The Phoenix Darkness (33 page)

Fortunately, Pellew and his men were down
there facing the enemy. It felt strange to be rooting for Pellew or
hoping he would succeed. She’d much rather watch him be grinded
into a pulp for what he’d done to her, the ship, and especially to
Nimoux. So long as the isotome missile remained aboard the
Nighthawk,
there was still the chance of destroying it. But
if the invaders took it, whoever they were, then it would be loose
in the galaxy like the other fourteen, and probably in enemy hands.
Hands willing to use it, despite its cruel, overwhelmingly
destructive potential.

The crew manned their stations like they were
supposed to, but she could see apprehension on the few faces within
her line of sight. If the crew looked concerned, the two soldiers
guarding the Bridge, holding them prisoner, seemed even more
worried and confused. She watched them pace about nervously, now
and again pausing to whisper between each other.

They’re probably trying to decide what
they should do
, she thought.

It had now been several minutes since
Pellew’s last transmission. He'd described the ship to them and
made some mention about having patched the hull breach. He’d then
demanded the swift restoration of atmospheric pressure and
artificial gravity, which the Ops officer and the Engineering staff
had complied with, and then silence. Pellew must've had some kind
of plan, Summers knew, or else he wouldn’t have so urgently
demanded the restoration of life support to deck four. But then, to
everyone’s surprise, not ninety seconds later the breach alarm
sounded again and the deck four Hull Breach Protocol automatically
reinstated.

“Just what the hell is going on down there?”
demanded Pellew’s right hand man, but the crewmen had no answer for
him.

Clearly, whatever Pellew had done to patch
the breach had failed, or been undone, and now they weren’t hearing
anything from their commander of Special Forces. He wasn’t even
responding to inquiries or requests to communicate. Summers assumed
the worst.

Ops announced that the ship latched onto the
Nighthawk
had vanished, but no one knew if that meant the
ship had left or if it was merely ducking their scopes again,
invisible as a ghost.

Summers realized Pellew’s silence, and the
spiraling feeling of chaos, created the perfect time for her to
attempt to retake her ship. If the
Nighthawk
had any chance
of getting out of this, she needed her best officers at their
stations. Not to mention, Nimoux was in urgent need of proper
medical attention.

Summers made as much noise as she could,
trying to speak through the gag, even scream. Her words were
entirely incomprehensible, but she made enough of a racket that one
of the soldiers walked over to her and struck her across the
face.

“Quiet,
you
,” he demanded.

It stung more than she would have expected,
probably in no small part because her head and jaw were already
injured from when Pellew had thrown her into the Ops console. But
still, she needed to be heard, so she immediately began to speak,
scream, and shout, making as much noise as the gag would allow.

The soldier returned, raising his hand once
more to strike her, but the other soldier, Pellew’s right hand man,
stopped him. “Wait,” he said, authoritatively. “Remove her gag, see
what she has to say.” It was clear the soldiers felt so lost in
this situation they were open to any ideas, since their best one up
until now was to keep trying to radio Pellew, asking for status
reports which never came.

Reluctantly, the more hostile of the two
soldiers removed Summers’ gag and she was glad to be liberated of
the foul tasting cloth.

“Listen to me,” she said, making eye contact
with the higher ranked soldier, the one standing in the distance.
“Pellew is not responding; he’s gone silent. That means he’s in
trouble. If you don’t go to him now, he’s done for.”

“It’s a trick,” said the hostile soldier; he
looked eager to slap her again.

“No, she’s right,” Pellew’s right hand man
said with a sense of urgency in his voice. “Leave her tied up and
let’s go; Pellew needs our help!” The two of them took to the
elevator and, just before disappearing, threatened the crew.
“Nobody moves. If anybody does by the time we get back, you’ll get
worse than them,” he pointed to Summers and Nimoux. The door slid
closed.

“Well, what are you waiting for?!?” barked
Summers, looking at her officers. With some effort, and the help of
leaning against the wall, she was able to rise to her feet, despite
having her hands tied behind her back.

