B." Conorado was thinking fast now. What the h.e.l.l would Plan B consist of anyway?

"Plan B?" Merab asked.

"Yes. The Confederation has dispatched a cruiser to destroy this vessel. They cannot afford to be embarra.s.sed by you. They are going to sacrifice all of us to avoid that. We only have a few minutes before the strike. I must talk to your leader right now!" Merab hesitated, then said, "Very well, come with me." He motioned Conorado forward with his blaster, keeping as far away from the Marine as he could when Conorado walked past him toward the bridge.

Conorado stepped onto the bridge first. Sabbath Lordsday whirled around in the captain's chair. "What is the captain doing here?"

"Brother Sabbath, this man has important news I thought you should hear," Merab said. The third terrorist who had been at the ship's computer console stepped toward Conorado. It was now or never. Pulling out the tiny pistol, Conorado spun halfway around and shot Merab in the neck. The discharge made a loud crack, and the pistol recoiled sharply in Conorado's hand. Merab staggered backward, one hand clapped to his left external carotid artery. Conorado then swung toward Lordsday in the captain's chair and shot him full in the face. The round entered Lordsday's left nostril and lodged in his frontal sinus; not a fatal wound, but extremely painful and b.l.o.o.d.y. Lordsday clapped his 140 140 hands to his face and staggered out of the chair, where he sprawled on the deck, shrieking in agony. Conorado whirled and faced the third terrorist, the one called Jesse Gospel, and shot him in the chest three times from very close range. Gospel swung his blaster up toward Conorado, and Conorado, taking aim over the pistol's tiny sights, shot him once more in the chest. Gospel staggered and then collapsed to the deck, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Conorado let out his breath. The whole scene had not lasted more than five seconds. Lordsday was on his knees, gasping, "Unnng, unnng, unnnnnnnng," but he had drawn his blaster and was pointing it straight at Conorado. Without hesitating, Conorado fired. The tiny bullet entered Lordsday's forehead. His eyes went wide for an instant before he pitched forward on the deck, stone dead. Conorado had aimed instinctively and fired without thinking. He looked down in surprise at the pistol in his hand, its slide locked back on the empty magazine. After the first shot, he hadn't noticed the thing going off or the recoil.

Now he was acutely aware of Minerva shrieking an alarm: "Brother Lordsday, Brother Lordsday!" the computer voice screamed. "People on the bridge are out of order! All available crew report to the bridge immediately! Repeat-"

"Minerva! Shut up, will you?" Conorado shouted. He stepped over to where Merab lay. He was still alive. His face had turned a sickly white and the blood spurting through his fingers was coming in weak streams now, but he was trying to say something, working his lips silently.

"I do not understand that command," Minerva whined. Conorado ignored her. He knelt beside Merab. "Listen, you, it's all over. I want the pa.s.sword to the computer system. Give it to me. Now."

"Our Father..." Merab gasped. He looked at Conorado desperately. "Would you...?" he asked. Conorado took his free hand and recited the Lord's Prayer with the dying man. Merab smiled weakly.

"G.o.d bless you," he said, and died.

"Brother Lordsday, please give me commands. I do not understand 'Shut up,'" Minerva reported. Conorado sighed and stood up. His legs were like rubber as the effects of the adrenaline that had pumped him up during the fight began to wear off. The hand holding the gun was shaking. He dropped the empty magazine and let the slide go forward. Dean and Claypoole, he thought, shaking his head. What a pair. He wondered idly where he could get some more bullets for the antique firearm and then dropped it back into his pocket. He reached down and picked up one of the blasters. He put the safety on.

Lewis Conorado, Captain, CMC, looked over the bridge. The deck was splattered with blood. His own b.l.o.o.d.y footprints were everywhere. It had been a long, long time since he had killed anyone up close. Well, he'd had no choice. He asked aloud, "Now what?" But Minerva remained silent.

A body lay sprawled on the floor of the cabin. It was freezing cold inside, and Ramadan's breath came through his face mask in white clouds of condensation. "Oh, my G.o.d," he whispered. He rolled the body over. A frozen tendril of blood stretched down the woman's face from a wound in her eye. "Oh, thank G.o.d!" Ramadan almost shouted when he saw that she was not Marta Conorado. 141 141 Buskerud clattered through the door behind him, his snowshoes making a racket on the wooden floor.

"Is it...?" he asked, a sinking feeling in his guts.

"No, no," Ramadan shouted, straightening up. "It's not Marta. Where-"

"Colonel, der is a path in da snow! Two peoples! Dey haf gone oud dere. Quick! De vind is covering it up!" Buskerud pointed out the door with one arm. "But Colonel, be careful. Dat way iss a drop off, maybe one thousand meters into da Ume River valley. I be right behind you!" Ramadan pushed past Buskerud back out into the storm. Sure enough, there was a faint trail in the snow leading away from the cabin. Already the wind was covering it.

Marta had never felt such pain as she did then on the exposed parts of her face and ears. She flung an arm across her face to block out some of the wind-driven snow, but there was nothing she could do about her ears, which quickly began to burn in the fierce subzero cold. Her hair flapped about her head in frozen dreadlocks. The fingers on her right hand began to hurt excruciatingly. She buried them in a pocket and flung her left arm across her face as she staggered onward. Within a few meters of the cabin, which she could not even see anymore through the blizzard, she began to tire. In some places the snow was up to her chest. She stumbled and fell many times. Her breath came in ragged gasps and the air burned like fire as she eagerly sucked it in. She fell again and lay facedown in the snow. Ah, the burning pain was subsiding! It was so good to rest. How far had she come from the cabin? A good ways, she thought. They would never find her out here. In the back of her mind somewhere she realized she would die if she didn't get under cover, but she didn't care. She just wanted to rest, to sleep, to dream. Oh, how wonderful to rest. She thought of her children and Lewis and wondered, idly, what they were doing right now. Camilla, her daughter, she took after Lewis in so many ways.

"b.i.t.c.h!" Bengt screamed. He grabbed Marta by the hair and pulled her out of the snow. "You are not going to die so easy, b.i.t.c.h! I'm taking you back to the cabin. You'll varm up and den-den I vill use you and use you, and ven I am done wid you, I vill kill you, Mrs. Marine G.o.dd.a.m.ned c.u.n.t, slow, painful you die, and I enjoys everytink I gonna do to you!" Incongruously, Marta noted that his perfect English inflection had vanished now that he was mad. Boy, she thought, half amused, I have really p.i.s.sed this guy off! She didn't care what he would do to her once they were back in the cabin-at least it would be warm! She laughed, or at least she thought she did, remembering a poem she'd once heard about a man who froze to death in the Arctic only to be revived when his partner tried to cremate him in an oven. Sam Magee, that was his name!