Текст книги "Summon the Thunder"

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

36

Even Pennington winced when the second of Broon’s men landed a vicious punch to Quinn’s stomach. The privateer sagged to the deck of the cargo hold, releasing another bout of violent coughing as he tried without success to keep from falling onto his face.

“That one’s going to leave a mark,” Quinn said between ragged breaths. Blood streamed from a cut over his left eye, compliments of the first hit he had taken from one of Broon’s thugs. He reached up to wipe his face, but his arm was pulled away as two of the men yanked him to his feet, only to hold him steady as yet another member of the gang slammed his fist into the pilot’s gut.

“Is this really necessary?” Pennington shouted, making no attempt to hide his indignation at being forced to watch Quinn suffer.

Standing a few meters away near a table where Armnoj had been planted along with his briefcase, Broon regarded the journalist with a leering smile made all the more sinister thanks to his yellow, crooked teeth. “No, but it’s fun.” He indicated Quinn with a wave of his hand. “Your pal there gave me a lot of grief on Kessik IV last month. He was supposed to die there, you know. Ganz contracted me to kill him. Things didn’t work out, obviously, thanks to some friends he brought along. What I don’t get is why Ganz didn’t kill me afterward. He’s not usually so forgiving.”

Pennington remembered Quinn mentioning something about Kessik IV during one of his frequent stupors. To hear him tell the tale, Quinn had been the benefactor of action on T’Prynn’s part. The specifics were lost amid the pilot’s inebriated slurring, but Pennington had gotten the gist: Vanguard’s senior intelligence officer had a need for Quinn—for the short term, at any rate—and Ganz was smart enough not to get in the way of that.

Evidently, Broon lacked similar comprehension of the situation.

Turning to where Armnoj sat at the table fiddling with his still-closed briefcase, the pirate smacked the Zakdorn across the back of the head. “Why isn’t that thing open yet?”

Armnoj reached up to rub where he had been struck. “It takes time to disengage the security measures protecting the contents,” he said, his voice even more high-pitched and nasally than usual. “Do you want me to destroy everything because you rushed me?”

Looking to Pennington, Broon sneered. “I’m amazed you didn’t kill him days ago.”

“The thought crossed our minds,” Pennington replied, looking in the direction of the Rigelian currently training a disruptor pistol on him. The thug was dividing his attention between him and Armnoj while also listening to his boss.

A yell of pain caught his attention and Pennington turned to see that one of the four men taking turns beating Quinn had landed another blow to his face. Quinn reeled from the blow, falling backward and dropping to one knee where, thankfully, he remained. His attackers, apparently possessing at least a modicum of decency, refrained from further action and instead waited for him to regain his feet.

They’re going to kill him, and even if they don’t, we’re both dead anyway.

Looking about the cargo room, a different and much cleaner one than where he, Quinn, and Armnoj had been held after being brought aboard Broon’s ship, Pennington’s eyes fell upon the open hatch leading into the airlock, which according to Broon would be the gateway to oblivion so far as he and Quinn were concerned. Fear, anger, indignation, and helplessness all fought for control of the journalist as he stared at that hatch. The thought of waiting inside the cramped vestibule for the harsh, unforgiving vacuum of space to claim them terrified Pennington. It was no way to die, not for any being, even the vilest of criminals.

His gaze wandered to the airlock—and fixed upon the control panel mounted to the bulkhead next to it. In that instant Pennington’s conflicting emotions resolved themselves into a single, unwavering moment of conviction.

If I’m going out, I’m taking these bastards with me.

Lunging forward, Pennington slapped his hand down upon the large switch on one end of the control panel. The Rigelian guarding him was startled by his sudden action, his slow response further hindered when an alarm blared through the cargo hold.

“What the hell?” Broon turned, his eyes wide even as one beefy hand reached beneath his coat for the disruptor strapped to his hip. Imagining the crosshairs on his back, Pennington ignored him and instead smacked his hand down upon another control, which was answered by the sudden roar of venting atmosphere.