“You heard them, Commander,” said the man in
the pilot’s seat. Summers had forgotten his name, but not his
cowardice.

“To hell with them. This is our ship,” said
Summers. “And he needs help,” she used her head to nod in the
direction of the wounded Nimoux who, without having Summers to lean
on, had collapsed to the floor.

The pilot still looked too timid to act. The
defense officer looked on the fence, willing to act so long as
someone else did first. The Ops officer, likewise, seemed uncertain
what to do. Fortunately for Summers, however, Cassidy had been
summoned to command this shift. She sprang immediately from her
seat in the command position and raced into the CO’s office,
quickly returning with a box-cutter.

“I was just waiting for the right
opportunity,” said Cassidy as she carefully sliced Summers’ bonds,
freeing her. She did the same for Nimoux, despite his
unconsciousness.

“Thank you,” said Summers. “As ever, you’re
an asset to this ship.”

“Pleased to serve.”

“As for the rest of you, I’ll ask you this
once and only once,” she eyed the rest of the officers with a
fierce sternness. Even her voice seemed like iron. “Choose now if
you are loyal to your Commanding Officer or loyal to the mutineers
who have taken this ship.”

“You, sir,” said the defense officer. The Ops
officer agreed.

“And?” asked Summers, looking at the timid
pilot.

“Well, you, of course,” he said, nervously.
He kept checking behind his shoulder, expecting the elevator to
open back up full of soldiers. If that happened, Summers planned to
be ready.

“Cassidy, return to the CO’s office and bring
all the firearms here. Every one of you is going to help defend
this Bridge, should the enemy try to take it.”

“You want us to f-f-fight Special Forces?”
asked the pilot.

“Only if it comes down to it,” said Summers.
“But by the sound of it over the radio, they’ve got their own
problems to deal with, which is why now is the perfect time to
act.”

She thought back to the time when Calvin and
his most loyal officers had successfully mutinied against her and
Major Anderson. Of course, he’d had Pellew’s considerable help back
then, but still, there were lessons from that encounter which
applied here.

The first and most important one was: whoever
controlled the Bridge
and
Engineering controlled the ship,
which meant it was time to liberate Engineering.

By this point, Cassidy had passed a variety
of carbines and handguns out to the crew. She’d wisely given a
handgun each to the pilot, who probably wouldn’t use it anyway, and
the Ops officer, who may or may not help them. The defense officer,
Cassidy herself, and Summers each were given a carbine. And each,
Summers believed, would be willing to use them if they had to.

“Miss Dupont, watch the elevator. Mister…”
she fumbled to think of the defense officer’s name.

“Harmon, sir.” Although he wore a standard
issue uniform given to him by the quartermaster, it was obvious he
was one of the civilians who had come aboard the ship back at
Gemini. Hopefully, after all they’d been through since then, the
man had learned his station.

“You guard the hatch in case they come up the
ladders.”

“Uh, yes, sir. If they do…what should I
do?”

“See who they are,” said Summers. “If they’re
wearing black-and-silver, let them pass. If they’re wearing
camouflage, shoot them dead.”

“Dead, sir?”

“Dead. That’s an order. We don’t have the
luxury of taking prisoners.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” He looked positively
petrified, but willing to comply. He went to take his new
position.

“As for you, Mister Tully,” she said, now
remembering the cowardly pilot’s name. “Contact the infirmary and
tell them we have an emergency up here. We need them to send
someone on the double!”

“Yes, Commander.”

“I’ve got this covered,” said Cassidy,
keeping a vigilant eye on the elevator. “But what about the defense
post? It’s vacant.”

“I shall man it myself when the time comes,”
said Summers. But first she needed to secure Engineering.

Taking her newly armed force and marching
below decks to storm the engine room by force was entirely out of
the question. Not only did it present a high probability for
casualties, most likely friendly ones, it also required her to
abandon the Bridge. Which left her with only two weapons at her
disposal: diplomacy and guile.

She tapped the main line to Engineering.

“Engineering, this is the Bridge, do you
copy?” she asked.

