“He’s down! Get him out of here!”
“Get the fans going!” someone else shouted.
Soon the air began to clear, and it became possible to see what was going on. The raider was indeed down, his forcefield disabled, his hardsuit smoldering. He appeared dead, but two of the Narseil fighters, taking no chances, were dragging him away. Someone had gotten the doors to the bridge open, and a handful of Narseil soldiers rushed in. Was that raider the only one left on the bridge? Ker’sell hoped so.
He hissed with dismay as he rose, taking stock of the mayhem. Several Narseil were down, possibly dead. A lot of people were trilling and hissing. Who was in charge now?
“Ker’sell!” someone called behind him. “If you’re free,
can you help me get this console turned back on?”
Ker’sell half turned, waving a negative reply. “I must know who is in command!” he shouted. “Can this ship fight?”
Several of the crew turned toward him. “Do you think we have not been fighting?” one of them asked, neck-sail fluttering as he bent over the still form of the captain.
“We’re closing with the enemy ship!” Ker’sell shouted. “We need weapons, now!” He pushed his way to the weapons console, where several injured crewmembers were just getting to their feet. “And we need com to the net!”
One of those staggering to his feet was Mission Commander Fre’geel, aided by Cantha. Fre’geel was bleeding maroon blood; his neck-sail was half torn off. He looked as if he had been knocked across the bridge in the fight. “You heard Ker’sell,” he rasped, struggling to stand. “Do we have weapons?”
Agamem was working at the weapons console. “Soon, I hope.” He glanced at the front of the bridge. Only one short segment of the external monitor was working. In that narrow window, for just an instant, there was a glimpse of the raider ship, visible through swirling mists. “I need power restored to this console—”
A bright flare of light made everyone duck and turn. “Enemy on the bridge!” someone shouted, as a second raider commando was suddenly flushed out of hiding. The raider swung around to lob a grenade toward the rigger-stations. One of them was already smoking. Ker’sell’s breath froze. There was another flash of silver in the air. Before the raider could complete his throw, someone had tossed a shock-web into the air, curling toward the raider. The grenade hit the web and detonated—and with a whump! the raider was knocked backward toward the exit. The explosion must have shielded the raider from direct contact with the web, because in an instant he was back on his feet. He fired one last shot, then fled from the bridge, pursued by two Narseil soldiers.
“Holy spirit of the mist!” Fre’geel gasped. Wincing with pain, he held up a hand to Ker’sell. “Report on the net! Are we maneuvering?”
“Yes—but com to the net is out! When I left, we were on an intercept course to the raider. We’ve got the advantage, if we can fight! If I could just get back in!” He gestured toward the shambles of his rigger-station, and suddenly realized that the next one was smoking, too.
Fre’geel hissed with alarm. “Damage teams—weapons console and net communication! We need them now! Is Ho’Sung alive?”
“He’s dead. He was one of the first hit,” someone reported from across the bridge.
“Then I have command. Get me an intruder report. I want that raider subdued, and I want to know if any others got in through the airlock.” Fre’geel glared around, silently urging the crew back to their stations, regardless of their injuries.
Ker’sell wished desperately that he could get back to his. But his rigger-station was gone, and this one… there was a laser hole in it, venting smoke. He pressed the override release and opened the station. A cloud of noxious smoke billowed out. Ker’sell peered in—and wept at the lifeless form of Voco, burned through the head by the raider’s last shot.
Voco! Palagren was shouting. Voco!
The stern-rigger had uttered a silent, wordless screech, then vanished abruptly from the net. Legroeder reeled from the wave of pain; it echoed like a death cry.
Voco’s gone, Palagren said, stunned. You and I must do it now. I’ve lost sight of the raider. Do you have it?
No, Legroeder grunted. They were now in a dance of desperation. Two riggers down: Ker’sell unable to get back to the net and Voco—what? Dead? Sweet Christ, they’d had the raider ship; they could have ended it that instant. And now he and Palagren, straining like two oarsmen trying to steer a wallowing ship, were bringing H’zzarrelik around through a layer of mist, struggling to stay in concealment while keeping track of the enemy’s position—and all the while frantic to know what was happening on the bridge. It seemed insane to think of engaging the pirate ship; but they had no order to retreat.
Legroeder saw something moving through the mists. There! he called. The raider was slipping along, just at the edge of sight. He and Palagren had climbed and circled, and now were overtaking the enemy again. Another minute or two and they would be in perfect position to drop and fire. If they had something to fire with.
Legroeder, keep a fix on it, said Palagren. I’m taking a fast look on the bridge.
Legroeder barely moved a muscle. Palagren glanced back, and their eyes met for an instant before the Narseil vanished from the net. Legroeder’s hands were stretched out far into the Flux, serving as both keel and rudder. He just had to steer straight… straight and level… and pray that when the time was right to bank over and dive, like an old-time fighter plane, it would be more than just him in the net, waving empty-handed at their foe.
“Stay, Palagren! Wait!”
Ker’sell raised a hand to the lead rigger, who had just opened his station. “Voco’s dead—com’s still down—” Ker’sell turned his head back to Agamem, hissing in frustration at the weapons console. Suddenly Agamem made a shrill sound of satisfaction and slapped a hand on the console. Ker’sell glanced at Fre’geel, who made a click of approval.
Ker’sell shouted to Palagren, “We have weapons! We have monitors on keel and starboard bow only. If you can put us where we can see the enemy, we’ll fire when we can. Go!”
Palagren’s station slammed shut.
Legroeder had started a banking turn to the right, but changed his mind when Palagren explained the situation. Keel and starboard bow? This won’t work, Legroeder said, as Palagren returned to the lead-rigger position. We’ll need a different angle of approach.
What’s your recommendation? asked Palagren, peering around at Legroeder’s refashioned image for the ship: an ancient, tiger-nosed fighter aircraft. An ancient fighter with extremely modern weapons.
Bring us a little to the left, and extend our run out ahead, Legroeder said.
We’ll lose him.
No, we won’t, Legroeder said, glancing down as the pirate ship disappeared beneath the mist. As long as their net’s still down, he added silently. We’ll be making our dive to the right. He was falling back on maneuvers he’d learned years ago in flight wargames.
He waited impatiently, watching their progress; then he called, Now!—and with Palagren’s help, heeled the ship over into a steep, diving right turn.