Here’s hoping I didn’t just open the bloody door!

Other reactions quickly followed as the men thrashing Quinn turned toward the hatch, their expressions equally terrified as they realized what was happening. Pennington disregarded all of that, too, his focus instead on the Rigelian who was backpedaling away from the airlock. The henchman’s attention was more on getting to safety and therefore he was unprepared when Pennington slammed him into a bulkhead. The journalist wrapped his left hand around the barrel of the Rigelian’s disruptor pistol and jerked it up and away, at the same time lashing out with his right fist and connecting with the thug’s temple.

Orange energy whined past his ear and Pennington ducked as a disruptor bolt struck the wall next to his head. He pushed to his left, taking the dazed Rigelian with him even as he landed another punch to the guard’s head. Now holding the disruptor, he brought the weapon up as he spun to face the center of the room, firing it indiscriminately at Broon and the others. He hit nothing, of course, but it was enough to cause the pirate and his crewmen to scatter in search of cover. Pennington dashed away from the airlock, disruptor bolts tearing into the walls and deck around him as he sought refuge behind a nearby cargo crate. Once under cover, he turned and aimed the weapon toward the control panel for the airlock. He pressed the firing stud and the disruptor spat energy yet again.

The control panel erupted in a wash of sparks and small flames, followed immediately by a shrieking alarm beginning to wail within the confines of the room. Pennington heard the now very pronounced hiss of escaping air. If his guess was right, with the control panel destroyed, there was now no way to stop the airlock and—thanks to its open inner hatch—the rest of the cargo hold from completely depressurizing.

Thankfully, Pennington saw that the airlock’s outer hatch remained closed. Small favors, I suppose.

“You fool!” Pennington heard Broon cry from wherever the pirate was hiding. “You’ll kill us all!” More disruptor fire rang out through the room, as though emphasizing the quickly escalating problem.

Suppose that means my guess was right,Pennington mused. While Pennington figured the action likely would be arrested by one of Broon’s men from elsewhere on the ship, perhaps the immediate chaos his tactic had generated would be enough to allow him, Quinn, and Armnoj a chance to escape.

From the corner of his eye Pennington saw Quinn lumbering across the deck, body slamming one of the men who had been beating on him. The two men stumbled into the nearby wall and Quinn drove the top of his skull into the other man’s jaw. It was enough to drop the man to his knees, giving Quinn the opening he needed to punch him again as he grabbed the thug’s disruptor. The pilot all but fell to the deck as an energy bolt hit the wall next to him, firing his own weapon as he scrambled for something behind which to hide.

“Tim!” Pennington heard Quinn shout. “The door!”

Understanding what the other man meant—at least, he hoped he did—Pennington looked to his left to see the hatch leading from the cargo bay into the adjoining corridor. The only way from the chamber that did not involve explosive decompression and immediate death, the hatch was still closed. If Broon or any of his men got to it before he did, he, Quinn, and Armnoj would be trapped here. Of course, if he could not get the door open, he and everyone else in here were going to asphyxiate, anyway.

And what if more of his men comethrough the door?

A disruptor bolt chewing into the side of the cargo container behind which he was crouching pushed away the unhelpful thought. Ducking to his left, Pennington saw one of Broon’s men leaning around the side of a storage locker, lining up for another shot. The journalist tried to bring up his own weapon but he was too slow. Another energy discharge rang out across the cargo hold, this one catching the other man and slamming him into the locker he used for cover. Pennington looked to see Quinn firing his own captured disruptor again, this time using the weapon to pin down another of Broon’s thugs as he moved from his place of concealment toward the hatch.

“Quinn!” Pennington heard Broon shout, the hefty man’s booming voice sounding even more ominous than what he had previously heard. The pirate rose from where had sought protection, aiming his disruptor in Quinn’s direction. Quinn did not react to the shout, instead firing at another of the henchmen who had made the mistake of exposing themselves from behind a cargo container. The energy burst struck the man in the chest, driving him backward; he slammed against a support strut before falling to the floor.

