From: jimv@ucrengr.ucr.edu (james vassilakos)
Subject: Story: Harrison 25
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Date: Sun, 24 Jan 1993 23:06:57 GMT


               Copyright 1992 by Jim Vassilakos
                      All Rights Reserved

     Permission is granted by the copyright holder to copy
      and distribute this work such that no commercial or
 barter consideration is obtained in exchange for such copies.

---------------------------------------------------------------



                           Twenty-five



She stayed there, motionless, as it dribbled down from her
nostrils, spilling in thin trails over her lips and chin before
settling in a dark, red stain along the front of her jersey. She
didn't seem to mind at all, as though a little blood was beneath
her notice. Mike stripped off his shirt, tossing it in her
general direction, but she ignored it, her light brown eyes
watching his every movement like a tiger preparing to strike. The
man he'd shot lay crumpled on the carpet, the hypo-dart concealed
somewhere underneath. Mike turned him over gently, extracting the
tiny projectile.
   "Sorry to interrupt. Friend of yours?"
   She just stared back.
   "Not much a conversationalist, eh? Oh... I found some Anamesa.
Thanks for asking."
   Her eyes registered only the barest trace of surprise. Mike
patted his hip with his best expression of honesty.
   "Look Doc, I have a real gun here. And a can of chemicals a
friend loaned me. You wanna see how it's used?"
   "I expect I'm going to find out."
   "Just tell me where the holocrystal is."
   Her eyes betrayed her, either by choice or accident, it didn't
matter. The crystal was there, loaded in a player. Mike pushed a
button, and Erestyl's image, gasping for breath, appeared in
three dimensions. He hit it again and unplugged the unit,
pocketing it with as little hesitation as he had clobbering her
in the face.
   "Real sorry about your nose."
   "Just tell me one thing, Harrison," said with her blood still
trickling. "Why did you kill all those people?"
   "Doctor, no insult to your medical skills, but do I look like
I'm in any shape to go running around on a murderous rampage?"
   "But..."
   "I didn't kill anyone. The most violent thing I've done since
I've been on-board was hit you just now... and I'm sorry."
   "Then who did?"
   Mike thought about it. He couldn't very well tell her about
Johanes. He finally aimed the hypo-gun.
   "No... not again."
   "Sorry Doc. Been nice chatting with you."
   She was unconscious a moment later. He found a bandage for her
nose, cleaning the blood off her face with his shirt and dropping
her squarely on the cushi-bag. Outside, the hall area was
deserted. Mike sprinted barefoot to the stairwell as best he
could manage, ducking inside almost too quickly. Some idiot had
turned the gravitics down to somewhere between point five and
point seven. It made rapid maneuvers fairly interesting.
   Hopping the steps two by two, Mike descended as quickly as the
meager gravity could carry him, the actinic lanterns casting
intermittent patches of illumination along the walls. The
combination of low gravity and low lighting reminded him of the
shuttle rides he'd had over New Eden. His father used to switch
off the gravitics in the empty cargo hold, teaching him to do
flips in zero-gee. Such were his thoughts when he heard the click
and slide of a door to his back.
   Mike grabbed the rail, halting his descent and pushed himself
into the shadowy wall. He crouched down as small and tight as he
could manage on a moment's notice. Drawing his gun, he counted
only three, probably from the team he'd sent to the deck six
goose chase. They filed into the stairwell and headed upward with
not so much as a glance to either side, all except for the last
one, who turning his head to sneeze, suddenly opened his eyes,
all wild and berserk, like he thought he was some sort of Gorgon.
Mike nailed him in the hip, shooting the closest light source
with his next round. The others must have went hysterical with
fear, because in the ensuing moment of darkness, he counted at
least eight shots hammering down the stairwell, one of them
whizzing by his ear before he'd found the next portal and
barreled headlong into the adjoining deck.
