The Universe - or Nothing Part 21

Let's get on with it."

Brad noted that Rimov was staring at the intensity slide visible on the breechblock of his sheathed weapon. Rimov then tilted his head to scrutinize the settings on k.u.miko and Scarf's weapons. His brows tightened, puzzled. It pa.s.sed.

"OK, follow me," he said, pivoting and taking the lead.

The pa.s.sageways were narrow, confining them to two abreast. Rimov and one of his men walked ahead, the other three escorts followed close behind Brad and his party. The corridors they traversed had been cleared; no encounters.

Brad, familiar with transports of the line, memorized their route. They had boarded amidships, lower starboard, and were headed for an armor-enclosed section near the stern. The surveillance and tracking gear and the laser-quads'

fire control computers should be there. That part should be relatively simple. They reached a closed, heavy door. Rimov turned to Brad, his face reflecting rage.

"You didn't answer my question," he growled.

"What're you gonna do to my guns?"

"Nothing you couldn't fix in a couple of work shifts," Brad replied, motioning to the door.

"Let's move."

Grudgingly, Rimov placed his palm on the disk lock. A click and the heavy door retracted into the adjacent bulkhead.

As Brad expected, the fire control center consisted of dozens of consoles, scopes, directional and power control devices, and cl.u.s.ters of computer terminals.

k.u.miko and Brad circled the small room as Scarf watched from his position inside the entryway.

Rimov stood beside Scarf, his guards along the bulkhead, tense, weapons directed at the deck.

k.u.miko pointed to a console.

"I've got to see behind that panel, Brad," she said, pointing. "The master firing system controls should be concentrated there."

Brad turned and waved Rimov closer. Scarf didn't move; he got it all on his helmet intercom.

"Remove the panel," Brad said, pointing.

"Won't take my word, will you," Rimov growled.

Reaching over, he snapped several quick disconnects, slid the panel forward, reached into the recess behind, fiddled a couple of seconds, and pulled the panel forward again. It came loose, and he stepped back with it in his hands.

"Cut the power to this console," k.u.miko ordered.

Rimov shrugged, moved to another console and snapped several switches. k.u.miko watched closely.

Rimov turned back and observed her check several lights and dials above the s.p.a.ce from where the panel had been removed.

Satisfied, k.u.miko drew off her outer glove. Her hand remained encased in translucent, skin-tight insulation. Reaching into the cavity, she withdrew a tiny black chip. Setting it down on a nearby shelf, she repeated the operation. Shortly, a dozen chips lay on the shelf.

Rimov flushed with fury as he watched k.u.miko work, but remained silent.

Finally, k.u.miko stepped back, pulled a plastic bag from a pocket in her suit, and dropped in the a.s.sorted parts. Looking around the room, she went to a wall cabinet, opened the door, rummaged about and withdrew still more chips.

"Back up supplies," she said, adding them to the others in the plastic bag.

k.u.miko looked at Brad.

"The fire control center is out of action," she said. "Even if they do have more spares stashed away, it'll take them at least twenty hours to install the parts and calibrate the system."

Brad turned to Rimov. "Let's start with the aft gun turrets, and take them, in order, moving forward."

Chapter TWENTY

The next two hours were given to rushing along pa.s.sageways, climbing companionways and ladders, and crawling along narrow walkways. Several turrets could only be reached from the outside; k.u.miko's advice to wear suits proved sound.

At each gun emplacement, Rimov, his guards and Scarf watched Brad and k.u.miko inspect sector guides, range and directional interlocks and power drives.

Once satisfied that a gun emplacement was not b.o.o.by-trapped, k.u.miko inserted random realignment parameters into laser blocks, twirled tracking sequencers into disarray, and switched about chips and connectors. When she was done with a turret, the gun had a zero firing potential, and would take hours to repair, calibrate and test.

Brad noted that Rimov, following k.u.miko's work closely, showed grudging admiration in his eyes.

She was disabling the guns with gentle care, not damaging them, and Rimov knew it.

Finally, they were at the ship's bow. The final turret had been rendered inoperative.

Brad faced Rimov.

"We'll be on our way. Back to the air lock."

Brad was relieved. They would soon be in the utility, heading back to the Dragon, the job done.

Even Scarf could not fault them. Scarf's report might even work to the Sentinel's advantage.

Rimov took the lead. The deckhands seemed less tense. They sensed that Rimov was impressed by k.u.miko's professionalism, and they, too, had observed the consideration that k.u.miko had shown for the ship's equipment. She was obviously not a crowbar techie.

They moved toward the air lock single file, Rimov in the lead, Brad, k.u.miko and Scarf following, and the four deckhands, two abreast, in the rear.

Rounding a corner, they stopped. Ahead, three men crouched, laser-rifles at their shoulders aimed at them.

"Rimov, and you guys in the rear, outta the way.

We're puttin' these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds down."

The order came from a short, blond-haired buck, eyes glaring above his gunfight.

"Wait," Rimov screamed. "What's the h.e.l.l's goin'

on, Cordy? These guys got safe conduct from Bura."

"I don't buy that, Rimov. We got the word down below that the ship's bein' taken over by Narval's goons. We're gonna stop 'em. Come for'ard, I'm tellin' ya. They're goin' down, right now. Get ready, Joe, Pete."

The two guards behind Scarf and k.u.miko dropped to the deck and snaked back around the corner.

They were not about to shoot at shipmates.

Rimov dashed toward Cordy, his arms waving.