Long View - Zelde M'Tana Part 31

No-the way things went, nothing she could do. Except, now-eat the pain. And go ahead. . . .

Guard and aide helped Fesler take the body out. Zelde needed a drink. She looked at the bottle. Not out of that one, she didn't.

It was time she got back to Control; Zelde reloaded her gun, fully. Her stomach cramped on emptiness, but she couldn't think of anything that might stay down if she did eat it. She paused-got to get my head working better, or no chance at all!

She started for the door, but the intercom sounded so she went to it. The other voice came low. "Torra here, Zelde. Mauragin's loose-shot the guard and joined up with part of his gang. Headed ups.h.i.+p. I'm stuck here, hiding in a cubby-two of his guards covering the corridor outside. I'll try-"

The all-s.h.i.+p broadcast circuit, hissing with distortion, drowned her voice. "Now hear this! The captain speaking-Captain Carlo Mauragin. Parnell's dead.

Adopolous will be in custody soon. Tzane and Charvel already are. M'tana-you have ten minutes to turn yourself in. After that you'll be shot on sight."

He paused; Zelde could hear someone talking to him, but no words. "Yes," he said. "All personnel not a.s.signed by me, stay put-out of the corridors. Anyone moving around and not cleared, you may have time to surrender- but don't count on it."

The hiss ended. Zelde called Terra's name, but the circuit was dead.

I'm on my own. And threats or no threats, that left her only one choice.

Mauragin's guards weren't out yet in force; Zelde was three landings down before she met the first pair. They weren't fast enough, and died for it. Then, without further resistance she reached the level just above the drive room and headed for the equipment staging area. The only question was-had Carlo beat her to it?

He hadn't. The top half of the power suit lay back across a workbench; the rest of it trailed to the deck. She locked 243.

the door; it wasn't the only one into the general area, but she didn't know where the others were, so maybe Carlo didn't, either. She went over to the suit, thinking through what she'd learned-how to get in it, close it secure, and then put the power on. She nodded-yes, she remembered. But with no help, it wouldn't be easy. . . .

The bottom half was all right-like climbing into stiff, bulky trousers. Then it got tougher. Standing, she couldn't reach back for a solid grip on the arms or shoulders.

Finally she squatted-slowly, the framework hard to move without power-until the upper section came partway off the bench. Then-slow again, and a lot of work to it- she stood again, and now could reach where she had to. Awkward as h.e.l.l-but first she got the shoulder harness, then the arms, and finally the headpiece. Panting, she forced herself through the rest of it-dosing the suit, putting power to it and running systems checkouts. Too bad the suit's projector wouldn't plug in and work-but she saw it was gone from here, anyway. From a locker she took a standard, two-handed energy gun-except that in the suit, she could cradle and shoot it with one hand. She checked it-full charge, all right-and did a few quick exercises to get the feel of the suit. All right-it would have to do. She opened the door, and started ups.h.i.+p.

She had no choice of routes. The hullside stairs, that she'd stormed up during Escape, would be cramped pa.s.sage for the bulky suit. Easy to block, too-push a desk onto a landing and weld it in place. She'd play h.e.l.l clearing such a barricade, under fire. And the bypa.s.s from Drive to Control-the access was down one level, and Mauragin's people probably held Drive, by now. Anyway, she'd climbed two decks before she thought of it! So, too late now. . . .

She got more than halfway before anybody shot at her- Carlo didn't have the s.h.i.+p covered so good, after all. Keeping his troops to protect his own skin? Two, again-one with bullets and the other with a projector like her own. She stopped and steadied, and cut them both in half. d.a.m.n-burned through the bulkhead behind them-short bursts, remember?

At Fesler's deck she heard shooting and took a sidetrack-down the corridor and around a corner she found a 244.

siege in progress. Three gunners attacking the medical area, and not many shots fighting back. The three had no chance to turn around; she chopped them down and went to pick up their guns. The hospital door had its window blown out; the gun, that pointed through it, wavered. She yelled, "M'tana here! The ones shooting at you, they're dead. Have some guns, Fesler. Is Dopples all right?"