Sensing his breaths coming with more difficulty now that the balance of the oxygen had been released from the room, Pennington detected movement to his left and turned to see the fifth of Broon’s thugs trying to sneak around a group of smaller crates haphazardly stacked along the hold’s far bulkhead. He released an involuntary yelp of surprise, swinging his disruptor to aim at the approaching assailant. The other man found himself caught out in the open as Pennington pressed the weapon’s firing stud.

The first shot went wide to his right and the second sailed too far to the left, but his third attempt found its mark, striking the man in the left thigh. He fell to the deck, dropping his disruptor in order to clutch his wounded leg. Pennington fired again, this time hitting the man in the chest. The pirate slumped unconscious to the floor.

“Get Armnoj!” Quinn shouted as he dodged Broon’s disruptor fire, throwing himself behind another cargo container. He fired back toward the pirate’s hiding place, both men now doing their utmost to pin down the other.

Ignoring the firefight unfolding on the other side of the cargo hold, Pennington lurched from his own place of protection across the deck toward Armnoj. The sounds of continued depressurization did not drown out the cries of terror the Zakdorn emitted from where the reporter saw he now cowered beneath the worktable, his briefcase clutched to his chest. With each new disruptor bolt he uttered a fresh shriek and tried to hide even farther under the table.

“Come on!” the reporter shouted, reaching beneath the table and grabbing the accountant’s collar to pull him from his hiding place. Armnoj stumbled to his feet, still clasping his ubiquitous briefcase to his body.

“Get me out of here!” he whined, struggling for breath in the oxygen-depleted air of the cargo hold and grasping Pennington’s free arm as though it were a lifeline.

Pennington grimaced in irritation but could not shake himself free. “Let’s go,” he hissed through gritted teeth, flinching as more disruptor fire echoed through the room. Hugging the wall, Pennington guided Armnoj toward the door leading from the cargo bay. Passing the airlock, he reached out to hit the control panel, halting the depressurization and beginning the process of restoring the atmosphere to the air-depleted room. The action served an additional purpose, as he knew the hatch leading to the corridor would not open so long as there was a threat of compromising the rest of the ship’s atmosphere.

Another disruptor bolt hit the wall in front of him and Pennington recoiled, feeling the heat from the energy blast as he fell backward. More disruptor fire illuminated the cargo hold and he looked for its source to see Broon ducking behind a trio of storage drums. Pennington fired in that direction, hoping to make the pirate keep his head down.

“Move, damn you!” he shouted, his lungs aching as he shoved Armnoj in the direction of the door. To his right he saw Broon sticking his head up from behind one of the storage drums, realizing too late as he stared at the barrel of the brigand’s disruptor pistol that the bastard now had him dead to rights. The son of a bitch even was smiling.

Then Pennington heard another pulse of energy and saw the blast hit Broon in the chest. The outlaw convulsed as the disruptor bolt washed over him before he fell limp to the deck, disappearing from sight behind the storage cylinders.

Thank God. Pennington breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that all of the potential threats inside the cargo bay appeared to have been neutralized.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Quinn said as he made his way, somewhat slowly and in what Pennington realized was a marginal amount of pain, across the room to where Broon’s prone form lay prostrate on the deck. “No telling how many more goons he’s got aboard.” As the reporter watched, Quinn knelt down next to the unconscious pirate and delved through the pockets of his jacket. It took him only a moment to retrieve what he had been seeking: the data core from the Klingon sensor drone.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Armnoj asked, his eyes wide with fear. He appeared even to be trembling, still gripped by the intensity of the past few minutes.

Quinn shrugged. “Get the hell out of here,” he said as he tucked the data core into his jacket pocket. Moving to a row of lockers lined up along a nearby bulkhead, he began rummaging through the different storage compartments.

“Won’t Broon’s men have something to say about that?” Pennington asked.

“Probably.” Reaching into one of the lockers, Quinn extracted what appeared to be a civilian model of tricorder. “Would you rather stay?” he asked, turning to regard Pennington as he headed for the door.

