Redline the Stars

29

Dane took one look at the war his commander was waging and broke into a run.

His young body was hard and unwearied by the fast but relatively untrying advance he and Van Rycke had made to the coast. The rugged way ahead of him did little to slow him even when he had to jump or detour around some major obstacle, and he reached the pier in rather less time than Jellico had taken.

Once there, he did stop. He frowned. Why was the Captain turning his gun on the back of the dock, just about at the limit of its useful range? There was fire enough far closer to claim his attention . . .

He saw the barrels, probably the remnants of a larger consignment, the most of which must have been flung into the water during the explosion and its aftermath. The better part of these had been knocked over as well but had stayed fairly near to one another. The flames were licking at the closest of them.

His eyes darkened. He recognized as well as Jellico had before him the danger they represented. The containers were obviously well insulated, but they were designed to guard against mischance, not long-term, direct contact with open fire. The contents must be getting perilously close to the explosion point.

If even one of them went, that would be the end. The rest would rupture and go up in almost the same moment and the freighter a breath's space later. Even if by some miracle she did not, she would have taken fire many times over, multiple fires that would set her off in a matter of minutes.

The end result would be the same.

The Cargo-apprentice dove through the tall, narrow band of flame assaulting them, moving so quickly that he gave the fire no time to bite on him. He flung himself at the nearest barrel, seizing it in his arms and shoving it back toward the edge of the dock.

He released it again in the next moment with a sharp cry.

The metal was hot, not quite glowing but not terribly far from it. His flesh felt as if it were searing beneath his clothing.

Steeling himself, he grasped the cylinder again. Tears welled in his eyes. His gloves were giving his hands some protection, but the lighter tunic provided little defense for his chest or arms. They were burning.

Cursing, he manhandled his burden to the end of the pier, flung it over.

He did not pause to listen for the hiss of hot metal striking cold seawater or to see the answering rise of steam or splash. The other barrels were in equal danger, presented an equal threat. Each would have to be served in the same manner.

The next one was on its side. It would roll easily, but he would have to use his knees as well as his hands.

It was no less hot than its predecessor. As he had anticipated, his trousers gave no greater protection than the tunic had, and this time the pain in his hands equaled anything he felt elsewhere. They were already damaged, and the gloves were only meant to guard against the hazards of rough manual labor, not to meet the challenge of fire and extreme heat. He could not have expected them to shield him forever.

The burning increased with every moment he remained in contact with the metal. The apprentice wondered how he would be able to endure that level of punishment long enough to dispose of this barrel, and his heart and courage sank at the thought of the eighteen more remaining after it. All of them had to be removed, or his efforts would be valueless.

It would not be that bad, he told himself savagely, not all of it. The third barrel, aye, he would suffer with that one, but the others were farther back, out of direct contact with the flames and at least a little distant from their heat. They should not be so brutally hot.

He staggered toward his next target only to be driven back from it. Jellico had seen him and had been trying to give him as much cover as possible, but another of the fires had pushed too close to the ship, and the Captain had been compelled to switch his attention to that, leaving this front free to continue its assault.

Thorson pushed right into its shimmering shadow. What difference whether he seared himself like a steak against the container or was turned into a human torch, he thought bitterly. He would die equally painfully either way.

For one instant, he thought he would take fire, but though his exposed skin blistered, he managed to push the barrel over and out of the flames' direct reach. It was not

quite as hot as the others, he judged as he rolled it toward the edge. It had not been on the front line as long as the other two. Hope stirred in his heart. If that held true for the rest, and the effect was magnified by distance, then he might win this impossible race. Even with the hungry fire advancing unchecked and himself already fairly severely burned, he should be able to shift reasonably cool barrels quickly enough to put them once and for all out of danger.

They were not all that heavy in themselves, and he was nothing if not experienced in moving cargo by this time.

What would happen to him after that was another matter, but it was not his immediate concern, and he refused to allow himself to dwell on it. The task before him demanded his full attention.

miceal started at the sight of a movement, a man, opposite him on the dock. At first, he thought it was an illusion, delirium even, the product of smoke and flame and his own imagination, augmented by the increasingly pungent fumes he was compelled to breathe, sickening and weakening him beyond any weariness. He recognized Thorson then, but before he could try to shout instructions to him, the young man realized their peril and moved of his own accord to dispose of the barrels.

The Captain cringed at the thought of how hot that metal had to be, but there was no help for it. They had to be dumped.