   An alarm sounded by his ear. For a second, at least, it was
all his scattered senses could consolidate. Everything else was
dark. Then, for the barest fraction of a heartbeat, Mike thought
he'd stumbled into an airlock, as all he could see was a
horizontal slice of billowing, violet star-scape, the inner shell
of the normal-space bubble undulating like a belly dancer in
heat. Large tables began to take form, a roulette wheel here,
long squat rows of wagering machines there. It was a casino,
stretching clear from one end of the deck to the other, and
running its entire length was a huge window via which penetrated
the great chamber's only illumination.
   Mike turned from the glimmering, violet tapestry as the gun-
spray in their stairwell grounded to sudden halt. For the next
few moments of indecision, he imagined footsteps approaching and
the noise of panicked breath in his ears. He tugged the canister
off his belt, twisting its top until he could feel the vibration
of chemicals meeting one another in jubilant release. It dropped
to the floor, smacking his foot as it fell, and then he found
himself scurrying along the wall as fast as his legs could pump.
   The lift shaft would be up ahead and to the left, or so he
guessed, but the darkness was so thick that he could barely make
out what was in front of his nose, much less the features of the
corridor. He finally smashed face-first into a something solid,
bouncing to the floor more as a terror-stricken mass of jelly
than an armed and dangerous criminal. As he fumbled back to his
feet, the throbbing noise of the alarm was suddenly replaced by
silence. Mike waited motionless as his ears adjusted to the
quiet. In the distance, he could distinctly make out a choking
noise followed by the sound of more footsteps and numerous
voices.
   Mike crept beside the wall, gliding his hand along its surface
until he found the double doors of the lift. He tried prying them
apart by what little brute strength he still possessed. It was no
use. Except for a bare centimeter in which to stick his fingers,
the doors held fast, some sort of bolting mechanism holding them
from the inside. Mike ran a finger along the narrow crack until
he found the offending piece of metal. One bullet later, it was
gone.
   "Hey, that was a gunshot! Bring that light over here!"
   Blindly slinking into the shaft, searching by touch for some
ladder or hand hold, Mike suddenly found himself unmistakably
weightless. The sensation grabbed him as terrifying and unique,
but the bullet ricocheting over his head convinced him to duck
inside. Then, with legs tightly coiled, he propelled himself into
the black pit with as much force as he could summon, flipping
himself back over as his legs brushed against the walls. The
guard was above him a moment later, brandishing her gun in one
hand and a bright light in the other. She fired blindly, bouncing
her shells off the shaft's interior as Mike pushed himself into a
exit groove two levels directly below. Then he blew away a
similar metal bolt, exiting the shaft and entering a new gravity
field.
   The sudden shift in weight sent him stumbling, but the new
deck he'd invaded was lighted enough that he could catch the
carpet instead of slamming into it with his face. The passenger
staterooms lining the narrow corridor seemed to streak past at
lightning speed as he bolted back toward the stairwell. Inside,
he could hear numerous voices above, some shouting orders while
others yelled about poison gas. Mike continued downward, hopping
the steps three by three, until the frantic voices faded gently
into the distance, transforming over time into nothing more than
venomous whispers, each interlaced with the vulgar rumblings of
billowing vapors on a rainy seventhday.


                          *     *     *


She laid on her back, facing the endless sky, as the dark, warm
grass stretched below, soft, green tendrils of life holding her
in a gentle embrace. Overhead, the wispy clouds were mixing
again, shifting their contour as though contorted by the sweet
melody of leaves in the wind. Then, with laughing pride they
crowding together, until with dark and menacing contempt, they
loomed heavily like giants in the sky. She waited, open-eyed and
innocent, blinking only when the brilliant spears of icy radiance
screamed down. Rain soon followed, pouring over her, until she
felt herself dissolving among the fine, velvety threads, sleep
slowly receding into the hazy distance.
   *Ding* *Ding* *Ding* *Ding*
   Hunter opened her eyes. Brooks was still on the floor, slowly
turning over, unable to shake it off.
   *Ding* *Ding* *Ding*
   With considerable effort, she rose from the cushi-bag and
stumbled to the door. Feso was on the other side, still wearing
his striped pajamas. Anders and another officer stood to either
side, and from the looks on their faces she could vaguely surmise
what they must have been thinking. She glanced over her shoulder
as Brooks tried, again unsuccessfully, to regain his
coordination. Feso finally voiced the question.