The reporter shook his head. “Lead the way, mate.”

Broon employed at least two more men, both of whom were waiting as Quinn led Pennington and Armnoj to the cargo bay holding the Rocinante.

The first shot came as Quinn stepped through the hatch leading into the bay, striking the wall to his left. It was followed by another shot of equally poor aim that tore into the deck in front of him. Pennington followed the trajectory of the energy pulse up to see one of Broon’s thugs crouching atop a catwalk and aiming a disruptor rifle in their direction.

“Up high!” Pennington shouted, raising his weapon to fire at the would-be sniper. Though he missed, the man scrambled from his perch in search of cover.

From where he knelt near a tool locker, Quinn motioned for Pennington to keep moving. “Get that idiot to the ship!” he shouted before firing toward the first shooter, driving the assailant deeper into the cargo bay.

The decrepit starhopper never had looked as good to Pennington as it did at that moment. Grabbing Armnoj by the arm, Pennington propelled him in the direction of the boarding ramp leading into the Rocinante’s cargo hold. Disruptor fire flashed around him, coming from two different directions, though thankfully Broon’s crew seemed to view marksmanship with the same importance they did sanitation and hygiene.

Reaching the bottom of the ramp, Pennington pushed Armnoj ahead of him, only to have the Zakdorn stop so suddenly that the reporter nearly ran into him. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

Then the shadow fell across the ramp and Pennington looked up to see another of Broon’s men standing at the entrance to the ship, disruptor pistol in hand. Armnoj emitted another cry of panic, attempting to backpedal away from the new threat. The thug at the top of the ramp brought his weapon up, sighting down the barrel toward the Zakdorn.

Pennington was faster, aiming his disruptor and firing. The energy burst struck the man in the gut, throwing him against the open hatch before he fell to the deck.

“Get inside!” Pennington shouted, pushing Armnoj up the ramp. He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw Quinn running with a limp across the open deck of the cargo bay toward a freestanding control console. Taking a few seconds to study the bank of switches and status indicators, Quinn punched several buttons. An instant later, a warbling alarm began to sound, echoing the length of the hold.

“What are you doing?” Pennington shouted to be heard above the siren.

Quinn took a step backward before aiming his disruptor at the console and firing. Bristling orange energy tore into the control station, obliterating it. Leaving behind his handiwork, he turned and headed for the ramp.

“Time to go,” the pilot said between ragged breaths as he scrambled up the ramp, grunting with the exertion. “I started the depressurization sequence and keyed the hatch. It should be open in a minute or so.”

For the first time since their escape had begun, Pennington saw the extent of Quinn’s injuries from the beating he had suffered. He was favoring the ribs on his right side, and he was sporting a large discolored bruise on his right cheek. A nasty bruise over his left eye already was beginning to swell, and dried blood stuck to skin and hair on the left side of his head.

“Are you all right?” Pennington asked.

“I’ll live,” Quinn said. He nodded toward Broon’s unconscious goon. “Get rid of him, and watch the ramp.” As Pennington enlisted Armnoj’s assistance to remove the fallen man from the ship, Quinn busied himself with the Klingon sensor drone, which still lay on the floor of the Rocinante’s cargo hold. He pulled the tricorder taken from the other cargo hold and activated it, running it over the inert probe.

“What are you doing?” Armnoj asked, his voice now reaching a level of nasally buzzing that Pennington was sure might be useful as a weapon to ward off wolves.

“Shut up,” Quinn said.

From where he stood near the top of the boarding ramp, Pennington glanced over his shoulder to see Quinn making adjustments to the tricorder. The device emitted a series of beeps and tones that seemed to satisfy him, and the pilot reached into the opening he earlier had cut into the hull probe’s hull plating.

“Now what?” Pennington asked.

“Calling for help,” Quinn replied. Rising to his feet, he lurched his way over to a nearby storage locker and flung open its door. From inside he extracted a portable antigravity maneuvering unit, which he quickly attached to the side of the sensor drone.

