Book One of the Travelers (14 page)

S
pader spun himself a few times, then faced the hull. This shortened the harness straps, giving them a lot less play and allowing him to control it better.

“Let me try something,” Spader yelled to Clayton. He slipped underwater. He needed to stay out of the raging wind. If he could just keep hold of the grips, he might be able to get to the ladder and try climbing again with less slack. He pulled himself along the side of the boat until he was at the ladder.

He rode out another wave, clinging to the hull. The moment it began to recede, he clambered up the ladder. Clayton grabbed his shoulder straps and helped him up and over the rail and onto the deck.

“You all right?” Clayton asked.

“In one piece,” Spader said.

“Man overboard!” someone cried.

“Get out the rescue lines,” Clayton instructed Spader, who quickly unbuckled his harness.

“On it!” Spader raced to one of the units where the
lines were kept. Someone stood there struggling with the latches.

“Here to help,” Spader said.

The worker turned around. “I can do it,” Per Watsu snarled.

Spader took a step back. “Yeah? Then why are the lines still in there, instead of out here where they can do some good?”

“I said, I've got it.” Per turned his back on Spader and went back to trying to get the hold open.

Spader shoved Per aside. “I can do it faster.”

“Spader. Get below. Now.”

Spader turned to find Clayton glaring at him.

“But—” Spader protested.

“You're more harmful than helpful up here. If you two can't work together, you're useless.”

Spader's cheeks burned with humiliation. He hated being called out like this. And it killed him that Clayton seemed to think he was the one to blame.

“To the engineering level,” Clayton snapped. “Now. “

Spader hurried down two levels, his blood boiling. He had done it again. Let Per Watsu get to him.

It was a busy scene on this level too. Water filled the area knee high, and two crew members worked to bring the water pressure back in line.

“What can I do?” Spader asked the nearest crew member. Maybe no one would realize he had been sent down below as a reprimand. At least for now.

“Help Jofels with the connector tubes!” the crew member replied. “The regulators couldn't handle the sudden influx of water!”

Spader joined Jofels, who was pounding a large pipe back into place in the ceiling. By the time they got the pipe back together, Spader noticed that the deck wasn't bucking like a crazed spinney fish anymore.

“I think the storm is losing power,” Jofels said. “We're good here, Spader, so go check back in with Clayton.”

Rain still came down in sheets, but the wind had calmed and so had the waves. Even so, visibility was nil, and Spader's muscles still ached from the pounding they'd taken while he was being batted around by the roiling waves. He hoped this battle with the elements would be over soon. But he hurried over to Clayton, eager to prove himself.

“Jofels sent me up,” Spader said, wanting to be clear that he wasn't disobeying Clayton's instructions.

“Check levels on the upper equalizers,” Clayton instructed. “See how close we are to getting back online.”

Like all ships on Cloral, the vessel was powered by carefully calibrated water pressure. “Got it.” Spader hurried to the nearest gauge. It was off, but was clearly dropping back to a normal level. They didn't want the pressure to drop too quickly, or it could cause an implosion. But the reading wasn't in the danger area. He made his way carefully across the slippery deck to the next gauge.

A thick fog made it impossible to see much farther than a few feet. Spader wondered how far off course they were, and if there were any serious damage.

Clayton came up beside him. “Well, we're not in danger of capsizing or sinking anymore. But until we've reached full equalization, we're not going to be moving.”

“Makes sense.”

“Go up to the pilot's tower. With some of the systems still offline and this fog, they'll need help navigating.”

Spader climbed up the ladder to reach the pilot's tower, where the navigation systems were. “I'm your extra eyes,” he told the pilot and the navigator. He placed himself in the forward windows and stared out into the gloom.

“The engineers called up and said the lights should be working any minute now. That will help,” the pilot said.

As promised, the lights at the bow of the ship came on.

Spader blinked. “Where did
that
come from?”

Not too far off starboard was another vessel, barely visible in the fog.

“It looks disabled,” the navigator said. “See how it's drifting?”

“Probably damaged in the storm,” the pilot commented.

“It looks as if it's heading straight toward us!” Spader said.

“They might not be able to steer properly,” the navigator said. “It's up to us to keep out of the way.”