   "What's going on?"
   "Harrison was here. He brought more senthinol."
   "He was here!? In your cabin?"
   "It's a long story."
   Feso tried to help her back to the cushi-bag, but she shooed
him away, slowly finding her way to the kitchen. Her chief nurse
was duly impressed.
   "You must be developing a tolerance."
   "If he tries to shoot me again with that stuff... I swear...
I'll just belt him. What time is it?"
   Anders stepped forward, "This isn't a social call, Doctor. We
need you at sickbay. Another person's been wounded."
   "Serious?"
   "Just a bullet to the hip. He'll live. Two others are
suffering from poison gas inhalation. They seem to be recovering
on their own, but..."
   "More hydrogen-cyanide?"
   Anders nodded.
   "Okay, give me a minute. I just have to wash off my face."
   Her reflection surprised her even more than the second dose of
the drug. Instead of a blood-smeared face, she was perfectly
clean, a new bandage placed under her nose with just the right
amount of pinch.
   "Nice touch, Harrison, but I'm still gonna belt you."
   By the time she reached sickbay, her mind had cleared, and the
operation went smoothly. The regen specialist reported one more
fatality, however. Hunter cursed herself for not being there, and
then sucked down a highbowl of her favorite late night drink,
particularly for those occasions when she knew that sleep was not
a viable option. No more would die. Specialist or no specialist,
they were ultimately her patients and her responsibility.
   The next several hours passed slowly, Brooks trying in vain to
pull up the internal comm-net as he sent runners from one team to
another, continuing his search on the most manual basis possible.
He used the front chamber of sickbay as his headquarters since it
was more central than the bridge, slurping down so much zardocha
that she began to wonder if another shot of senthinol would have
any effect whatsoever.
   The remaining patients finally began stabilizing, moving from
the most critical stages one by one. When it finally looked like
they'd all pull through without a catch, she decided to grab a
nap in the cyberoptics lab. Feso woke her two hours later as he
mulled about, whistling his face off, while he tried to hook
together the remaining grav stretchers.
   "Huh... oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in here."
   "What did you think I was? A corpse?"
   "Well, no... I uh..."
   "I'll take that as an affirmative. Where you taking these
guys, anyway?"
   "Uh... shuttle seven."
   She yawned, "I thought we had more fatalities than just
these."
   "Oh... we have a lot. Real bad time to be a crewmember on this
damn boat."
   Then he smiled, shy and afraid, realizing he'd sworn in front
of her for the first time in his life. She didn't bother to say
anything. For all she was concerned, he had the right to swear at
the top of his lungs for the next several weeks straight. That's
how much she agreed with him. He continued about his business,
however, keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself. Then, just
as she was about to leave, he looked up, a knot forming at the
base of his throat.
   "Doctor... you think they'll find him?
   "Harrison?"
   "I mean... Brooks said he's as good as dead anyway...
something about mismedication, but something happened while you
were at that meeting."
   "The anamesa?"
   He looked startled, "How..."
   "Harrison told me... more or less. And you were acting so
funny... what happened, exactly?"
   "Ah... I don't know where to begin."
   "Try the beginning."
   He sucked in a long breath of air as though trying to remember
that far back.
   "Remember Mr. Smyth?"
   "The druggie? How could I forget?"
   "He... well, he came in... you know... was real nice..."
   She smiled, for the first time in what seemed like a long
while.
   "He bribed you?"
   "No!"
   "He gave you five hundred credits, and you gave him some
anamesa."
   She checked her pocket. Sure enough, the money was still
there. Feso just stood, mouth gaping, while he tried to stammer a
response.
   "Yes... but..."
   "But what, Feso? He told you it was an aphrodisiac, so you
figured it was harmless and let him have it? You broke the regs."
   "But the computer agreed with everything he said. It was only
after I heard that somebody had broken into the system... I tried
finding Smyth's room, but all the passenger records had been
erased."
   She shook her head, "Don't sweat it, okay? In a way, what you
did may have been a good thing. Talking with Harrison... before
he let me have it... he just didn't seem like the killing type. I
don't know what that's supposed to mean, but all he wanted was
that holocrystal. I think I'm beginning to understand why."
