CRAIS COUNTED THE SOLDIERS AS THEY DROPPED FROM THE VIGILANTE'S BELLY ONTO ELACK'S OUTER HULL.
Ten. A small strike squad. They were but two. He wondered if he should be flattered that they even bothered. They could hear the groaning of biometal as the Peacekeepers began cutting an entry hole into Elack's side.
"This is very bad." Muukarhi muttered, backing out the door of Elack's Terrace.
"They will certainly not act like bounty hunters, " Crais added - unnecessarily, Muukarhi thought. "I doubt we have enough ammunition for a sustained firefight."
An ambush was unlikely. Crais was right in that they didn't have the resources for a sustained firefight. They couldn't take it into the ductwork because Elack's gravity systems, which were generated from his own mass and specialized bladders, would fail soon. Zero-G in a duct did not appeal to her. The Peacekeepers would have armored suits on, so lack of air and heat wouldn't matter to them, and it was already growing colder in the corridors. Help was at least a day or so away.
"Our only alternative is to hide." Crais told her as they ran along.
"For how long, Crais? Do you feel that? Once they finish that hole, what's left of the air in these sections is heading into space, along with what's left of the heat. In case you failed to notice, almost all the doors between here and Command are open."
Muukarhi slid to a halt, cursed to herself.
"Dren! Stupid."
She ran back the other way, digging through her pack as she did, a bewildered Crais skidding and turning.
"Where are you going?" Crais called. He saw Muukarhi pull something from his pack, stop a moment, which allowed Crais to catch up. Muukarhi turned, a mask in his hand. She pulled it over her head.
"We have rebreathers, they're standard in these station packs. I'd forgotten all about them! They're for emergencies, for breach events. They won't last long but they should last long enough."
Crais followed suit.
"Long enough for what?" Crais asked as Muukarhi resumed her run. He figured she had a plan.
"For us to reach the propulser chambers. Normally one could not get near them, but this Leviathan is dead. If we can get to them before they get in here, we can hide. The alloys in there are very dense."
"Excellent." Crais followed her, his wound aching. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.
Behind them, they heard metal scream and a heavy clanging, echoed up the corridor followed by a sudden rush of air. The Peacekeepers were in.
Then, it got worse.
The gravity went and everyone suddenly found themselves floating.
Muukarhi grabbed Crais, kicked off the ceiling, now the floor, toward the door at the end of the corridor, the only one closed. The troopers behind them were flailing, trying to right themselves. Behind the troopers, the side of the corridor suddenly blew out in a massive whump, a pressurized conduit failing as the gravity was lost. The troopers vanished in the thick haze.
"Fluidic regulatory conduits. That will not last long," Muukarhi grunted, grabbing the edge of the door and pulling for all she was worth. Crais said nothing, but was quick to help. They'd managed the door, and then had to hold on as the air behind it tried to rush into the corridor. Muukarhi and Crais managed to haul themselves in and both pushed mightily to close the door. There was a thud and both found themselves drifting serenely in silence – and air.
Muukarhi pulled her mask off, panting.
"So, Crais…" she said after a few microts, between pants. "What did you do today?"
Crais blinked and then suddenly smiled. Muukarhi merely smirked, glanced up the corridor, listening hard. Nothing.
"They will begin searching soon," Crais ventured.
Muukarhi nodded.
"Very likely. Why are they here?"
"I cannot imagine." Crais was trying to find some way out. "Unless whoever sent the bounty hunters decided to alert them, which would seem rather counterproductive."
Muukarhi found herself slowly sinking to the floor/ceiling. Gravity was somehow reasserting itself, although not as strongly as before.
"The Vigilante," Crais said to her questioning look, as his feet contacted solid ground. He did a little jump. He floated up about half-a metre, came down.
"It is meant only for the troopers, I assure you."
"Naturally."
"I noticed a large C-type Veridane transport out there. The Peacekeepers have ignored it."
"It's likely the Insectoid's. Or was, at any rate." Muukarhi began moving away. "Do you know how to fly a Veridane ship?"
"I'm afraid not." Crais answered, trying to keep from bouncing in the light gravity.
"I believe I can." She mused as she went. "It was not docked. The Insectoid must have crossed without an umbilical."
"It would be extremely risky for us to attempt a likewise feat without suits."
"It was only a few motras away and the hatch was left open. With our rebreathers – and care – we could make it."
Crais shook his head. Yesterday, his only care had been in finding Talyn some help. He had never bargained for it to go this way. At all. What had Crichton called similar situations? Ah, yes. "Screwing the pooch." Whatever that actually meant.
He weighed his options. One, he could remain here, hide and freeze to death or suffocate, whichever came first. Two, he could be captured by Peacekeepers, taken back to a Carrier, summarily tried and then enter the living death of induced Heat Delirium, or he could risk leaping through open space to a ship he knew nothing about, quite possibly failing and dying when the pressure differentials in space crushed his insides.
He smiled quietly to himself. Which death, Bialar, would you prefer?
At least I have a choice, he decided, and choose the one that gave him the best odds.
"We must find a hatchway. The Insectoid may not have needed one, however."
"Frell. In this area, there are only small service ones for DRDs. We won't fit."
Crais thought and thought hard.
"When we were approaching this Leviathan, you said that much of his Hammonside – and his hanger there, though closed - was in a vacuum."
"So it is."
"Is it open to space?"
"No. He had atmospheric vent failure some time ago. Just a symptom of his age." She wondered where he was going with this.
"So, there is still pressure there. He had cargo, you said. Ship maintenance cargo."
Muukarhi looked at him with new eyes.
"Pressure suits."
Crais nodded, glad he had remembered.
"Possibly manoeuvring packs, tools we can use. If we can get there."
Muukarhi scanned their surroundings, nodded, indicated that he was to follow her. Behind them, they could hear heavy-shod feet approaching. She pulled off a heavy grate and they squeezed through, and she pulled it shut just as feet pounded around the corner and marched smartly past them. She shook her head and indicated that he should keep moving. He winced and did as bade. A spot of wetness hit her face as she followed and she stopped, wiped it, was surprised to see a drop of blood on her fingers. Other droplets were slowly falling to the floor in the lower gravity. Crais' wound. To look at him, you would think he'd not been wounded at all, though he was still bleeding. Muukarhi smiled to herself, decided to stop trying to figure him out, and just go with it. She'd check his wound when they exited the conduits.
Crais knew he was bleeding again but the pain was tolerable. Not much longer. If they could get to the Insectoid's ship and avoid the Vigilante, they had a chance.
Crais suddenly had a flash of how Crichton thought in a crisis, why he'd done the seemingly inexplicable things he'd done during an emergency. As a Peacekeeper, Crais had been taught that every eventuality had a procedure and every procedure an eventuality.
No wonder Crichton had beaten or outfoxed Peacekeepers so often, Crais realized.
Take the chance.
It was a lesson Crais was beginning to take to heart.
