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“What?” MacD said.
“The cargo bays are opening.”
MacD went forward and crammed himself into the tiny space with her. The Centaurus loomed like a leviathan, filling the window. Sure enough, the doors above the cargo bays closest to the superstructure were in the upright position.
MacD listened in as Linda tried to make contact with the bridge of the Centaurus.
“Eric, come in,” she said. “What’s going on up there?”
There was no response.
“Chairman, this is Linda. Come in, please.”
“Juan here.”
“We’ve lost contact with the bridge, and we can see that the cargo bay doors have opened again. They can launch the rockets.”
“We just heard from Polk. He claims that he got Linc, Eric, and Sylvia with the Enervum gas.”
“We didn’t see a rocket go up.”
“He must have used a grenade or smoke canister. But we’re locked into the citadel at the bottom of the ship. We’re trying to get out, but we’re not having any luck. This place is sealed tighter than Fort Knox.”
“Can we do anything? Should we try to get aboard?”
“No,” Juan said. “Stay put. We need you out there to target the Centaurus.”
MacD looked at Linda. “Ah’d rather go and fight.”
She returned his gaze with a resolute expression. “The Chairman knows what he’s doing.”
* * *
—
It was only when Sylvia had gone down two levels that she noticed that one of Polk’s rounds had nicked her leg. She’d left tiny blood droplets behind her, like a trail of bread crumbs, leading Polk right to her.
There was no point in hiding. In less than eight minutes, the rockets would launch unless she could stop them somehow. But with Eric and Linc paralyzed, and Polk in pursuit, it seemed hopeless. Even if she got another submachine gun from one of the other dead mercenaries, she wasn’t sure she could defeat a former police detective in a shoot-out.
Still, she had to try something. If he was following her blood trail, she might be able to use it to lead him to her.
There was a fire ax on the wall. She took it out o
f its cradle and got a feel for its weight. It was heavy for her, but she thought she could get in a solid swing.
Sylvia walked to the next corner and went around it. She put her back against the wall, the ax tight in her hands, and waited.
She kept the mask on in case Polk threw another grenade. She tempered her breathing so that the sound of her mask filter was as muted as possible. Polk would be breathing harder in his own mask because he was on the move, so she hoped he wouldn’t hear her.
She didn’t have to wait long for Polk. The distinctive Darth Vader wheeze of his breathing slowly grew louder as if he were taking his time stalking his prey.
She’d only get one swing, so she had to make it count. The awful breathing sound got closer and closer until it seemed like he was right around the corner.
Without waiting for Polk to show himself, Sylvia swung the ax as hard as she could at chest level.
A hand came up to deflect the handle, but in his shock at being attacked Polk misjudged the angle. The razor-sharp edge sliced across his wrist, cutting deep, before embedding itself in the wall.
Polk let out a scream as blood poured from his ruined wrist. His hand dangled uselessly.