   Feso regarded her with an incredulous stare, confusion webbed
over his features like a rubbery mask. Hunter guessed that he
didn't understand half of what she was talking about. It was
probably better that way.
   "I know. I sound crazy. Guess I'd better get back to work."
   "No. Sit down. You can come with me to the shuttle."
   "And do what? Look at a bunch of corpses?"
   "Keep me company."
   She thought about it for half a second. It was a hell of job,
she had to admit, pulling around dead bodies. If she were doing
it, she'd want the company. Anybody would.
   "Ugh... what the heck."
   Shuttle seven was always locked up tight. It served as the
Commodore's private transport on the rare occasions that she
would visit a planet's surface. Anyone approaching from the
outside would either have to be recognized and allowed entrance
from someone inside, or they'd have to key open the lock. Feso
had the combination on a flimsi he'd neatly folded and stuffed
into his pajama shirt pocket.
   "You ever gonna change out of those?"
   "Ah... they're very comfortable. You should try it sometime."
   Inside, the grav-stretchers sat arranged in orderly rows, as
though Feso had been trying to impress the former command staff
with his space efficiency. The air was fairly cool, and when she
reached to turn on the lights, something darted from one of the
expiring shadows.
   "Hey... what are you doing here?"
   "Meow."
   Bending her knees, she hunched to the deck as Feso brought in
the first of the stretchers. He stopped short when he saw its
yellow eyes.
   "What's this?"
   "Meow."
   "Looks like a cat. I didn't know Reece was into pets."
   "Sheesh... I can't believe I didn't notice it before."
   "You know cats," Hunter offered, approaching it slowly. It let
her get to arm's reach before bolting into the shadows underneath
a row of grav-stretchers. She crouched to her hands and knees,
spotting it against a corner. Meanwhile, Feso came in with the
rest of the stretchers.
   "C'mon, doctor. Why bother?"
   "He's hungry."
   "Well, as long as he stays in here, he'll have plenty to chew
on."
   "C'mon. I'm not going to hurt you. You want food? Food?
Gotcha!"
   "Meyowrr!"
   He had sharp claws, the sort that could shred skin like finely
ground needles. Hunter switched her hold to the scruff of his
neck as soon as he'd drawn blood, erecting herself amidst the
virtual sea of stretchers. They jiggled furiously as she stumbled
about, their covers ruffling, exposing parts of bodies with every
new collision. Meanwhile, her captive flayed his claws in every
direction possible, finally seizing hold of the first fleshy
object he could reach, a corpse's forearm, and ripping three,
parallel stripes.
   "Ow!"
   Hunter froze, dropping the cat more out of impulse than any
cognitive decision. She'd been a doctor for a good many years,
and she'd never heard a dead person say ouch before. Then the
sudden realization dawned on her like a smack across the face,
and a combination of training and reflexes took over.
   The pistol jostled from Mike's grasp even before it was fully
free of the holster, skidding along the metal floor as he tried
to throw his plastic cover in her face. Catching his bleeding
forearm, she twisted it backward, until he fell off-balance from
the stretcher, pushing his body into her legs and waist. A moment
later, he felt her elbow smashing into the side of his skull,
jarring his neck so far to the left that he swore he heard
something crack.
   The crack was actually a click, the click of a gun hammer to
be more precise. Johanes was on the floor, shifting his aim from
Hunter to Feso about every other second, his eyes dark and wild,
sweat spilling into them as his eyelids went up and down with
spasmodic velocity. Hunter let go of Mike's arms, her hands
falling to either side as she backed slowly into the stretchers.
   "Feso... run!"
   "Try it and I'll blow your head off. Now get away from the
airlock."
   Feso froze, unable to budge his legs. He'd never had a gun
aimed at his face before. He'd never had a gun aimed anywhere in
his general vicinity before. The feeling it gave him was strange,
as though every moment were crystal clear.
   "Get away from it, now."
   "Run!"
   Feso edged along the inner wall, lowering himself to the floor
as Johanes motioned him down with the gun.
   "Mike, you'd better close the airlock."
   "What are you gonna do, Jo?"
   "Just close it. This'll make considerable noise, and we can't
afford to be heard."
   "Help!!!"
   Mike punched her in the stomach and then slammed her to the
floor. It cut her scream if accomplishing nothing else. He
finally had to place a foot on her back to keep her from getting
back up.
   "Jo, I'd be happier if there was no more killing."
   "Just close the damned airlock!"
   The exertion from the yell seemed to wear him out, and Mike
realized the Draconian was still in no condition to move around.
That he'd made it to the pistol was a testament to the strength
of sheer willpower. Mike pulled his foot off Hunter's back, and
walked to the airlock, closing both doors with the flick of a
switch and then evacuating the lock of all air. Now nobody would
hear them. Even noises as loud as gunfire would sound only like
muffled chokes to anyone directly outside. Johanes seemed to sigh
inwardly as he aimed at the Doctor's chest, grateful that his
command had been obeyed. A moment later he was unconscious, a red
facsimile of Mike's heel on the side of his face. Mike collected
and aimed the weapon before Hunter could close the distance. She
skidded to a halt, not five meters from him, a wearied look on
her face, as though she figured her end was at hand. Mike
motioned her toward the nurse.
   "You might as well lie down, Doctor."
   "I'd rather stand, thanks."
   "You make me nervous. Lie down."
   She complied, slowly, settling herself face down on the deck
next to Feso. It was cold, but she figured it warmer than the
obvious alternative.
   "What are you going to do with us, Harrison?"
   Mike thought about it for all of two seconds.
   "Cecil, do we have anymore hypo-darts?"
   "Nope."
   "You have any bright ideas, Doctors?"
   "You could let us go."
   Mike smiled, "I'd sooner space you. No offense, but that'd be
my fate were our positions reversed."
   "I doubt it," not that he'd be spaced, but that he'd live long
enough to make it to the airlock. Of course, she wasn't about to
say so.
   "You're full of it, Doc; you know that?"
   "You're going to get caught anyway, Harrison. Both you and
your friends. Once we arrive in-system, what are you going to do?
Spacejack the Commodore's shuttle and hope that nobody notices?
Can't you see? There's no way out of this. You're trapped."
   "Shut-up."
   "If you let us go, you'll have a better chance. I promise you,
I'll try to make it easier for you."
   "I'd sooner take my chances with the great outdoors."
   "Harrison, if what you told me before is true, that you've had
nothing to do with the killing, then your chances are good. Think
about it. Use your brain."
   Mike stepped forward, loading a shell from clip to firing
chamber more out of anger and frustration than any desire to
shoot.
   "Doctor, maybe you haven't figured it out yet, but ISIS is
after me. They're after this holocrystal. One way or another,
they're gonna find me... and you. And if you think what Jo did
was in bad taste, you're in for one hell of a surprise!"
   "Then just give it to them."
   "Don't you have any idea what's on this? We're talking about
the weapon to end all weapons, Doctor. Armageddon. Doomsday. For
any planet the empire wants to make an example of. Think about
that."
   She kept silent for a while, self-confidence falling into
tattered ruins as the fervency of his words congealed around her
mind like a hostile, alien landscape. Mike paced back and forth,
between his two captives and the forward cabin, looking out the
windows for some sign or a normal star-scape. She considered
making a run for it on several occasions, but each time she'd
gathered the courage, he'd look back over his shoulder, and she'd
think a little bit longer about what he'd said.
   "Harrison."
   "The name's Mike."
   "If the crystal's so bad, why don't you just destroy it?"
   "I intend to. After I've had a chance to see what's on it."
   "Personal curiosity?"
   "Call it whatever you like. A lot of people died for this
thing. I'm not just going to chuck it without taking a look.
You've seen it, right?"
   "Most of it," She hunched up on her elbows. "Tell me
something."
   "What?"
   "How did you get mixed up in all this?"
   Mike shrugged, "Same way you did... accidentally on purpose."
   Feso looked up, a shy brand of anxiety controlling the sum of
his facial muscles.
   "Ah, I hate to call in a favor... but..."
