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pink energy-bolts rattled off the roof, dislodging great chunks
of the ceiling.
The Doctor dodged them and ran.
Silence had fallen over the bridge once more. Frinza’s plea to
the other Pilots elicited no response. He spoke again. ‘At least
let us examine this hostile craft before we make a decision. It
is small. A concentrated burst of fire would surely disable it.’
The engineer looked up from his post. ‘Sir,’ he said
urgently. ‘Our weapons systems have been knocked off-line!’
A chorus of sighs went up.
Frinza slammed a fist on his control panel and cursed.
‘Then we are powerless.’
The alarm was deafening. The Doctor scurried through the
outer companionways of the flagship, thankful for his
infallible sense of direction. The Chelonians on duty were
startled as he ripped by, but the trauma of Big Mother’s order
overtook what would have been their normal reaction. For
most the presence of a fleeing parasite running crazily across
decks acted as confirmation of their predicament.
The shuttle bay was unguarded; the security staff left on
duty were milling about confusedly, their shells bumping
together hollowly as they fought for space around the vision
inlet. The Doctor raced down the ramp leading to the bay and
made for the escape pod of Hezzka’s shuttle. Also available
was the tiny domestic flyer he had travelled in previously, but
he did not place much faith in its ability to navigate spatial
hazards. His understanding of Chelonian technology was
rudimentary, but he could see from the open hatchway and the
warm glow coming from inside that the pod’s anti-theft
devices had not been reset. He clambered in and without
waiting for the traction port to lift him up climbed on to the
cramped cockpit. The flight systems were active, and a row of
winking coloured pads were arranged in a pattern that was
familiar and simple.
He closed the hatches, blew the locking clamps, and keyed
in the signal to open up the bay. Automatically the escape
pod’s forward screen illuminated. It showed him that already
the bay doors were opening; beyond he saw the far distant
stars of East Galaxy, stretching in a random series of softly
flaring blue. ‘I’m doing this for you,’ he whispered as the pod
shot out into space.
The last he saw of the flagship was a blur of green through
the glass of the shuttle bay’s observation gallery, as some of
the terrified Chelonians arrived in the vain hope of an
evacuation flight.
Panic reigned aboard the bridge. Frinza was surrounded on all
sides by frantic cries, groans and screams. The lighting
flickered down to emergency levels. He turned his head from
the sight of the engineer and the Environments Officer
fighting for a place in the cramped bridge escape pod.
All the while the hostile craft was coming closer.
A parasite voice boomed from all around, as the Goddess
had spoken to the prophets on the day of the last Arionite’s
death.
‘All this rushing about isn’t going to do you the slightest
good. Your paltry sensornet has let you down, so I’d better
bring you up to the mark. I am armed with an extendable
neutrino-tickler attachment. Very clean, but then you’d know
that. In fact I’m extending it right now. You’re in my way, and
I’m going to pick you off safely, one by one. Goodbye, you
presumptuous nincompoops. You thought to destroy me, eh? I
shall make a special point of enslaving every Chelonian in
your pathetic little empire. They will be employed to spread
manure.’
Frinza seethed with rage. Almost without thinking he
engaged his battle-drive and let the waves of alertness wash
over him. The adrenal-amyl combination made his heart
hammer like a steam-pump. The options chattered between his
brain and his reasoning graft, and he realized why he was such
a good officer, why crafty old Hafril had promoted him.
He wasn’t much of a thinker but he had a good
imagination. Coupled with the reasoning graft it made a fine
weapon.
From whatever corner of the dimension of thought his
mental processes were taking place in sprung the idea. No, not
the idea –
The certainty.
He saw how it could be done.
The Doctor wrestled with the navigation of the escape pod. He
stretched himself out like a Chelonian, shucking off his shoes
and then nestling his toes in the moulded grooves of the rear
control pads. He experimented, ducking and weaving the craft
until he felt more confident.
A dazzling tracery of light passed over his face. It came
from the sides of the egg-carrier as it passed by, dwarfing the
tiny escape pod, and filling him with some of the awe he had
felt on his first sight of it, when he had believed it to be the
triumph of nature over slavery and mortal interference.
Perhaps it was that, whatever its ambitions. But there were
limits, and it was his role to enforce them.
Unfolding from the sheer side of the carrier was a long
studded prong. Electricity crackled between the bristles on its
surface.
‘I could crush you now, Doctor,’ the voice of the
Management said suddenly. ‘But I want you to see the corpses
of your friends before you die.’
‘No! If they’re dead –’
‘Oh, shut up.’ The voice appeared to sniff. ‘Not much of a
riposte, I know, but I have got other fish to fry. Toodle-oo for
now, Doc.’
Frinza motored through the crowded companionways that led
from the bridge, trying to ignore the cries for help that came
when he was recognized. His passage was aided by the
prevailing air of terror, precisely because he was trying to
reach the centre of the ship whereas the crew were making for
the escape pods on the outer lining.
He turned off down an empty sub-tunnel, his battle-drive
carrying him on unchallenged to the nearest engineering sub-
station. The large room was deserted. On the diagnostic panels
were the remains of a meal and a hatchling’s toy. The alarm
stopped sounding.
Frinza breathed in the sudden quiet. This was how he had
always imagined the ancient sepulchres of the fallen saints.
He gripped the edges of the widest diagnostic panel and
ripped off the protective covering. The food cartons clattered
to the floor. Beneath the covering was a mix of components
interlinked by bunched strands of raw circuitry.
The vessel shook, and Frinza held on tightly to the sides of
the panel. The attacker had destroyed his first target. The
battle-drive reacted; Frinza sensed the death-agonies of his lost
comrades and wept.
He put out a foot and tweaked at an exposed section of
metal, pressing hard on the plate for a full ten seconds. His
body shook and he lurched upright. A wave of scorching
agony boiled him from his middle outwards. He felt several of
his innermost organs split open and screamed.
What did it matter?
The flagship’s engineering computer linkage had been
blocked for a third of a second by his interference. In that third
of a second the containment fields on the warp-snares were
lifted.
He fell heavily, his head smashing against the sparking
circuitry. One of the components, a savagely sharp spike,
entered his brain just behind the ear.
Before he died he saw something and he heard something.
He heard the wail of the flagship’s internal systems warning
for the first time since his days of emergency training. He saw
Big Mother, rifle in hand, staggering in through the opposite
door, his wizened head bobbing up and down.
The instruments in the escape pod warned the Doctor of an
enormous release of energy only seconds after the first wave
of neutrinos had blasted away the ship on the fleet’s
furthermost left flank. He examined the profile of the energy
build-up provided by the sensornet and nodded.
Big Mother cradled the ruptured body of the young officer and
raised his head. ‘We are not idiots, nor cowards,’ he said
proudly. ‘You are an enemy – and we defeated you!’ [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]

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