“We copy, Bridge,” crackled the reply. “Who
is this? Over.” She could tell from his speech she was not speaking
to Mister Cowen or any of the engineers he’d trained. No, this,
this was a soldier, one of the two Pellew had left to defend
Engineering.

“This is Commander Presley,” said Summers,
knowing that any dishonesty on her part would undermine her chances
of success.

“Aren’t you supposed to be under arrest,
Commander?”

“The situation has changed; Pellew will
explain it to you later,” she said. “But for now, there’s something
urgent you need to do.”

“Oh, it’s changed, has it? Put Pellew on the
line if he’s there. Or else First Lieutenant Ferreiro.” Summers
realized he must be talking about Pellew’s right hand man.

“I’m unable to do that because they’re not
here.”

“Not there?” the man sounded alarmed.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
We’ve got a situation here, an urgent one!”

“What’s the situation?”

“Pellew has gone dark. He won’t respond,
we’ve lost all contact with him and his team.”

“Can’t be…”

“Radio him yourself. Try to get in touch with
him.”

There was a pause. No doubt the soldiers in
Engineering were attempting to do just what she said.
Now would
not be a good time for you to suddenly reappear, Pellew
, she
thought. Fortunately, he remained as quiet as a ghost.

The comm crackled back to life. “We can’t
reach him either. What was the last thing he told you?”

“He was investigating a foreign vessel that
had docked with us. There was an intruder aboard!”

“Is that where Ferreiro went, to go deal with
that?”

“Yes, and to rescue Pellew. They need your
help too; we all do. We’re in great danger!”

She clicked off the intercom and waited. A
few seconds later, she got a message from Engineering. It was the
welcome voice of Andre Cowen, the chief engineer. “They’re gone,
Commander. Engineering is all clear of those pesky SF
soldiers.”

“Very good, Mister Cowen. So is the Bridge.
Please immediately raise your defense walls and prevent all further
access to Engineering.”

“Aye, aye, Commander. We’re doing it now. I
suggest you do the same.”

“In due course,” said Summers as she stared
at Nimoux just lying there.

“We should raise the defense walls,” said
Cassidy. “Then we’ll have complete control of the ship and we won’t
have to fight anybody.”

“And we will raise those walls,” said
Summers. “But not yet. Not until we get a doctor up here.”

“But, with all due respect—”

“
No
buts! We wait for a doctor and
then we raise the walls; that’s the order of things.”

A very anxiety riddled five minutes of
silence followed. Summers caught herself biting her nails and
trying to think about anything but Nimoux and his condition. Her
thoughts felt like light speed as she considered the situation,
trying to make sense of what had happened, what was
still
going on below, and how she’d managed to fail to destroy even the
one isotome weapon they’d found.
Hopefully, Pellew at least
managed to stop the intruders from taking it
, she thought.

Then, in a moment that shattered the silence,
the elevator door slid aside.

“Hands on your head!” Cassidy shouted, waving
the carbine at whoever was in there.

Fortune smiled on them because the man who
stepped out onto the Bridge, looking equal parts terrified and
surprised, wore a white lab coat and carried a medical bag over his
shoulder. Summers immediately recognized him as Dr. Andrews.

“Okay, you’re clear,” said Cassidy, waving
him forward. She resumed her watch of the elevator, carbine at the
ready.

Dr. Andrews approached Summers.

“Defense walls up!” she commanded to the
intense relief of her crew. Then she gave the doctor her undivided
attention. “The patient is in severe need…” said Summers. But Dr.
Andrews didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he took her by the
face, gently, with his gloved hands, and rotated her head slightly,
examining her. Then he shined a flashlight in her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded
Summers.

“You look slightly concussed and show minor
symptoms which could indicate shock. You have a black eye, with
additional bruising and swelling on your forehead. I
recommend…”

She gave him a shove to both create some
distance between them and to get his attention.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“
I’m
not the patient,” Summers
practically screamed. “
He
is!” she pointed to Nimoux, who
was still just lying there, still showing no sign of
consciousness.