“Until we do a thorough check, we can't rely on the navigational systems,” the pilot said. “Spader, call out instructions based on what you're seeing, while we monitor the instruments as backup. We should be able to get safely past.”

There didn't seem to be any signs of life on the disabled vessel. All lights were out, and it just floated
steadily toward them. Suddenly there was a loud
boom,
and the window to the pilothouse shattered. Glass and water spewed everywhere.

The pilot keeled over and landed on the floor beside Spader.

Dead.

T
ake cover!” Spader shouted to the navigator. “Raiders go for the pilot's crew first!”

He hit the deck as another blast ripped through the pilot's tower. He rolled quickly across the wet floor just as the navigator thudded down beside him. A quick glance told him the navigator was also dead.

He peered over the instrument board. The raider ship was much smaller than the vessel he was on. That should mean fewer raiders than crew members. Would the crew be able to fend them off?

Only if we have enough weapons
. Spader tried to remember from his orientation. Most dangers they faced traveling between habitats were natural—like the storm they had just weathered. Raider attacks were actually pretty rare.

“Stand down!” a voice boomed over the loudspeaker. It sounded like Clayton. “We have a larger crew and weapons to match. And we aren't carrying anything of value.”

Spader held his breath. Would the bluff be enough?

“We'll see about that!” a voice challenged from the raider vessel. “Our ship was damaged in the storm. Why should we bother repairing it when you've got a perfectly good one for us to take!”

“Our ship was damaged as well,” Clayton said.

Spader knew Clayton must have been stalling for time while the crew either got the ship under way or found a way to attack the raiders. Then he realized—the only way to get the ship moving was from the pilot's tower. His crew didn't know both the pilot and the navigator were dead.

A nasty laugh came over the raiders' system. “You proved it's perfectly seaworthy when you maneuvered out of our way.”

It was a trap,
Spader thought.
And we fell right into it.

Usually the raiders kept everyone under guard while they off-loaded whatever cargo they wanted. This time they wanted the ship itself—and they wouldn't want any passengers along. That meant everyone on board would either escape or die.

Spader knew which category he wanted to be in.

Another
boom
rocked the boat.
The raiders must have water canons
, Spader realized. Only water missiles could do such serious damage.

The speakers crackled, and Spader heard a crash as something toppled to the deck.

He crawled to the instrument panel. The raiders probably figured they had taken out the pilot and navigator since the ship wasn't moving. They didn't know that there was one more person still in the tower—and Spader intended to keep it that way.

He pushed out of his mind the sounds of splashes and the exchange of water bullets, screams, and shouts. He had to stay focused. He didn't know the panel well enough to work it blind from the floor, so he pulled himself up into a crouch, keeping his head low.

He peered over the board. Several skimmers and a life raft bobbed on the water, making good speed. One of the jobs of the aquaneers was to ensure the safety of the passengers. Spader figured the personnel from Crasker were in the raft, with aquaneers on the skimmers guiding them. The rest of the crew would defend the ship.

It was up to him to get them out of there.

Sounds on the ladder to the pilot's tower sent Spader into high alert. He darted across the tower cabin and flattened himself against the wall next to the door.

A raider stepped through the doorway, and Spader flung himself at the raider's knees, knocking him off balance. The raider's sleek, silver pistol clattered to the ground, and the raider tumbled down beside it.

Spader leaped onto the raider, never giving him the chance to get back up to his feet. He straddled him and pinned his arms.

The raider squirmed, struggling to flip Spader off. Spader held on and slammed the raider's head onto the floor. He saw the raider's eyes roll up and then shut. The man's body went limp.

Spader stared down at the raider. He had never knocked anyone out before. It felt…odd.

He rummaged in the small storage compartment under the navigation board and pulled out some cable. He wrapped it around the raider's wrists and then
around the handle of the door. Anything to slow the raider down once he woke up. For good measure he crumpled a navigation chart and stuffed it into the raider's mouth. “No shouting for help for you,” Spader told the unconscious man.

That was when he realized—it was quiet. The storm was over and so was the battle down below.

His heart thudded. Had his crew beaten back the raiders?

Keeping his head down, he crept to the navigation board. He just cleared it to peer out the shattered forward windows.