Was that still possible? The apprentice had proven his courage and determination often enough, but he had never been challenged like this. The cost of every contact with those containers and the ever-present, ever-increasing horror of the fire itself would have been sufficient to break an older, more experienced man, whatever his knowledge of the stakes riding on him. Jellico could not say how much of it he himself could have taken.

There was almost nothing he could do to help. Those barrels were located right at the limit of the fire gun's range. Its stream reached barely far enough to discourage the fire from sweeping over Dane, and even that pitiful defense would have to be terminated long before the job was done.

The Sally Sue was under too heavy an assault herself . . .

Miceal whipped the fire gun down, training its muzzle on the dock just before him. An arm of fire had worked its way along the pier and was licking right at the ship's side almost at his feet.

It was a small advance, and he was not long in driving it back, but the three major fires had now become one.

Jellico's heart was heavy. Thorson's suffering and sacrifice were for nothing. He would not be able to keep up his own part. He would be able to hold out a few minutes more, five or perhaps ten, but the deadly little fires had become a conflagration that would soon sweep over him and the ship he was battling to save. He would go down still fighting, but that would be small comfort to those he had failed to save. It had just been too big a task for only one man . . .

A thud sounded beside him as someone sprang onto the deck. His head turned sharply. Jan Van Rycke! The Cargo-Master grinned but said nothing as he raced for the nearest fire gun, seized and activated it. It functioned, praise the Spirit ruling Space, and a powerful stream of foam belted a gap in that part of the fire wall nearest them.

Three minutes later, another stream joined it from a point near the freighter's middle. Rael!

Miceal's spirit sang. This equipment was designed to handle major trouble—witness the stand he had been able ' to make alone guarding so broad a front. With the three of them manning the guns, they had a chance—not a cer- tainty—but for the first time a true chance of defeating the primal force before them.

They had won. They had seen the fire fall back, great patches of it dying under cold water and smothering foam, well before the air above them had suddenly filled with Fire Department fliers, all spilling what had seemed like half an ocean of foam.

Jellico smiled at the memory as he wearily leaned back against his pillow. The four spacers had just about drowned along with the flames, but he did not recall hearing any protests. He himself certainly had not been inclined to object.

A knock brought him back to his present surroundings.

It had been soft and rather timid and was not immediately repeated. Rael Cofort.

He sat up quickly and began refastening the collar snaps on his tunic. "Come in," he called as he pressed the last into place.

The woman obeyed instantly. She had Queex with her, draped over her arm, but almost without thinking, she set him on Jellico's desk. Her eyes fixed on the Captain's face, studying him intently. His voice had sounded hoarse, but that was nothing, merely the result of the abuse his throat and lungs had taken. It would clear up of its own accord soon enough.

"Mr. Wilcox said you'd knocked out," she said.

"Mr. Wilcox should keep his mouth shut," he grumbled.

"Not with me pestering him. — You're all right, Mi- ceal?"

"Aye. I just started running out of fuel. Since there's no need to play ultraman at the moment, I decided to call it an evening."

"Smart move. It's no fun having one's lungs scrubbed."

She moved closer to him and touched her fingertips to his forehead, "There doesn't seem to be any fever."

"I told you I was all right," he responded irritably.

"I know, but I am a Medic. Habit's hard to break."

She turned to the desk. "I guess we should leave and let you get some rest."

"No. Stay a bit."

Jellico's cabin was full size, unlike hers, and was outfitted with a permanent desk and a chair.

She released the seat from its fastenings and drew it next to the wide bunk.

Miceal saw her grimace as she sat down, and now it was his turn to examine her closely. "Eight broken ribs. I knew you were hurt, but I didn't think it was that bad."

"It wasn't until the end, or at least it didn't hurt so much. I completed the job on myself when I was working on Keil.

It took a lot of maneuvering to get in to him."

"Well, I started it. I was the one who threw you onto that block."

"Considering the shape those who'd been near us were in, I don't think I've got much call for complaining," she told him dryly.

"All the same, I am sorry."

Rael smiled, but her eyes were somber. "Thanks for not telling me to leave Keil back there and run."

"I did think of it," he admitted, "but I knew there was too much titanone in your spine for you to listen, so I spared you the insult."

She gave him an incredulous look and laughed. "I was terrified, my friend, m fact, I terrify easily. It's just that... "

The Captain smiled. "Precisely, Rael Cofort."