"We're okay, mostly-two wounded but no dead." Fesler sounded more mad than scared. "They barged in, the first bunch, and it was tight for a while. Dopples tried to fight, and caught a smash in the head-he's out cold, but breathing. Torra Defose got here and made the difference; those attackers are dead or captured. Then this new batch came. You got them all?"

"Like I said, yeah!" The medic was burn-smudged, but as he took the three guns he had a fighting grin. Behind him, Torra waved a hand; Zelde waved back. Fesler said, "What else is happening?"

She was already turning away. "Tell you after I get up to Control. Just hold the fort." He said something more-but charging up the next stairs, she didn't hear the words.

Mow at each landing she met firing. How many left?- she'd lost track. But this job was turning into a real p.i.s.s-cutter!

After her first fire fight above the medical area, she thought of another way to do it. The suit made noise-no chance of sneaking up on anybody. So at each landing she barged right on up until her head showed above the deck, then ducked down.

When shooting came, she waited until it stopped-then she eased the heavy energy gun up over, to point along the deck, and cut loose with a quick, swinging blast. And then came up and took care of what was left.

Twice, that meant killing. One time, all she saw was people running away, leaving guns on the deck. And three times there were men or women nursing seared legs, not interested in the guns they'd dropped. She tossed the weapons down the stairwell, and didn't bother asking anybody to surrender.

Up to the next level-at the galley entrance stood an armed guard. Inside, she saw people sitting, not moving.

245.

The guard's gun sank to point down at the deck; he stared at Zelde like he wished he didn't have to.

Past him, at a table, Zelde saw Rooster Hogan. She said, "Guard! How you stay alive is, I call somebody out from the galley and you give him that gun." She waited; the man gave a short, jerky nod. "All right-Rooster, the man wants you to have his gun." And a minute later, Rooster had the guard's job-but from inside, behind a barricade.

As Zelde left, he shouted after her, "Turk's still hurting, but she's going to make it!" She waved back to him.

Now, she knew, none of it would be easy. From the next level, before she got up there, a grenade bounced down the steps. Her energy gun caught it, and it blew like a steam kettle, not a bomb. Then she ran straight up into the lot of them, and caught them flatflooted, not expecting what they saw. One died and two gave up.

Coming to the next deck, it sounded too quiet, so she looked hard and saw something-a trip-thread, stretched straight across. She reached up and pulled it-and projector fire washed the deck above. When it died out-and she figured that what was left wouldn't get her, through the suit-she went on up. She pa.s.sed that charred area and saw no one, dead or alive.

One deck below Control, she ran into trouble. When she did her routine of pop up and duck back, the return fire didn't stop. And at a quick guess, she'd seen at least six armed people.

Waiting would make it worse-they could get more troops from upstairs, and pinpoint her. Down two levels- fast-she picked up the corpse, and its needlegun.

Then, back up again.

She shoved the dead one up to take the fire-and that fire came. With her left hand-the dead arm hung over it-she sprayed bullets, counting the seconds. At ten, she screamed and let the body sag down onto her, below deck-level; her last shot took out the overhead light. Then she waited.

First, only one looked down at the corpse sprawled over her-then two, then a third.

She threw the body at them, and stood, looking across the deck, and fired short projector bursts until nothing lived to stop her.

One more climb, to Control. They'd be warned-the 246.

fight below hadn't been quiet. But she found the landing clear, and turned toward the control room itself.

The door was open-blown partly off its hinges and sagging to one side. A direct approach was too dangerous; she came at an angle and risked a quick look inside.

Before she could see much, she got what she expected-a burst of energy fire. But it was heavier than her own gun could give. What the h.e.l.l?

She dropped flat-the suit's gyros made the move slower than she liked-and peered around the door edge.

It wasn't good-before the crash of energy fire came, over her head but only a little, she saw that much. A barricade-everything loose must have been piled up to make it.

And somebody in a helmet-Carlo? probably-aiming a gun over it. And now she saw where the big projector, designed as part of the suit, had gone. Carlo had it.

The one good part was the way he had it, lying across a cabinet. He couldn't point it down to reach her-his blasts came dead flat across.