   "What?"
   "Might there be a fresher? I've really got to... you know."
   Mike shook his head, "Hold it in."
   They continued to wait, each with his or her own personal
degree of impatience, until the subtle disorientation washed over
their senses with the "popping" of the normal space bubble. Now
every moment was essential. Mike raced to the forward cabin,
switching on the helm interface and hitting the disengage. He
then brought the inertial compensators online, checking over his
shoulder to see how the two guests were doing. Hunter was already
at the airlock, trying rather ineffectually to override the
safety lock. Mike hit the aft thruster and slowly brought it up
to full. By the time he turned back around, Hunter was staring
out the portal as the Crimson Queen slowly receded into the
distance. She looking rather annoyed with her situation. It made
Mike smile, at least a little.
   "Doctor, I may need your help. Why don't you come over here
and sit down."
   With the gun aimed steadily, she had little choice but to
comply.
   "What do you want?"
   "The Crimson's primary broadcast frequency."
   "Why?"
   "I'll explain later."
   "Explain now."
   Mike sighed, "If my guess is correct, they're currently
rebooting their main computer, which means they'll have their
communications back very soon. If we overlay the signal, we may
be able to garble it enough so they can't sick their escorts on
us."
   "You can't match the power of their transmitter, Harrison."
   "Even with the shouter?"
   "I seriously doubt it. Not at this range, anyway."
   "Maybe you got a better idea."
   "Even if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell it to you."
   "Doctor, you may not have noticed, but I saved your life back
there."
   "I guess that makes us even."
   Mike blinked, not sure what to say. Then she dropped her
snarl, as if no response was the right response.
   "It doesn't matter anyway. If you'd bothered to consult the
EMS, you'd see that the escorts aren't in yet."
   "Where are they?"
   "Tyber is the recognized capitol of this district, Harrison."
   "So?"
   "The escorts come in a hour behind us... diplomatic courtesy.
Until then, we're at the mercy of the locals... sort of a showing
of the belly... a gesture of trust."
   "That's foolish."
   "That's diplomacy. However, if you still want to know the
frequency, the Crimson's primary is reserved Imperial standard."
   "Huh?"
   "Fourteen hundred kilohertz. What's the matter? Never been in
space before?"
   Mike opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again as he
watched her fingers dance over the keys. She seemed to know what
she was doing.
   "Where'd you learn to do that?"
   "Naval academy. Hmm... there's some sort of problem."
   "Cecil, did you turn off the shouter?!"
   "One moment."
   "...zzztztzt... seven... please respond... Shuttle seven, this
is the Crimson Queen. You are not cleared for departure. Repeat,
you are not cleared for departure. Please respond."
   "Looks like you're right. They've got comm back online."
   Her light brown eyes no longer seemed threatening, but Mike
didn't find them particularly cooperative either. Cecil came up
from behind, tapping her on the ear before he realized he had the
wrong person.
   "Where's Michael?"
   "Over here, Cecil. What's up?"
   "Johanes."
   "He's up?"
   "Beginning to stir."
   "To stir."
   "To awaken, to revive... to bitch about a certain someone
beating him senseless."
   Mike bit his lip. He didn't like the idea of going back there,
no matter what the Draconian's condition.
   "Doctor, I think it's your turn to do the honors."
   "Is that an order?"
   "Consider it a diplomatic courtesy."


                          *     *     *


"What do you mean you can't fire?!"
   "Sir... the optical cores are warped."
   "All of them?"
   "Yessir. It looks like somebody spread a low power, wide-focus
beam over the cores, switched off all the coolers, and just left
it like this for the last couple hours. We have no lasers
whatsoever."
   "Tell me, Lieutenant. Could the hacker have done it remotely?"
   "Yessir. It's a strong possibility that's what happened."
   Brooks slammed his fist on the console keyboard, eliciting a
strange mixture of beeps and buzzes.
   "Tabor, get ahold the missile bay. Tell 'em we want a
hellraiser loaded up with all the features."
   "Aye. Still no response to our hail, sir. Also, medical is
reporting two personnel missing."
   "Who?"
