intruder had magnetic
boots. He began walking after Bobbie. Bing looked at the window and yelled, “Air
leak! Everyone into survival bubbles!” She hastily zipped her own closed.
Over a dozen shots had hit
the transparent aluminum viewport. Cracks in its crystalline structure spread
as Billy watched. He looked around the hold. Most of the passengers had gotten
to the ladder or rescue bubbles. Bobbie’s two friends had been knocked off
their grips in the scuffle and were drifting through the air. He leapt for the
nearest, grabbed her by the waist, and threw her toward the girls’ sleeping
tent. A quick rebound off the deck let him grab the other girl. Their momentum
took them toward the professor’s observation gear. He kicked off it to get them
to the tent. In a moment all three were in it as he turned to seal the
entrance. Thank God for vacuum-proof zippers, he thought.
He had it closed just as the
window gave way in a roar of escaping air. The tent’s air pressure pulled its walls
tight. A sharp whistle came from the entry. “Fuck.” A quick inspection showed
Billy some bent teeth were letting air through the zipper. He slapped his palm
on the leak. The whistle stopped. No sound except the girls crying in fear. “Only
one leak, that’s easy. Got any water?”
One held up an empty bottle.
“Crap.” The suction on his
hand hurt. He pulled his hand off and yanked his fly open. A stream of urine splashed
messily around the leak. Some was on target. Most bubbled away. Enough froze to
seal the leak with an irregular block of ice. Quiet fell again. “Um, sorry,”
Billy said over his shoulder as he refastened. “Only idea I came up with.”
The brown-haired girl
muttered, “I thought boys thinking with it was an expression .”
***
The cabins by the hatch to
the hold were both empty. Captain Schwartzenberger waited in the starboard one,
feet and shoulders braced in a corner. He aimed his pistol at the latch side of
the cabin hatch. He heard the deck hatch unbolt. A great whoosh as corridor air
escaped into the hold. Then the hatch rebolting. A few magnetic footsteps. A
creak as the other cabin’s hatch opened.
The captain pulled his hatch
open and braced himself on the rim. The intruder held a mirror to peer around
the hatch into the right-hand cabin. Schwartzenberger fired half a dozen shots
into the back of his head. The lead bullets blasted the dark grey paint off the
gleaming armor of the helmet. The intruder back-kicked the captain off his
perch, sending him spinning into the middle of the cabin.
A marksmanship instructor’s
mocking voice echoed in his head. “ Always aim for the center of mass.”
Schwartzenberger tried a couple of shots as he spun. Neither came close. He
landed well on the far wall but the intruder had followed too closely for him
to get a shot off. The captain blocked a punch to his face but an arm bone
broke under the suited fist. A kick to the knee was even more painful. The
intruder dodged a left-hand punch then slammed his hand into the side of
Schwartzenberger’s head.
Blackness.
***
Bobbie and John waited in the
captain’s cabin, feet braced on his bed. She was amazed at how cheerful she
felt. It must be the familiarity of it. John ran her through a hide and ambush
drill at least twice a month. If she could hit the pop-up target before he put
three holes in it there’d be ice cream. Lately he’d been threatening to change
it to two holes.
She almost fired as the hatch
opened. Nothing was visible in the gap. Then some fingers grabbed the edge, a
mirror mounted to their back. Bobbie’s shot missed. John missed the fingers but
shattered the mirror. They vanished, then flicked back into view as they threw
something into the cabin.
Bobbie couldn’t see what it
was, just John’s back as he sprang to intercept. He grabbed, cocked his arm to
throw, the grenade went off. His body went limply across the cabin. The
concussion shook Bobbie but she had drilled
boots. He began walking after Bobbie. Bing looked at the window and yelled, “Air
leak! Everyone into survival bubbles!” She hastily zipped her own closed.
Over a dozen shots had hit
the transparent aluminum viewport. Cracks in its crystalline structure spread
as Billy watched. He looked around the hold. Most of the passengers had gotten
to the ladder or rescue bubbles. Bobbie’s two friends had been knocked off
their grips in the scuffle and were drifting through the air. He leapt for the
nearest, grabbed her by the waist, and threw her toward the girls’ sleeping
tent. A quick rebound off the deck let him grab the other girl. Their momentum
took them toward the professor’s observation gear. He kicked off it to get them
to the tent. In a moment all three were in it as he turned to seal the
entrance. Thank God for vacuum-proof zippers, he thought.
He had it closed just as the
window gave way in a roar of escaping air. The tent’s air pressure pulled its walls
tight. A sharp whistle came from the entry. “Fuck.” A quick inspection showed
Billy some bent teeth were letting air through the zipper. He slapped his palm
on the leak. The whistle stopped. No sound except the girls crying in fear. “Only
one leak, that’s easy. Got any water?”
One held up an empty bottle.
“Crap.” The suction on his
hand hurt. He pulled his hand off and yanked his fly open. A stream of urine splashed
messily around the leak. Some was on target. Most bubbled away. Enough froze to
seal the leak with an irregular block of ice. Quiet fell again. “Um, sorry,”
Billy said over his shoulder as he refastened. “Only idea I came up with.”
The brown-haired girl
muttered, “I thought boys thinking with it was an expression .”
***
The cabins by the hatch to
the hold were both empty. Captain Schwartzenberger waited in the starboard one,
feet and shoulders braced in a corner. He aimed his pistol at the latch side of
the cabin hatch. He heard the deck hatch unbolt. A great whoosh as corridor air
escaped into the hold. Then the hatch rebolting. A few magnetic footsteps. A
creak as the other cabin’s hatch opened.
The captain pulled his hatch
open and braced himself on the rim. The intruder held a mirror to peer around
the hatch into the right-hand cabin. Schwartzenberger fired half a dozen shots
into the back of his head. The lead bullets blasted the dark grey paint off the
gleaming armor of the helmet. The intruder back-kicked the captain off his
perch, sending him spinning into the middle of the cabin.
A marksmanship instructor’s
mocking voice echoed in his head. “ Always aim for the center of mass.”
Schwartzenberger tried a couple of shots as he spun. Neither came close. He
landed well on the far wall but the intruder had followed too closely for him
to get a shot off. The captain blocked a punch to his face but an arm bone
broke under the suited fist. A kick to the knee was even more painful. The
intruder dodged a left-hand punch then slammed his hand into the side of
Schwartzenberger’s head.
Blackness.
***
Bobbie and John waited in the
captain’s cabin, feet braced on his bed. She was amazed at how cheerful she
felt. It must be the familiarity of it. John ran her through a hide and ambush
drill at least twice a month. If she could hit the pop-up target before he put
three holes in it there’d be ice cream. Lately he’d been threatening to change
it to two holes.
She almost fired as the hatch
opened. Nothing was visible in the gap. Then some fingers grabbed the edge, a
mirror mounted to their back. Bobbie’s shot missed. John missed the fingers but
shattered the mirror. They vanished, then flicked back into view as they threw
something into the cabin.
Bobbie couldn’t see what it
was, just John’s back as he sprang to intercept. He grabbed, cocked his arm to
throw, the grenade went off. His body went limply across the cabin. The
concussion shook Bobbie but she had drilled
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