Laughter from below floated up to the tower. But whose? He lifted slightly higher, trying to see down into the hold below.

A head appeared, coming up the stairs on deck.

A raider.

Spader ducked back down.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to look again. His eyes widened. There were two raiders on deck, carrying a dead crew member between them.

“One, two, three!” one of the raiders shouted. Together the two men flung the crew member overboard.

Spader's hands clenched into fists.

“That's the last of 'em,” one of the raiders said.

Spader sank back on his heels. The dead pilot and navigator stared up at the ceiling. “What should I do?” he asked them.

The longer he looked at the pilot and navigator, the angrier he became.
Yes
. He would take out the marauding raiders and make them pay for—

He shut his eyes.
No. Think
.

He rubbed his face. What would his father tell him to do? Don't rush to action without knowing the situation. Well, the situation was about as bad as it could get. He was probably the only person left on board from the original crew. Alive, that is.

Benn Spader would tell him to stay that way.

Gradually a plan began to take hold. Energy surged through him. He could do this. He'd need a water sled and an air globe. Yes…it was all falling into place.

Of course, first he had to make it out of the tower and get to the storage units two decks below.

He picked up the raider's pistol. He wasn't sure how to use it, but wanted it all the same. His trusty knife was still in his boot.

He peeked over the navigation board again, raising up a little higher so he would get a better view of the entire deck. One of the raiders was relaxed against the rail, while another was helping a raider up the ladder from the water. They seemed to be the only raiders on deck. The others must all have been below. His stomach clenched when he saw Clayton splayed under the struts that had held the loudspeaker. Blood pooled around him from the wounds he'd received. Spader forced himself to look away.

He crawled to the other window, which gave him a view of the back end of the ship. Empty—other than three dead crew members and one dead raider.

There were stairs leading down from the deck to the lower levels both fore and aft. Once he was below, he'd have to hurry past the living quarters and down to where the equipment was stored without being seen.
The first obstacle, though, was getting to the deck. The stairs down from the tower were on the side of the pilothouse. Would he be visible to the raiders at the front of the ship?

He peeked out the back window again. He was about thirty feet above the deck. Was there a way to get down there without using the stairs?

Ducking down again, he searched the cabin for something to use to rappel down the side of the tower. He grabbed more of the cable he had used to tie up the raider. Working quickly, he wrapped the cable several times around the legs of the desk and tied it securely. Then he dropped the line out the window.

He hopped on to the desk, swiveled, then lowered himself out the window. He gripped the cable and winced. “Hobey, that's sharp!” Well, as long as it didn't actually cut him, he'd survive. What was a bit of cable burn compared to being shot by raiders!

Right quick, now,
he told himself. He pushed away from the side of the tower and slid down the cable, stopping to swing back into the wall and push off again to take some of the pressure off his hands. His feet touched down. Made it!

He raced across the deck and lay flat at the opening to the cabin level below. He listened intently, straining to hear any sounds of the raiders. He could hear shouts and laughter, but they seemed far away.

He hurried silently down the rungs of the ladder leading below to the living quarters. Good thing no one was around. He was sure they'd hear his ragged breathing and pounding heart.

Spader wondered how many raiders there were. The small vessel they'd abandoned was meant to carry only five or six, but it certainly sounded like there were more of them. And to take out ten experienced crew members, they had to have been pretty evenly matched.

Voices. Coming toward the stairs.

Gotta hide
! But where?

There were cabins on either side of the corridor. He didn't want one of those—the raiders would search them carefully for valuables.

He quickly slipped inside one of the nearby supply closets and shut the door.

The shelves of linens had fallen during the storm, and linens were strewn all over the floor. Boxes of toiletries had tumbled over, and a few had popped open. He sat on one of the boxes and let out a shaky breath.

He knew he didn't have long. The supply closets would be checked too.

Something caught his eye. Was it his imagination? It looked as if the pile of linens moved.

He pulled the pistol he'd taken from the raider out of his waistband. He crept to the pile of linen, his heart pounding. Could he actually shoot a raider up close like this?

In a quick move he yanked up the sheet and aimed the weapon.

Straight at Per Watsu.