   "Ensign Sosrodjojo and Lieutenant Commander Hunter. They were
last seen headed toward shuttle seven."
   Brooks felt his mouth drop open.
   "Transfer the hail to my desk."
   "Aye sir."
   Brooks listened to the line pop open. There was a vague sea of
static with followed it, various particles left over from the big
bang.
   "Shuttle seven, this is Brooks. I wish to speak with Doctor
Hunter."
   Mike blinked, turning up the volume as the voice repeated
itself.
   "Doctor, you got a call! Want me to tell him to leave a
message!?"
   Brooks tried again, ready to give up when there was no
response. Finally, her voice crackled over the frequency.
   "Hunter here."
   "Doctor, what's going on?"
   "Um... would you believe a joy ride?"
   "Afraid not. Is Harrison there?"
   She looked at Mike, not sure what to say.
   "Yeah... I'm here. Wha'd'ya want?"
   "Unless you turn around now, I'll be forced to incapacitate
the shuttle."
   "That may be difficult without any lasers."
   "We have other weapon systems, Mr. Harrison."
   "Commander, we are well aware of the arsenal at your disposal,
but if you're thinking of firing a missile, this shuttle will be
more than incapacitated. It'll be blown right out of space. You
really want to do that?"
   "If that's my only option."
   Mike turned toward Hunter. For a moment, he found himself
genuinely sorry she'd gotten herself mixed up in his mess.
   "Here, you talk to him."
   Feso, meanwhile, kept himself flat on the deck. Mike guessed
that he could hear most of what was being said.
   "If you want to take a whiz in the airlock..."
   "I'll wait."
   "Suit yourself."
   Hunter looked back over her shoulder. Harrison was walking
back toward his two friends, leaving her alone in the shuttle's
bridge. His trust in her, as of recently, had been nothing short
of amazing, a true feat of diplomacy, either that or insanity.
Still, the way he carried the pistol suggested he'd use it with
minimal provocation. It left a lump in her throat, knowing that
all her training was essentially useless should he decide to get
nasty.
   "Doctor, you still there?"
   "Huh? Oh... yeah, I'm here."
   "What's your situation? Are you being held hostage?"
   "Oh, c'mon Brooks. What do you think?"
   "I don't know what to think."
   "Well... yes, I'm being held hostage... sort of."
   "Sort of? Doctor, did you let them into the shuttle?"
   "Of course not."
   "I have it on very good authority that the Commodore's shuttle
was locked up tight. How did they get inside?"
   "What, you think I let them in?"
   "You tell me."
   "They probably got in the same way I did."
   "What's that?"
   "Accidentally on purpose."
   "What?"
   During the accusations, Hunter kept her eyes fixed on
Harrison. First he spoke with his blind friend, then shook the
other one until he was awake. As a trio, they looked fairly
distraught, a gloomy pallor of hopelessness on each of their
faces. Embittered words were hissed, then a moment for excuses
and explanations, and then someone said something, something that
made Harrison blink a couple times with the sort of disbelief
that for most people may come along once in a lifetime. Hunter
frowned, their voices too low and too far away but to allow the
faintest trace of comprehension.
   "Doctor..."
   "Brooks, I think something's up."
   He opened his mouth to respond, but Tabor cut him off before
he could so much as enunciate one syllable.
   "Sir, gunnery reports that missile as launch ready."
   "Hold fire."
   "Also, sir... being hailed by the Tyberian starport authority.
They must have overheard something, sir. They want to know if we
request assistance."
   "Ignore their hails. Doctor, are you there? Doctor..."
   Mike switched the frequency, letting Cecil dictate his every
key stroke.
   "Sounds like we're making a scene."
   Johanes grunted, "He knows what'll happen if he lets the
locals get involved... big mess and front page news."
   Mike nodded, "You sure this is gonna work, Cecil?"
   "Heh heh... once in... always in."
   It was the hackers' motto, sort of a take-off on somebody's
rules for magic, or so the story went. Dira was well of aware of
the saying, and being so informed, she was the first to notice.
   "He's back, chief."
   Tuto turned around, spilling zardocha all over his shirt in
the process.
   "Damnit..."
