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“Beatriz knows the drill,” he said. “She’ll suit up.”
“Does she know the visual ‘all clear’ code?”
MacIntosh nodded.
“She knows it, but I’ll bet she knows better than to use it.”
Two things prevented a sealed-off fire area from being committed to vacuum: an automatic sensor signal “all clear” to the Orbiter computer, and a coded visual “all clear” signal to the computer. Since the sensors in the studio undoubtedly reported no sign of fire, the computer awaited the visual code indicating that a human had inspected the scene and declared it clear. Meanwhile, the suspect area remained sealed off, accessible only by fire personnel.
The intercom warned: “Attention axis deck, yellow sectors eight through sixteen. Vacuum instillation in three minutes. Vacuum in three minutes. Full pressure suit mandatory in these areas …”
The electronic device that the fire squad used to enter sealed hatches didn’t work on the first try, or the second. MacIntosh plugged his set into the bulkhead receptacle and tried direct contact with the studio.
Spud plugged into MacIntosh.
“Anything?” he asked. MacIntosh shook his head. “Static. They’re just not …”
On the third try the hatch sprang aside. The fire squad rushed in and MacIntosh shouldered himself behind them, hiding the lasgun as best he could. He was glad he did.
Beatriz was the only one who had managed to don a suit. She stood to the side of the hatch and grabbed MacIntosh as he raced through. The momentum spun him into the bulkhead beside her, but she had a good grip on a handhold so they both stayed put.
The others fumbled with the seals of their suits, surprised at the suddenness of the fire squad’s entry. One of the newcomers made a clumsy dive for the back of the studio, but he was grabbed in flight by a firefighter and his partner who wrestled him to a handhold and restrained him. MacIntosh made sure the rest of them saw his lasgun and they stayed put.
Mack’s squad finished their sweep of the room in less than a minute and one of them sent the “all clear, visual” signal back to the computer. The intercom announced “all clear,” and MacIntosh unfastened his headgear. Beatriz beat him to it.
“They killed my crew,” she shouted. “They killed your security squad and they have weapons back there in the lockers.”
One of the firelighters sailed to the back of the studio to search out the weapons cache.
“Hold these men,” MacIntosh ordered, “and hand out whatever weapons they have, we’re likely to need them.”
The firefighters used various lines and straps from their pockets to truss up Leon and his two men. All three were confounded and helpless in zero-gee. The fire squad lived and worked in it every day, but MacIntosh still had to admire their ease of movement, even with three struggling captives in tow.
Beatriz hugged him tight and kissed him. Even through the added bulk of the vacuum suit, she felt good to him.
“I was hoping we could do that under other circumstances,” he said. He felt her trembling and held her close.
“There are more of them,” she said, “I counted thirty-two altogether. My guess is that their leader, Captain Brood, is with the OMC.”
“Spud, you heard?”
“Yes, Dr. Mack.”
“All this action’s going to bring somebody down here. Seal off axis sector yellow, code admission only. We might seal a few of them in here with us, but it’ll give us time to deal with the rest of them.”
Spud activated the nearest console and completed the order in a blink.
MacIntosh motioned to the firefighter with the white headgear. “There’s a big storage locker across the passageway that’s empty. Seal these men in there and then meet me in the teaching lab next to Current Control. If you can find any weapons from our own security, bring them. I want your best tunnel rats, as many as you can muster.”
“Aye, Commander,” he said, then added, “these men are groundsiders, sir. You saw how clumsy they are. Our best weapons here are zero-gee and vacuum.”
“You’re right,” MacIntosh said, taking Beatriz’s hand, “and strategy. Let’s move.”
Chapter 48
While the fat and flesh cleaving to the flame are devoured by it, you who cleave to it are yet alive.
—Zohar: The Book of Splendor
Spider Nevi hoped that Flattery was getting a humbling at the hands of the rabble, because Nevi was certainly getting a humbling out here at the hands of the kelp. He’d spotted Zentz floating on his back, only the whites of his eyes visible, the mouthpiece to his breathing apparatus discarded. A long strand of kelp wrapped his middle, and it reeled him steadily toward the edge of the lagoon.
Lucky for Zentz that he’d had the presence of mind to inflate the collar of the suit. It kept his head and shoulders on the surface, though fat as he was his body floated nicely enough without it. Lucky, too, that Nevi had hit the vine quickly and on the first shot. He had Zentz all the way back to the foil before he felt the seethe of kelp anger on his heels. Zentz appeared to be breathing.
It would’ve been so much easier if he had drowned, Nevi thought. But might still need him. A live body is a lot more useful than a dead one.
Nevi knew one thing for sure, he was getting out of reach of the kelp. One zombie on the crew was enough. The foil started a slow spin, and Nevi swore under his breath.
It’s channeling us into its reach.
He managed to secure Zentz’s collar with a line from the aft hatchway and pulled him aboard the foil. He used a boathook to brush off pieces of kelp frond that clung to the unconscious Zentz.
The whole situation had passed beyond the ridiculous for Nevi, now it was simply comic. It didn’t matter to him whether Flattery stayed in power or not. Whoever was up there would need Spider Nevi and his services, and Nevi enjoyed that position. It was like having three or four good chess moves already set while the opponent was in check. Well, it was time Flattery learned his worth.
Send me out here, will he?
Zentz had been kelped, and the automatics in his dive suit kept him from swimming off to who-knows-where. They didn’t keep him from struggling blindly against rescue. At sixty-five kilos, Nevi struggled for a while to wrestle the nearly one hundred kilos of Zentz inside the foil and harness him into his couch. He didn’t know why he bothered, except that it would give Flattery something to play with if they didn’t come back with Crista Galli and Ozette.
Ne
vi quickly maneuvered the foil to the center of the lagoon and prepared for vertical takeoff. Vertical would eat up more fuel than he liked, but it would cut his odds of getting grabbed by that kelp stand.
He punched in the automatic VTO sequence and all of the power of the foil kicked him right in the seat of the pants. It swayed like a bug on a blade of grass until they were a safe hundred meters above the lagoon. He set the controls for straight-and-level and turned the foil loose. A routine ten-minute refueling had turned into nearly an hour’s delay, and Nevi couldn’t afford to waste another blink.
He listened to the radio and couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation back at the Preserve. He’d tried to raise Flattery on their dedicated channel, but no one keyed him in at the other end. One fragment of transmission from an overflight came through and he shook his head in wonder.
What idiot talked Flattery into depth-charging the foil we’re hunting?
He snapped off the radio and relaxed his grip on the controls. The afternoon turbulence didn’t sit well on his stomach, so he flipped off the autopilot. He needed something to do besides listen to Zentz snore through his drool. He kept the yellow arrow on his viewscreen pointed toward the green coordinates set down by the overflights.
Zentz squirmed in the copilot’s couch.
Our Chief of Security might be coming around.
Nevi sneered at the mere thought of Zentz as chief of anything. Chief Breach of Security, he thought. Chief of Insecurity.
Nevi had to admit that Zentz had held a difficult line against the increasing hostility of the villagers for nearly a year. A mob of villagers was one thing—this Crista Galli and her Shadow playmates were quite another.