But he wasn't the only one shooting-energy and needle weapons, both. She hitched her own gun up and sprayed at the lot-fast, so as not to wreck Control but maybe get their heads down and the guns quiet. The suit was tough- but repeated hits in one place could get through and kill her.

In sudden quiet she came to her feet-running stooped-down, she charged. She swung her gun in quick bursts- keep down, you peacef.u.c.kers!-but the bigger weapon on the barricade was reaching for her, flaring. She wasn't close enough-she threw her own gun and knocked the other out of line.

Firing from the sides distracted her; she ignored it and hit the piled-up barrier with the suit's full power. As she crashed through, falling, a gun came close against her head. She grabbed it and threw it down-and saw she'd also torn away the hand that held it.

One of the suit's knees jammed. She pivoted on the other leg and saw Mauragin, face pale through the helmet's visor, backing away. One lurching step, and she had him by the shoulder. He shrieked; she picked him up, one-handed, and threw him at two who shot at her.

Off balance, she fell. Scrambling up-the knee worked again but the suit was slow now, its gyro clutches chatter- 247.

ing-she swung a heavy chair first against one gun-wielder and then the other. She dropped it and picked up the big projector Carlo had used-wired, with untidy cabling, to draw s.h.i.+p's power. She moved, so that no Control functions were in her line of fire-and blasted everything that stood. Smoke billowed-and the stink. . . .

Gasping, she turned to see if anybody was running the s.h.i.+p. Gil Charvel, handcuffed to an armrest, sat in one Control Seat. Two seats away, both hands bound, was Lera Tzane-and bending over her, facing away from Zelde, was a short, skinny woman. Lera screamed; Zelde made the crippled suit move, and caught the woman's arm.

Carefully, so as not to tear the arm off, she turned that one to face her. She hardly noticed the hypo-ampoule the woman dropped. What she saw was the face- the nose, flattened to one side. And now, from Hold, Portside Upper, she remembered it.

Harder than she meant to, Zelde shook the woman; she heard bone snap. "Tessi Franzel, you'd be. I think you owe me more than your whole life's got in it, to pay.

But we'll have us one real good talk, finding out."

Sorting things out-that took some time. Dazed now, in reaction-not feeling real at all-Zelde sat on an overturned cabinet. Still in the suit, but she had the headpiece off.

Torra Defose seemed to know what she was doing; Zelde just sat and watched, and listened. She ate something- Lera Tzane made her do that-but she didn't taste it.

What a peace-bed.a.m.ned mess! Torra had a crew cleaning Control up, dead bodies and all-but that was the least of it.

Lera wasn't hurt, or Charvel-they'd been taken at gunpoint, no chance to fight.

Dopples was still out cold. Turk would be all right, but not soon. And Ragir-he's dead!

Carlo-he could be patched up, if there was any point to it. Tessi Franzel-Torra brought the woman, one arm dangling limp, to face Zelde. "I'll question this one for you. Is there anything special, besides names, that we need to know?"

Franzel made a tight, one-sided grin. "Whatever you want to know, you won't hear it from me."

With her fingers, Torra made a sign. Franzel's eyes went wide, and she tried to whisper to the taller woman. Defose 248.

shook her head. "No. But I was Police-so now you know you'll talk."

Zelde said, "Maybe I should come, help ask questions." "No." Torra's face was a mask. "You don't want to see it." And she took Franzel away. When she came back, alone, she said, "Eighteen others, besides herself and Maur-agin. Ten secret Uties-and the rest just plain scared into going along. I wouldn't bother punis.h.i.+ng those last-the two left alive-if I were you."

"How about the rest-the Uties? And where's Franzel?" No expression on Torra's lean face. "I s.p.a.ced her." Zelde tried to stand. The suit, power off now as Henty Monteil worked on the damaged knee, didn't budge. "Torra-wasn't that my place, to decide?"

Defose paused. "Making that one talk wasn't easy. I told you, you didn't want to see it-you wouldn't like the result, either. By the time she told it all, she was better off dead. So after I finished throwing up, I gave her to the airlock."

There wasn't much way to answer that, so Zelde didn't.

