STARLINER by David Drake

“—though I guess I’ll rip the back out if it comes down to cases.”

Ran tossed his borrowed civilian tunic onto the narrow shelf of a console. It slipped to the deck as a spill of pink and puce.

Medchen stepped into his alcove and lifted out the fresh uniform hanging behind the open door. He waited till Ran had stripped off his white trousers, then handed it to him.

“What do you hear from the bridge?” Ran asked conversationally as he changed clothes.

“Two minutes ago,” Medchen said, “Captain Kanawa announced that a group of armed men had entered the bridge and ordered him to stop speaking. There hasn’t been anything since then, except the AI yammering.”

“I’ll need a food cart—”Ran said as he straightened.

Medchen nodded toward a rack near the pantry entrance. The carts were stored vertically in collapsed form. Ran jerked one down and extended it. A web of cross-braced wires joined the tray to the static repulsion plate that floated just above the decking.

“I have my own unopened dinner in my office,” the Chief Steward volunteered unexpectedly, nodding toward his alcove. “Do you want that too?”

“Yes,” Ran said, “I do.”

He’d thought he’d have to get that from the Galley off Corridor 3, on the opposite side of the deck. Also, he’d thought Medchen was going to be a problem . . . though it appeared he was wrong in that expectation.

The Chief Steward stepped into his alcove and came out again with covered plates and a setting of flatware, still wrapped in its napkin. The Grantholm attack must have occurred just as he sat down to dinner.

“Right,” Ran said. He kept his voice unnaturally calm. “Now, some stun-gas projectors. I want about six.”

Medchen pointed. “Locker Four,” he said, “beside you. There’s a gross of them.”

Ran opened the locker. Boxes of nerve-numbing gas, each projector about the size of a knife hilt, were stacked on the bottom of the cubicle. Medical supplies filled the shelves on top.

The gas—actually an aerosol—was skin absorbed. It numbed motor nerves without affecting the autonomic nervous system. The humans it struck went instantly catatonic, whether they were drunk, furious, or mad as hatters at the moment they received the dose, but it had no long-term side effects.

That last point was desirable when the target was a cook with a cleaver. It was absolutely necessary when the problem involved, say, a passenger trying to strangle his wife.

Ran took the six projectors he’d decided on when he made his plan. It was tempting to grab more now that he saw the dozen full boxes, but he restrained himself Quantities of equipment weren’t going to turn this hijacking around. Luck and guile would have to do.

He looked back at the Chief Steward. “One thing, Medchen,” he said. “I hope you’re not thinking of reporting this to our friends from Grantholm?”

Medchen shook his head slightly. “No, Mr. Colville,” he said. “I’m not going to say anything about it to anybody.”

“That’s good,” said Ran softly. “Because if you did—you can’t be sure that they’d kill me, Medchen. And you can be very sure that I’d come back and kill you if I was still alive.”

The Chief Steward nodded. “Yes, Mr. Colville,” he said. “I’m well aware of that.”

His smile was as hard and tight as a wrinkle on a walnut’s shell. “But I hope they do kill you, Mr. Colville,” he added.

As Ran slid his cart out of the pantry, it occurred to him that while Medchen was certainly a bastard, he wasn’t at all a stupid bastard. . . .

* * *

Rural landscapes from central North America shimmered silently from the walls as Wade dragged the third corpse into Ran Colville’s cabin. He was panting slightly. Belgeddes sphinctered the panel closed behind him. Wanda Holly took Ran’s pistol from the drawer which she’d opened with the same master chip that had unlocked the cabin.

Wade undipped the sling of the dead soldier’s submachine gun. “Now, little lady,” he said as he examined the weapon, “this is going to get—”

“Call her ‘lieutenant,’ Dickie,” Belgeddes said as he took the pistol from Wanda’s hand. “Not ‘little lady,’ you know.”

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *