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  Votava's paper had suggested a possible answer. She'd written about a whole new generation of cargo carriers. They'd be huge. Each would carry what it presently took ten freighters to move, and as a result, shipping costs would be greatly reduced. The key to their design was that, except for central power-control modules, the giant vessels would make one-way trips. That meant many systems required by conventional ships could be simplified or eliminated. The result . . . even more savings.

  But more important from McCade's point of view was that the ships would be unmanned. Computers already did most of the work involved in piloting ships anyway. Except for atmosphere landings or emergencies, human pilots were little more than expensive back-up systems. So the ship's computer would take it into hyperdrive and then out in the vicinity of the destination. All without aid of a human pilot.

  Nonetheless Votava's paper indicated that cramped living quarters were included in the power-control modules for use by emergency repair crews. She'd been very specific about that. So much so that McCade had begun to wonder. What if Bridger and Votava were aboard one of the huge ships? Hidden away in the emergency living quarters which no one would think to examine. Waiting until the search died down. Sweating out the days and minutes until the giant vessel hurled itself into hyperspace. It made a great theory, McCade reflected as the tiny troop carrier skimmed along the flanks of a mighty battlewagon, bristling with turrets and launch tubes. And he was going to feel damn silly if it was wrong.

  Bright sunlight poured into the cockpit as the troop carrier emerged from the battleship's shadow. Ahead, the huge cargo carrier gleamed in the sun. It wasn't pretty. Built to voyage only in deep space, it had none of the streamlined beauty common to ships designed to negotiate planetary atmospheres. It was long and cylindrical. The hull was not a proper hull at all, but comprised of thousands of cargo pods, each connected to those around it by standard fittings. As a result the ship had a bumpy, textured look. Their angle of approach hid it, but McCade knew from the diagrams he'd studied that the power-control module was suspended in the center of the hollow space running the length of the cylinder.

  They were closer now. He could see four tugs, dwarfed by the freighter's tremendous bulk, cautiously starting to tow it out of orbit. It was the largest ship he'd ever seen. No wonder they'd christened it Leviathan.

  There wasn't much time left. His foot tapped out an impatient rhythm until he became conscious of it, and forced himself to stop. Being a passenger was driving him crazy. As soon as the vessel was clear of other traffic it would enter hyperspace, where the little troop carrier could not follow. Days or weeks later it would emerge in the vicinity of Weller's World, a relatively primitive planet just inside the frontier.

  "Sam . . . look." Laurie pointed to the main detector screen. It showed a luminescent outline of the cargo carrier and the four tugs. Now a sixth ship appeared. Its outline suggested an atmospheric shuttle, a guess confirmed moments later when the computer inserted "AS Type IV" in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. Until moments before, it had been hidden on the far side of the Leviathan. Now it had cleared the larger ship and seemed headed their way. At first McCade was unconcerned. Chances were it was on a perfectly innocent errand. In any case it was an unarmed model, and there wasn't much it could do short of ramming them.

  However, as it got closer, it became increasingly apparent that the shuttle intended to intercept them. The com screen came to life with an excellent likeness of Cadet Votava. He noticed with amusement that she'd promoted herself to lieutenant commander. Nonetheless she was quite convincing. Her voice carried just the right mix of bored authority and arrogance.

  "This is a restricted Naval Operation Area under code one-niner-zero-two alpha. Reverse course immediately or be fired upon." Her image faded to black before McCade could reply.

  "We've got 'em," McCade said with grim satisfaction.

  "Maybe," Laurie replied, turning up the magnification on the detector screen. The shuttle had slowed and opened its cargo bay. A dozen tiny figures dressed in space armor spilled out. One maneuvered a space sled. On it rested the unmistakable form of a recoilless energy cannon.

  McCade felt his pulse begin to race. The energy cannon was designed for surface action against enemy armor. Its use in space was extremely unconventional. But it would work. One of Bridger's ideas no doubt. Walt was right—the man was dangerous. That kind of creativity applied to an entire battle could be devastating. Meanwhile the cannon was a very real threat. It had its own integral tracking system, and more than enough power to vaporize the small troop carrier. A fact not lost on Laurie, who hurled the troop carrier into a series of gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, evasive maneuvers that made the hull creak. She seemed to enjoy it. McCade didn't, but was determined not to show it. If he'd been at the controls himself, it wouldn't have bothered him, but just sitting there watching, it made him feel queasy.

