Mountains of sealed containers towered around them, containing supplies to help the colony establish itself. Farther down the cavernous storage area stood the panoply of machines that would enable the colonists to mine, process, irrigate, sow, and build. While the bulk of supplies and equipment had already been loaded onto the ship, further shipments were still due. As a result, not everything in the cargo bay had been secured for deep-space running. If the bay door blew, a lot of Weyland-Yutani’s expensive preparations were going to become a mass of useless orbital junk.
Daniels tried her suit comm. As she had hoped, it responded with a burst of static on all communications frequencies. Tennessee had done his job, but in the terrestrial atmosphere contained in the bay, her helmet diaphragm worked fine.
“Where?” was all she whispered to Hallet.
Word-wise, the sergeant proved still more economical. Cradling his F90 under his left arm he pointed with his right hand, then indicated to his team to move. Communicating with gestures, the small group spread out as they headed toward the back of the cargo area. They managed to cover quite a bit of distance before their presence was noted.
“That’s far enough! Stop right there!”
He wasn’t very big, Daniels observed. For a terrorist he was singularly unimpressive in appearance. No taller than herself, straight black hair balding in front, with typical Asian features and a slight build, he was dressed in a standard expedition prep tech uniform, and held a pistol. The middle-aged woman he held in front of him was half gray-haired and not from choice. She was stocky, wide-eyed, and plainly terrified.
The sight of Daniels flanked at intervals by four members of the Covenant security team holding very large guns did nothing to reassure her. Neither she nor the man standing behind her wore survival suits.
Hallet leaned slightly toward Daniels. “Hostage is identified as Cara Prestowicz, company contracted for pre-departure ship’s systems installation. She’s a tech, fourth class.”
Daniels nodded and took a couple of steps forward. As she did so, the saboteur pressed the muzzle of the pistol tight against the side of the woman’s head. Prestowicz let out a half-stifled cry and closed her eyes. Daniels could clearly see her lips moving in silent prayer.
“Take it easy, friend.” Her helmet diaphragm allowed her words to ring clearly above the soft mechanical humming that was the only other sound in the cargo area. Given the gravity of the situation, the bright non-electronic lighting that illuminated the bay and everything in it verged on the surreal.
“I’m not your friend!” The man licked his lips. His eyes kept darting in all directions, seeking other potential assailants. “I’m not going to let you stall me. Weyland-Yutani has to declare an end to the Origae-6 endeavor. If an announcement to that effect isn’t broadcast worldwide within the next half hour, I will activate a switch in my boot, and set off all the CT-12 I’ve placed at critical junctures around the main door to this hold.” He lowered his gaze.
“You all are cabled in and suited up,” he continued. “You will probably survive, although maybe not. Even if you do, it will take the company months to repair the door and replace the equipment that will be lost. Meanwhile, my colleagues will see to it that your security lapse will be revealed to the media, leading to a cancellation of the mission. So either way, the company loses and the mission is scrapped.” He nudged his hostage. She let out a second gasp and her lips moved faster.
“I am prepared to die for my cause,” he said. “This woman is not. The choice is yours.”
Daniels pursed her lips. “The choice has already been made.”
For the first time, he looked uncertain. “What are you talking about? The choice of how to proceed is mine, and mine alone!”
Hallet had heard about enough. “Not any more, manuke.”
Daniels took a deep breath. “All of the electronics in the cargo area have been smothered. You’ll notice that instead of our suit comms, my companions and I are using our suit diaphragms to talk.” She gestured toward his feet. “You can slap your foot all you want, even do an Irish jig, but your detonator won’t be able to make a connection.”
The saboteur’s face ran through a gamut of expressions from confident, to uncertain, to panic, before settling finally on uncertain.
“How do you know it isn’t a manual pressure trigger?”
She ventured a disarming smile. “Internal ship’s scanners showed electronics in your glove and boot. They wouldn’t be necessary if you were relying on simple pressure to set off the explosives. Also, a pressure trigger wouldn’t make sense. Too much chance of accidentally setting it off at the wrong time.” She paused, and her smile became grimmer. “But I wasn’t completely sure. I am now. If it was a pressure sensor, you wouldn’t even have mentioned it. You’d just be slapping your heel silly by now.”
Suddenly he bent to touch the heel of his right boot, tapping it with the tips of the fingers on his left hand. Daniels tensed. Around her, fingers tightened against triggers, but in lieu of Hallet’s order to do so, none of the team members fired. Though each of them was ready to take out the terrorist, the safety of the hostage remained paramount.
Expecting to die, the would-be saboteur looked startled when nothing happened. He slapped at his boot a second time, then a third, then grabbed it and furiously rubbed his right index finger against the heel. Nothing happened. The massive door behind him didn’t erupt in a mass of flame, didn’t blow outward, didn’t even sputter.
Daniels raised a hand toward him, palm upward.
“It’s over. Let Ms. Prestowicz go, put down the gun, and wait there.”
Hallet looked over at her. “He was scanned for body explosives when we found the detonator setup. There’s nothing on him. Or in him.” He turned his attention back to the now confounded terrorist. “We didn’t read any explosive chemicals in his pistol, either, so we think it must be a flechette weapon or something similarly pressure-driven.”
Cole grunted. “No bang, but just as deadly.” Rifle raised, he took a step toward the now rapidly panicking terrorist. “Flechettes won’t penetrate a survival suit, though.”
“Kono yarou! Keep back! Stay away!” Holding the hostage between himself and the security team, and with the slight curve of the hull against his back, the saboteur began working his way to his left toward the port side of the cargo bay. Hallet gestured silently to two of his team. Nodding their understanding they began to work their way around to the right, striving to get behind their target. Meanwhile, Daniels raised a hand and spoke to him again.
“Where are you going, bakayaro? You can’t get off the Covenant and you can’t hide inside her. Mother will find you no matter where you go. Let Ms. Prestowicz go, put down your weapon, and I promise I will personally see to it if something can be done for you.” She threw Hallet a warning look before turning back to the terrorist. “No harm will come to you. You haven’t actually done much of anything, yet. Taken a hostage and threatened her. Planted some inert explosives. You haven’t done any damage and you haven’t hurt anyone.” She offered what she hoped was a winning smile. “If you tell the authorities who your associates are who helped you set this up, you might get off with a very minimal sentence.”