"Well, if you take the Bridge, it's possible that I could shut down the scuttling charges," Beach admitted. "It all depends."
"We don't have a lot of time to debate here," Kosutic said.
"Look, we're technically illegal combatants," Beach said. "You know it, I know it. What's your law in that regard?"
"Generally, you're repatriated," Kosutic told her. "Especially if we can trade you for one of our groups."
"And then, most of the time, we replace your group on a recovery planet," Beach said. "So I can die fast, here, when the charges go off. Or I can die slow, being worked and starved to death."
"Or?"
"Or, I can get asylum."
"We can't grant asylum," Kosutic said. "We can try, but we can't guarantee it. We don't have the authority."
"Is the guy leading you really Prince Roger? Because, according to our intelligence, he's dead, and has been for months."
"Yeah, it's really him," Kosutic replied. "You want his word on it or something?"
"Yes. If a member of your Imperial Family promises, at least it's going to be a big political stink if the Empies don't comply."
"You have no idea how complicated you're making this," the sergeant major muttered.
* * *
"Imperial commander, you have fifteen seconds to exit the ship," Giovannuci called. "I don't think you're gone yet."
"We're working on it," Roger said, just as his helmet flashed a priority signal from the sergeant major. "Hold one, Colonel Giovannuci. This may be from my people in the shuttle bay. Computer: switch Kosutic."
"It's the Saint second, all right," the sergeant major confirmed over the secure channel. "She's willing to give us the codes in exchange for asylum. She wants Roger's personal word."
"If she thinks that's going to help, she obviously doesn't know there's a price on my head, does she?" Roger said with a grim chuckle.
"I think we're dealing with intelligence lag," Kosutic replied. "She knows you're dead; she hasn't heard Jackson's latest version yet. Either way, what do I do? We're on our way, by the way."
"Tell her she has my personal word as a MacClintock that I will do all in my power to ensure that she gets asylum from the Empire," Roger replied. "But I want to be there when she finds out I'm an outlaw."
"Will do," the sergeant major said with a grin that could be heard over the radio. "About a minute until we're there."
"And I'm here already," Pahner said as he strode up behind Roger. "You need to get the hell off the ship, Your Highness. Sergeant Despreaux is already on the shuttle, and so are most of the wounded."
"Somebody needs to take this bridge, Armand," Roger said tightly. "And we need it more or less intact. Who's the best close-quarters person we have?"
"You're not assaulting the bridge," Pahner said. "Lose you, and it's all for nothing."
"Lose the ship, and it's all for nothing," Roger replied.
"There'll be other ships," Pahner said, putting his hand on the prince's shoulder.
"Yeah, but if this one leaves, they'll be Saint carriers!"
"Yes, but—"
"What's the mission, Captain?" Roger interrupted harshly, and Pahner hesitated for just a moment. But then he shook his head.
"To safeguard you, Your Highness," he said.
"No," Roger replied. "The mission is to safeguard the Empire, Captain. Safeguarding me is only part of that. If just Temu Jin makes it back and saves my mother, fine. If you make it back and do the same, fine. If Julian makes it back and performs the mission, fine. She can make a new heir. If she wants to, she can use DNA from John and Alexandra's dad. The mission, Captain, is 'Save the Empire.' And to do that, we have to take this ship. And to take this ship, we have to use the personnel who can do that most effectively and who can physically get here in time to do it. And that makes taking this bridge Colonel Roger MacClintock's best possible role. Am I wrong?"
Armand Pahner looked at the man he'd spent eight endless months keeping alive on a nightmare planet for a long, silent moment. Then he shook his head again.
"No, you're not. Sir," he said.
"Thought not," Roger said, and pointed his plasma cannon at the hatch.
* * *
Giovannuci looked at the tactical officer and nodded as the first blast shook the bridge.
"On three," he said, inserting his key into the console.
Lieutenant Cellini reached out slowly to insert his own key, but then he stopped. His hand dropped away from the board, and he shook his head.
"No. It's not worth it, Sir." He turned to face Iovan, pivoting in place until the noncom's pistol was pointed squarely between his eyes. "Two hundred crew left, Sergeant Major. Two hundred. You're going to kill them all for what? A corrupt leadership that preaches environmentalism and builds itself castles in the most beautiful parts of the wilderness? Kill me, and you kill yourself, and you kill the colonel. Think about what we're doing here!"
Giovannuci looked over at the sergeant major and tipped his chin up in a questioning gesture.
"Iovan?"
"Everybody dies someplace, Lieutenant," the sergeant major said, and pulled the trigger. Cellini's head splashed away from the impact, and the sergeant major sighed. "What a senseless waste of human life," he said, as he wiped the key clear of brains and looked at the colonel. "On three, you said, Sir?"
* * *
ChromSten was almost impervious to plasma fire, but "almost" was a relative term. Even ChromSten transmitted energy to its underlying matrix, which meant, in the case of the command deck, to a high stress cero-plastic. And as the heat buildup from the repeated plasma discharges bled into it, that underlying matrix began to melt, and then burn... .
* * *
"Breach!" Roger shouted, as the center of the hatch buckled, and then cracked open. For just a moment, white light from the bridge illuminated the smoke and steam from the blazing matrix before it was sucked greedily away by the vacuum.
The approach corridor was just gone. The intense heat from the plasma discharges had melted the material of the surrounding bulkheads and decks, creating a large opening that revealed the bridge as a ChromSten cylinder, thirty meters across, and fifty high, attached to the armored engineering core.
Getting across the yawning, five-meter gulf between his present position and the breach was going to be Roger's first problem.
"No time like the present," he muttered, and triggered his armor's jump gear with a considerably gentler touch than Julian had used.
He sailed across the chasm, one hand supporting the plasma cannon while the other stretched out for the hole, and slammed into the outer face of the cylinder. The outstretched arm slipped through the breach, but his reaching fingers found nothing to grip. His arm slithered backwards, and for just a moment he felt a stab of panic. But then his fingers hooked into the ragged edge of the hole and locked.
"Piece of cake," he panted, and exoskeletal "muscles" whined as he lifted himself up onto the slight lip which was all that remained of the outer door frame. He braced himself and ripped at the hole, widening it. The matrix of the ChromSten itself had begun to fail under the plasma fire, and the material sparked against his armored hand, returning to its original chrome and selenium atomic structure.
* * *
Giovannuci and Iovan stood with their hands behind their heads, with the rest of the command deck crew lined up at their stations behind them, as Roger entered the compartment behind his plasma cannon. All of them were in skin-suits against the soft vacuum that now filled most of the ship.