  Laurie switched on the suit coms and her voice boomed into his helmet. "Attention all personnel . . . button up and stand by for cabin depressurization. Section Leader . . . by the numbers please."

  McCade went over his gear, checking seals, power supply, oxygen and so forth, while behind him Van Doren and his men did the same. McCade glanced up to see the shuttle getting uncomfortably close. It appeared the energy cannon would be operational any moment.

  "Section One, combat ready, Captain," Van Doren said formally. "On your command."

  Out of the corner of his eye McCade saw Laurie was pleased by the honorary "Captain."

  "Roger," she replied with equal gravity. "Ejection and enemy contact in approximately four minutes. Secure the energy cannon by whatever means possible. Take prisoners if you can . . . but don't risk your men unnecessarily. I don't know who they are, but one thing's for sure, they don't look friendly."

  "Aye aye, Captain," Van Doren answered calmly.

  McCade flinched as a pulse of blue light raced by in front of them. A ranging shot. A vise closed on his chest as they went into a tight turn and raced straight toward the cannon. The troop carrier shuddered as an energy pulse slid down its side. A red warning light blinked on in front of McCade. The cabin was fully depressurized. Laurie's gloved hands danced over the controls. The troop carrier began to zigzag in a random pattern. The little ship shuddered and groaned under the strain. McCade felt the tug of the facial tic that always plagued him in moments of stress. He hoped Laurie wouldn't notice it and desperately wished for something to do.

  Laurie touched a button and the top of the carrier split down the middle as the sides were retracted into the hull. McCade felt momentary vertigo as she put the small craft through another series of acrobatic maneuvers.

  "Five, four, three, two, one," Laurie counted, and hit the ejection control. Together Van Doren and his marines were blasted out of the troop carrier in perfect formation. As the ship raced away, McCade watched the rear screen on full magnification. Laurie had placed them slightly above and behind the cannon. Once clear of the troop carrier, each marine released his seat and used his suit jets to blast down toward the enemy.

  Van Doren was in the lead. His men were spread out in V formation behind him. Lines of blue light rippled and flared as both sides opened fire. A marine disappeared in a yellow-red explosion. Then the cannon and two figures near it flashed incandescent as they were hit by a shoulder-launched missile. "Got the sonovabitch," an exuberant voice shouted over McCade's suit com, followed by a scream as a marine was hit.

  "I want radio silence, goddamnit!" Van Doren bellowed.

  After that the battle was silent, men moving as though part of an eerie, slow-motion ballet which someone had forgotten to score. Shoulder weapons lashed out, slicing through armor as if it weren't there. Then, as the combatants got closer to each other, hand blasters came into play. Their less powerful beams often failed to penetrate the heavy armor, causing many to draw older and more effective weapons. McCade thought he could make out Van Doren swinging an enormous battle axe as he led his men
into hand-to-hand combat. While difficult to use in normal gravity, the axe would be lethal in zero G, especially in the hands of an expert. And Van Doren was undoubtedly an expert. Then the screen went blank as the little ship passed out of high mag detection range.

  The enormous bulk of the freighter loomed ahead. The tugs had cut their tractor beams and started to move off. Laurie frowned in concentration as they skimmed the side of the large ship.

  "The lock's just ahead," she said. "Get ready."

  The lock was located about halfway down the ship's length. A long tunnel running through the center of a support strut connected the lock with the power-control module suspended in the center of the hollow cylinder. McCade was thinking about the length of the tunnel.

  "It's gonna be real fun trying to get down that tunnel if there's someone at the other end shooting at us."

  "A cheerful thought," she said grimly as she brought the troop carrier down in a graceful arc, killing thrust, and gliding smoothly toward the other ship's lock. She flicked a switch activating a light tractor beam which locked onto the larger vessel and began to reel them in. Moments later they were snuggled up a few feet below Leviathan's lock.