   "He's moving slow. Must be a decoy. I'm scanning the other
channels for simultaneous entrance."
   Tuto hit the comm switch, "Tabor, get me Brooks."


                          *     *     *


"OTC to Crimson, tracking deviation from your cleared approach
vector. Please correct. Over."
   "No response?"
   "None."
   "Are they changing course?"
   "No sir."
   "Ask them if they need help again."
   Commander Merces clasped his hands together, fully expecting
at least a negative response. Instead, he was met only by static.
Although a certain degree of aloofness was expected from
Imperials, this sort of behavior was way out of protocol. He
nervously chewed a lip, settling back down in the command chair
as the communications officer tried another time.
   "Should I inform Administrator Chorea, sir?"
   "Negative. Lieutenant, go over again what you heard."
   "Crimson told their shuttle they were not cleared for
departure. Then somebody started asking for a Doctor Hunter."
   "A doctor aboard the shuttle?"
   "That's right."
   "Anything else?"
   "They coded the signal immediately upon connecting, sir. I can
begin saving the transmission."
   "No, it wouldn't help us. Scan Ops, run an identify on the
shuttle. Is it a medical craft?"
   "Negative, sir. It says here that shuttle seven is Commodore
Reece's personal craft."
   Merces nodded, "Lieutenant, try hailing the shuttle. Ask them
if they are in need of assistance, medical or otherwise."
   "Aye sir."
   Merces rose back to his feet, pacing slowly in the dim, blue
light of the orbital traffic control center.
   "Sir, detecting a missile launch from the Crimson. It appears
to be directed at their shuttle."
   "Missile ID?"
   "Hellraiser-199. Nuclear package."
   "Estimated time to impact?"
   "Thirty five seconds."
   "Tell gunnery to enable laser cannon arrays delta, epsilon,
and sigma. Target missile. Hold fire to my order. Any response
from the shuttle?"
   "No si... yes sir, they are requesting assistance."
   "That figures. What about the Crimson?"
   "Negative... wait... sir, their transponder signal just
vanished mid-stream."
   "Scan Ops?"
   "Detecting interweave emanations. Now detecting explosions.
Sir, they're breaking up."
   Merces held his breath, unable to regain his voice for several
seconds.
   "Sir, the shuttle is still requesting assistance. Impact in
five..."
   "Fire lasers."
   Mike felt the explosion. The turbulence alone knocked him out
of his seat. At first he though he was dead, when opening his
eyes, he saw only darkness. Then somebody turned on a flashlight.
It was Feso, floating in mid-air like he was doing some sort of
flip for everyone's amusement. Mike realized he was weightless,
that they were all weightless, and that both Feso and the doctor
wore staid expressions, the sort generally reserved for funerals.
Appropriate, Mike figured, considering how many people he'd just
killed; not just people, but innocent people, and the strange
accomplishment suddenly hit him like an electromagnetic overload.
   "I think I'm gonna be sick."
   Johanes took the statement as a license to go for the pistol,
a legitimate assessment if not for Hunter's keen reflexes. He
ended up floating in somersaults back toward the stretchers, a
bloody lip for his trouble. Then she looked up, sort of
apologetically.
   "Sorry, he was..."
   "I know. Here."
   Mike withdrew the ammunition clip from the pistol, conscious
at once of both the idiocy and the necessity of his action as he
handed it over. She seemed as surprised as he. Then a doubtful
glare crossed her eyes.
   "You're forgetting something, Harrison."
   "Like what?"
   "There's still a bullet in the chamber."
   Mike tried to smile, "You're very observant."
   He extracted the final bullet, pushing it gently in the zero
gravity. It floated between them for a second or two before she
grabbed it. Then she looked up, soft brown eyes turning wicked as
her boot collided with his stomach. Mike curled into a ball and
just floated while the pain slowly subsided.
   "Thanks for the trust, Harrison."
   "Don't mention it."


           _   /|
           \`o_O'          Jim Vassilakos
             ( )     <---  jimv@ucrengr.ucr.edu
              U            jimv@silver.lcs.mit.edu
           Aachk!          jimv@wizards.com

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