An energy burst struck the left support strut for the landing ramp and Pennington ducked away from the hatch. “Well, hurry the hell up about it!”

Using the antigrav unit to move the sensor probe toward the hatch, Quinn gave the weight-neutralized drone a kick that sent it down the boarding ramp before slapping the control pad next to the door. “That ought to piss some people off,” he muttered as he stumbled his way toward the Rocinante’s cockpit.

“Are you going to explain what that was about?” Armnoj asked as he followed after the pilot.

“Sit down and stay quiet,” Quinn growled, “or I’ll kick your ass down the ramp, too.” He pushed the accountant into his customary jump seat just outside the cockpit before proceeding on to his seat, his hands moving across the helm console as he went through the startup sequence to bring the ship’s engines to life.

Dropping into the copilot’s chair, Pennington stared through the cockpit canopy at the cargo hold outside the ship. He saw the two thugs who had been shooting at them running for the bay’s exit, trying to get out ahead of the depressurization currently laying claim to the atmosphere inside the chamber.

The rumble of the Rocinante’s engines shook the deck beneath Pennington’s feet as Quinn continued the power-up sequence. “Get us out of here, Quinn, before they override the door.”

“Working on it, newsboy,” Quinn replied without looking away from the helm console. He tapped the controls for the ship’s maneuvering thrusters and Pennington felt the ship lurch, rotating to its right as it lifted from the deck of the cargo bay. He saw the bulkhead in front of the ship slide past as the starhopper maneuvered toward the hold’s massive space doors, which Pennington was relieved to see beginning to cycle open. Quinn nudged the thrusters a bit more and the Rocinantejumped forward. “Here we go.”

Pennington held his breath as the gap between them and the doors shrank. Then the hull of Broon’s pirate vessel gave way to open space and he was pressed back in his seat as Quinn keyed the impulse drive.

“Get on the sensors,” Quinn said, “tell me if they’re coming after us.”

Leaning forward in his seat, Pennington entered the commands to activate the ship’s sorry excuse for scanners, taking a moment to scrutinize the readings before shaking his head. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I’m plotting our course for warp speed now,” Quinn said. “Another minute and we’ll be in the clear.”

Pennington nodded. “What was with the drone?” He could not understand why Quinn would waste time fooling with the device.

“I activated its transceiver relay,” Quinn replied. “It’s sending a distress call right now.” Looking up, he offered a sly smile which appeared crooked thanks to the bruising on his right cheek. “With luck, the Klingons will be on the way and Broon can explain to them what he’s doing with a piece of their hardware.”

Despite himself, Pennington could not help returning the smile. “Grand.”

“I thought so,” Quinn said, chuckling. “Nice moves back there, by the way. Tripping that airlock was pretty smart thinking. Saved our hides, mine in particular.” Glancing sideways toward Pennington, he nodded. “I owe you one, Tim.”

“No charge, mate,” the reporter replied, taken somewhat off guard by Quinn’s sudden display of gratitude. It was most out of character for the trader, though not at all unwelcome.

Their sense of amused self-satisfaction was short-lived, however, as Armnoj rose from his seat and stuck his head into the cockpit.

“Is this how you protect Mr. Ganz’s valuable property?” the Zakdorn opined, looming over Quinn’s shoulder with his briefcase. “I could have died back there.”

“You can die right here, if you don’t shut up,” Quinn replied without looking up from his console.

Sniffing the air in his usual self-aggrandizing manner, Armnoj made a sound which to Pennington sounded like a rapacious cat readying to pounce on a wayward mouse. “Rest assured I’ll be making a full report to Mr. Ganz immediately upon our…”

Pennington slugged him, his fist connecting with the accountant’s jaw and sending him staggering out of the cockpit, tripping over his own feet and landing with a heavy thud on the deck.

“Thanks. Now I owe you two,” Quinn said as he keyed a series of controls and the Rocinantejumped to warp speed.