  McCade hit his seat release. His stomach lurched as he floated free of the ship. An eternity of emptiness stretched away in every direction. He felt the moment of panic that always accompanied free fall for him. They'd almost washed him out of the Academy for it. Forcing himself to concentrate, he fired his suit jets, and moments later was clinging to the other ship's lock, happy to have his hands on something solid again.

  Meanwhile Laurie was using the troop carrier's com unit. "Merchant ship Leviathan . . . Merchant ship Leviathan . . . This is naval vessel MTC four-niner-two. Terminate departure immediately. Imperial Navy authorization code four-five-one delta zero . . . I repeat . . ."

  McCade decided the lock had either been purposely jammed or shorted out.

  There was a burst of static over his suit radio followed by a male voice which could only be Bridger. "Naval vessel MTC four-niner-two. Cut your tractor beam and depart at once. Make no further attempt to board this ship. I repeat . . . depart at once. This vessel will shift into hyperspace ten standard minutes from now. Repeat . . . ten standard minutes and counting. End of transmission."

  McCade swore under his breath and struggled even harder with the lock mechanism. Laurie appeared at his elbow. She held a ship cracker cradled in her arms. It was intended for rescue work on damaged ships and could cut through almost anything. The ship cracker wasn't heavy in zero gravity, but it was bulky and awkward. Normally operated by a crew of three, it took both of them to hold and aim it. As Laurie pulled the trigger, a ruby red lance of energy leapt from the device's nozzle and bit into the ship's durasteel hull.

  McCade began to sweat. He felt his recycling unit shift into a higher speed. He could just barely make out Laurie's face through her darkened visor. Sweat rolled off her face and her teeth were bared in a grimace. A dark comma of hair had fallen across the whiteness of her forehead. McCade thought she looked beautiful.

  Moments later the beam cut through the lock's mechanism and the hatch swung open. There was no rush of atmosphere into space. The tunnel had been depressurized. McCade wondered why. He didn't like the possibilities. Motioning Laurie to stay back, he entered the tunnel. It stretched off into the distance, ending in another hatch which provided access to the power-control module. The tunnel was evenly lit and empty. The walls covered with a maze of pipes and electrical conduit. It looked too easy— too inviting. McCade took a few cautious steps forward, gesturing to Laurie for radio silence. Bridger could easily monitor their suit radios. McCade pulled his blaster and began to move swiftly down the tunnel. He noticed the weapon had none of his slug gun's comforting weight. He'd have to compensate for that.

  He soon reached a junction where two smaller maintenance shafts joined the main tunnel from the left and right. Cautiously he peered into each. Both were dark beyond the first twenty feet. He signaled Laurie, and together they hurried forward. McCade figured they had five minutes at most before the ship hurled itself into hyperspace, taking them with it.

  A figure dressed in space armor dropped from the ceiling. Apparently he'd been hiding in a vertical maintenance shaft. He fired his blaster before his feet hit the deck. That was a mistake. His bolt went wide. Smoke and electrical sparks poured out of a section of pipe and conduit to McCade's right. McCade fired his blaster in reply. A white-hot hole appeared where the man's chest had been. He was slammed back against the tunnel wall.

  "Behind us, Sam!" Her voice was shrill. Instinctively he dropped to the deck, and sensed more than saw the energy beam that passed over his head. Scrambling on all fours he turned to see Laurie go down. Beyond her lay a headless figure in space armor. Next to the body knelt another man who had a blaster centered on McCade's chest. McCade began to bring his own blaster up knowing he'd never make it. As he waited to die, some remote part of his brain reproached him for not checking the side tunnels more carefully. If he'd only had more time . . .. Then the man's left side disappeared as Laurie blasted him from the deck. McCade moved quickly to her side. She seemed so small, even in bulky space armor. Behind the visor her face was terribly white and drawn. A quick check revealed no sign of a wound, and her armor seemed intact.

  "Laurie?" he said.

