But there wasn’t anything Foley could do about it, so the larcenous offi?cer made his way out into the main passageway. It was a madhouse. Horns, Klaxons, and smoke detectors continued to honk, bleat, and buzz. The sick bay was full, and had been for some time, which explained why a long line of wounded sailors and marines lay on stretchers next to the outboard bulkhead. Medics were trying to help them, but there weren’t enough hospital corpsmen to go around, so it was already too late for some of the patients. Most of the people who were jogging, limping, or being carried past Foley were dressed in pressure suits, a reminder that, because Foley didn’t have one, and wasn’t likely to get his hands on one, he could wind up sucking vacuum. Especially if the chits blew a really big hole in the hull. Foley felt someone touch his arm and turned to fi?nd that a dozen brig rats were standing behind him. A second-class petty offi?cer stepped forward. The name on his jumper was Tappas. He was thirty or so, had boyish features, and intelligent eyes.
“Okay, sir,” Tappas said calmly. “What do we do now?”
Foley’s plans, such as they were, didn’t include anyone other than himself. But the sailors looked so forlorn that he couldn’t bring himself to refuse them. “It sounds like the chits are about to board,” Foley said. “So we’re going to need some weapons.”
Tappas nodded. “Yes, sir. Then what?”
Foley, who had been planning to steal a six-person lifeboat, was forced to change his thinking. “Once we have the weapons we’ll make a run for the fl?ight deck, grab a shuttle, and head dirtside for some well deserved R&R.”
It was exactly the kind of plan that Tappas and the rest of the brig rats wanted to hear. So they were quick to follow as Foley led them up corridor toward access way P-8. The corridor would carry the group in toward the lift tubes that were clustered around the battle station’s hollow core, a twelvedeck-tall structure that was home to the habitat’s fusion reactor, the power accumulators that fed the main battery, and the argrav generators.
Thanks to the confusion, no one thought to ask Foley where he was going. With an offi?cer in the lead, the brig rats looked like a work detail as they jogged single fi?le along the main corridor, accumulating weapons along the way. Which wasn’t all that hard to do given that the wall-mounted arms lockers were open and rows of neatly racked weapons were there for the taking. Energy rifl?es for the most part, since they were less likely to punch a hole in the battle station’s hull, and let the habitat’s atmosphere out. But, having made good progress for a while, Foley and his men ran into a roadblock as they approached Lock 8. There was a fl?ash of light as an energy grenade went off, followed by a concussive bang, and the staccato whine of energy weapons as blue energy bolts stuttered back and forth. “It’s the bugs!” a wild-eyed marine captain announced, as he lurched out of the drifting smoke. Foley saw the bandage that had been tied around the other offi?cer’s head was red with blood, and one of his arms hung uselessly by his side. “Come on!” the leatherneck urged. “Follow me!”
So Foley followed, knowing that if he and his men were going to reach their objective, they would have to pass the lock. And, having very little choice, Tappas and the rest of the brig rats followed. Bodies lay in heaps where an earlier attempt to board the battle station had been repulsed. But just barely, as was obvious from the fact that most of the casualties were human, and only a handful of marines remained to defend the lock as another assault began. A hail of energy bolts sleeted back and forth as a fi?le of heavily armored Ramanthians surged out, fi?ring as they came. And, had the jarheads been forced to battle the aliens alone, the bugs would have been able to break through. But that was when Foley and the brig rats arrived, crouched behind the makeshift barrier that had been established earlier, and opened fi?re. A Ramanthian trooper went down as energy bolts from a half dozen weapons punched holes in his armor. The contest was far from one-sided, as the enemy troopers turned toward their tormentors and fi?red. They were using projectile weapons, and one of the brig rats was snatched off his feet, as a slug hit him in the chest. That made Tappas angry, and the petty offi?cer rolled an energy grenade into the enemy formation, as his companions continued to spray the aliens with energy bolts. There was a bright fl?ash of light, three Ramanthians were blown apart, and pieces of shattered chitin whirled through the air. The bugs appeared to waver, started to fall, and were subsequently cut down as the sheer volume of defensive fi?re punched holes through their armor. The battle ended three minutes later. Having never fought an infantry action before, the brig rats were impressed by their achievement, and were busy high-fi?ving each other when Tappas noticed that Foley was twenty yards up the corridor and gaining speed. “Come on!”
the petty offi?cer shouted. “Follow the loot!”
The sailors were quick to respond, as were the jarheads, who had their company commander sandwiched between them as they carried the offi?cer along. “Follow me!” the wildeyed marine exclaimed. “Let’s kill the bastards!”
Foley saw markers for access corridor P-8, took a glance over his shoulder, and was amazed to discover that the group behind him had grown even larger! Not a good thing from the fugitive’s perspective since it didn’t make sense to go AWOL with the equivalent of a brass band and a couple dozen witnesses along for the ride. But it was too late to worry about such matters as Foley rounded the corner and pounded down the corridor toward the lift tubes beyond. The battle platform shook as if palsied, and Foley heard the sound of muted thunder, as a new voice came over the PA system. It was male this time. “This is Lieutenant Simmons . . . All hands prepare to abandon ship. I repeat, all hands . . .”
Foley swore as he skidded to a halt in front of the tubes. It had been his intention to leave the ship before the rest of the crew were ordered to do so. Because there were only so many escape pods, lifeboats, and other small craft for people to use. That meant the competition for fl?yable vessels was about to become a lot more intense. Something that could already be seen in the crowd gathered in front of the large personnel lifts.
By that time Tappas knew that unlike the marine captain, Lieutenant JG Foley was never going to shout something like, “Follow me!” That made it necessary to keep a close eye on the slippery offi?cer or risk losing track of him. And sure enough, without so much as a “by-your-leave,” Tappas saw Foley break away from the steadily swelling mob and start to run. “This way!” Tappas shouted, as he waved the brig rats and the marines forward.
But others heard the order as well, and being desperate for leadership, were quick to follow. So that by the time Foley arrived in front of the lift tubes normally reserved for freight, more than a hundred people were trailing along behind him. The offi?cer swore as they fl?ooded onto the enormous platform, and repeatedly stabbed the down button, as valuable seconds ticked away. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the platform began to descend. Three long minutes passed before the gates opened, and the mob fl?ooded out onto the walkway that circled the vast hangar deck. Plastisteel windows kept the vacuum out but permitted the crowd to look out at the vessels parked on the blast-scarred deck. Even as they watched, a navy launch rose on its repellers, turned toward one of two huge openings, and accelerated away.
“We’re going to need something big,” Tappas said, as he shouted into Foley’s ear. And the offi?cer realized that the sailor was correct. And, while there weren’t many vessels that qualifi?ed as “big,” the offi?cer saw one that did. A freighter, which judging from the activity around it, would soon depart. The problem was that the ship was of Hudathan rather than human design. And while the big aliens were allies, they were more than a little insular, and somewhat unpredictable. Would the alien crew allow humans to board their ship? Especially a mob of humans? There was only one way to fi?nd out. Foley took off, with Tappas hot on his trail. The rest followed. Their feet made a thundering sound as the group followed the curving walkway past a number of locks to the one where two armed Hudathans stood guard as a train of heavily laden carts passed between them. Were the aliens loading something that already belonged to them? Or stealing what they could? There was no way to know, and Foley didn’t care as he came to a stop in front of a hulking guard. Both Hudathans raised their weapons and aimed them at the mob. At least half the humans responded in kind. A fact that provided Foley with some welcome leverage.