Five of the closet Uties still lived. No time, now-Zelde had them locked up. She was giving a lot of orders in a hurry-and paused once, wondering why Lera wasn't doing any of it. Then she shrugged-some folks do things and some don't. It wouldn't look good in the log, but who was going to argue?

Monteil finished with the knee joint. "It should work- but don't put much strain on it."

Zelde restored power and-leaving the headpiece back - tried the suit's action. Not as strong as before, but she could move around. "Thanks, Henty," and the small woman smiled and took her tools away.

Carlo, now. She went-slow, getting the new feel of the suit-over to where he lay, head pillowed on a rolled-up jacket.

Seeing her, his eyes turned up nearly out of sight. She said, "This won't take long." Not hard, just barely, she touched his crushed shoulder. "Don't bother fainting-I'll just wake you back up." He did faint twice, but his story fit what Defose got from Franzel. "All right, Carlo. We're done now."

Pale-faced, sweating, he said, "What-what happens to me?"

249.

She had to think. "You got Parnell killed-in a half-a.s.sed way, but you managed it.

Tried to kill me, too-and Dopples. Tried to give us back to UET-that's the worst."

She shook her head. "I'm s.p.a.cing you, Carlo."

All the way-while she carried him downs.h.i.+p and put him in the main airlock, and finally opened it to s.p.a.ce- not once did he stop screaming.

When she got to the equipment staging area, to take the suit off-as tired, she thought, as if she had to move it without power-she found that Torra Defose was with her. "How . . . ?"

"I followed you, Zelde. And I admired how you forced yourself to hear Carlo, all that way. Me-I'd have put him unconscious. But you-"

"s.h.i.+t. Didn't think of it, was all." She leaned against the workbench and fumbled at the suit's fastenings.

Defose moved forward. "Let me help you."

"You know how?"

The woman shrugged. "If you'll point to where things work, I think I can figure it out." So, feeling thankful, Zelde let her help get the suit off. Free of it, she turned and straightened the joints, looking for damage. No, nothing that showed-Henty should probably check closer, though. She turned to Defose.

"I guess I better-" Try to sleep, she meant to say. But-"Who's got the watch?"

"Charvel, then Tzane. After that-if you're not up to it, Zelde, Rooster Hogan's ready to sit in. Or I can, myself." Zelde's surprise must have showed; Defose said, "All the watch has to do, just now, is call someone if anything changes. So don't worry. And now, let's get you ups.h.i.+p and lying down."

Not thinking too well-and she knew it-Zelde went ups.h.i.+p. She didn't lean on Defose-not exactly. In quarters she lay down, too tired to take her clothes off. Torra did that for her, and pulled the covers up. Zelde couldn't think, couldn't talk- couldn't even cry. The last she remembered, the woman was still holding her, so she didn't shake quite so much.

When she woke, Torra was gone. Zelde showered and dressed. Either her head was working again, or fooling 250.

her-it would have to do. Nearly time for her regular watch; she decided she might as well stand it. For a moment she paused-the trouble was over now, wasn't it? But just the same, she wore her knife and the needle gun.

Pa.s.sing the galley, she found she had an appet.i.te again, and took time for breakfast-but only one cup of coffee, and she drank it fast. Then she went to Control.

Most of the wreckage was cleared away, but the seared deck and bulkheads still showed the effects of the fire fight. Lera Tzane, with three technicians, had the watch; talking to Lera was Torra Defose. Zelde walked over and greeted them.

Tzane looked around. "Zelde, are you all right?"

Zelde shrugged. "No. But ready to work. Situation report?"

"I've logged the mutiny attempt, the best I could-you'l! probably need to add to it. Casualties-thirteen mutineers dead and s.p.a.ced, seven confined. We lost eight dead and several injured. Dopples is still unconscious; Fesler's worried." That makes two of us!

"And the s.h.i.+p. Course? Position sightings?"

"All on sked, Zelde."

"Then I'll take over; you're relieved. I expect you can use some rest."

Lera nodded, but Torra Defose spoke. "Zelde-hadn't you better settle first, who's running this s.h.i.+p?" When Zelde didn't answer, the other said, "I mean, call a meeting-as Parnell did, I understand, under similar circ.u.mstances-and make sure the situation is clear to everyone."