  Her eyes blinked open, and she managed a weak smile. Wordlessly he picked her up as gently as he could and started down the tunnel toward the lock. He'd taken only a few steps when a tremendous jolt threw them both to the deck. The lights went out, and a moment of total darkness passed before dim emergency lights flickered on. McCade knew he should get up but couldn't find the energy. The half-healed wound in his left arm began to throb. The pain cleared his head. He felt the deck move erratically under him. Then he understood. Bridger had detonated the explosive, emergency fittings connecting the power-control module to the cargo pods—and disappeared into hyperspace. Evidently he didn't want to take the boarding party with him—especially since they were winning.

  The force of the power-control module's departure, plus the loss of its mass, put the remaining part of the ship into an erratic spin and tumble. As he struggled to his feet McCade wondered if the cargo pods would hold together. Awkwardly he gathered Laurie's inert form into his arms and started toward the lock. He'd taken only a few steps when the emergency lights flickered off and the artificial gravity disappeared. Somewhere an emergency generator had failed. Naturally the main field generators had vanished into hyperspace along with the power-control module. After a brief moment of dizziness, McCade managed to shift his grip on Laurie to use only one hand, so he could use the other to activate his helmet light. He pushed off the nearest bulkhead in the direction of a handhold. As he moved from handhold to handhold, he quickly decided weightlessness was an advantage rather than a problem. By towing Laurie behind him he could make fairly good time.

  Occasionally, forward motion stalled as the hull tumbled, and they were thrown into the nearest bulkhead. McCade worried that the violent motion of the ship might break the light tractor beam securing the troop carrier to the hull. If it did it would be one helluva walk home. Which reminded him of the marines. Their air would be running low. He tried to move even faster. Finally he made it to the lock. To his relief the troop carrier was still there. He paused, calculated, hoped for the best, and jumped. They damn near soared right by the smaller ship before he managed to grab an antenna with his free hand and haul them in.

  He strapped Laurie into the copilot's seat, slid behind the controls, and plugged his suit into the ship. Fresh oxygen squirted into his helmet, and there was a burst of static as the radio came on, followed by an exchange of conversation between Van Doren and a navy shuttle. The marines were being picked up. He started the engines, cut the tractor beam, and plunged recklessly down into the atmosphere.

  Four

  McCade sat staring at the green wall, wondering why hospital walls were always green.
"Of all the colors you could program a wall to be, why choose bile green? Ah! There's the connection," he mused wryly. "It's obvious, once you put your mind to it."

  Wearily he swung his feet over onto the floor. He made an ancient gesture of derision toward the nearest scanner. Only Walt would put surveillance sensors in a hospital room. He stood slowly, and then shuffled over to the wash basin in one corner. He splashed cold water on his face and looked up into the bloodshot eyes which stared balefully back from the metal mirror. He watched in the mirror as the door behind him slid open. He wasn't surprised to see Swanson-Pierce. The other man's right arm was in a cast and sling. Somehow he made it appear dashing and elegant.

  "Well, Sam old boy, you've been at it again, haven't you?" Swanson-Pierce said, settling himself into one of the room's two ugly chairs. "Bodies everywhere." He shook his head sadly. "Unauthorized use of a naval vessel, not to mention half a dozen Imperial marines, illegal boarding of a merchant ship, and a re-entry that broke every regulation in the book. It's quite a list. I've spent the entire morning trying to sort the whole thing out. God help us if the press gets hold of it."

  "Blow it out your tubes, Walt," McCade said angrily, walking painfully over and sitting on the edge of the bed. He remembered the frantic plunge through the atmosphere, way too fast for the shields to shed enough heat, the emergency landing, confusion, and arrest. But nothing about Laurie. Trying to appear casual, McCade asked, "How's Laurie?"

  Swanson-Pierce raised an eyebrow and replied, "The lieutenant is fine . . . no thanks to you. I left her moments ago in the base hospital. Evidently she suffered a mild concussion. She says someone bounced her helmet off a bulkhead." There was curiosity in the naval officer's look which McCade chose to ignore.

  "I'm glad she's okay," McCade said. "She's a good kid . . .. She did all right up there." He remembered looking into the blaster and waiting to die. He fumbled through his pockets for a cigar. "And the marines?"