He shifted into a more comfortable position. "I more or less lost contact with the universe back there just after the fliers pulled us out. What happened? I know you assured me everything and everyone were clear, but Medics have a bad habit of softening down the story for the supposed wounded." "You were pretty sick," she told him gravely. "That was straight poison you were breathing. A little greater concentration and ... "

"Well, I'm fine now. — You called the Fire Department?"

She nodded. "With Mr. Van Rycke's transceiver, and Keil kept on calling after I went to join the battle. — He's going to be fine, by the way," she added triumphantly, "though he wouldn't have lasted much longer without us."

"Without you."

She shrugged. "Dane's about the worst hurt. Doctor Tail has him bundled up in burn cream and bandages at the moment, and he won't be shoving cargo around for the next few weeks, but he didn't take permanent damage, praise the Spirit of Space. We got the cream on him fast enough that there won't even be any scarring." She smiled. "Sin- bad's with him now, offering feline company and comfort.

"Jasper took some very bad bruises and minor singes.

He'll be stiff and damn sore for a while, but otherwise he's all right."

"How's Alt?" he asked quietly.

"Sound out. Both Doctor Tau and I are sure of that.

Whatever memories this aroused, he's faced them and filed them where they belong. — He's a strong man, Miceal, stronger than I would've thought just meeting him."

"People tend to underrate him." He swung into a sitting position. "What's going to happen to Canuche Town itself?

And there's the little matter of our charter. Now that the blasted life-and-death business is over, I'd like to know how that stands."

The Medic smiled. "You'll live! — Mr. Macgregory's terribly busy, naturally, but he did talk to Mr. Van Rycke for a few minutes. The waterfront is to be restored and the rest of the damage repaired as soon as possible. The Caledonia plant will not only be rebuilt but will be enlarged. Needless to say," she added grimly, "ammonium nitrate will be handled with proper respect everywhere on-world from here on in.

"As for the Queen's business, she's to lift with her cargo as soon as she can. By the time she gets back, another shipment will have been brought in from some of the nearer factories and will be waiting for loading at the port. Adroo Macgregory has no intention of losing out on a good business opportunity merely because he's suffered a setback here. — His phrasing."

Jellico laughed. "A man after my own heart! — We'll lift as fast as we can fuel up." He frowned slightly. "Assuming we can get any fuel. Everything'll be in short supply around here for a while."

"Friend, there is nothing the Solar Queen wants or needs that she won't get on Canuche of Halio. The other ships're in pretty solid, too," she added. "Their crews followed ours with manpower and supplies when they were needed most, and they'll get precedence after the Queen on any charters going on this planet in the foreseeable future. This is one place where the Companies won't even have a chance, not for a very, very long time to come."

"It's worked out well enough, then," the Captain said slowly. "For us. The Canucheans lost a deal more than buildings and goods."

Rael nodded slowly. "I wish we all could've moved sooner."

She shifted in her seat. Miceal was beginning to look tired, and she was feeling weary herself.

She picked up the hoobat, who had been watching silently from his perch on the desk. "Shall I leave Queex? He's been worried about you."

Jellico winced at the Taboran's answering screech. "Doctor Cofort. you'll never make a xenobiologist if you insist on anthropomorphizing an X-Tee creature's reactions ... "

"Queex is a shipmate, and I know him well enough by now to recognize when he's upset, which he has been since we all limped back on board," she informed him haughtily.

"I stand corrected. Doctor. — Hand him over here."

Queex scurried up the man's arm, then dropped to the bunk and settled himself in the still-warm spot its proper occupant had vacated with a great, rasping whistle of contentment.

"I hope he doesn't object to being shifted," Jellico commented. "That's my place, and I'm not about to surrender it to a hoobat."

"I'll fetch his cage," the woman promised. "He'll probably be happier in there anyway."

"Praise the Spirit of Space for small favors," he muttered.

He ran his finger down the surprisingly soft feathers.

"He's all right where he is for the time being.. One of the others can get the cage later on. — You're not going to be lifting anything heavier than flatware and a cup until those ribs heal."

"Aye, Captain," she responded meekly to the command in his tone.

The feeling of contentment suddenly deserted Jellico. He glanced uneasily at the Medic, recalling some of the things she had said—and not said—during this visit. She had mentioned Thorson's being unable to work but not that she would take over the lighter portions of the job for him, and she had spoken of the Solar Queen's lifting with her cargo;

she had not used the words we or our.

He lowered his eyes and pretended to concentrate on Queex, whose head he carefully rubbed. "Are you still planning to leave the Queen?"

"Captain or not, you just try to put me off, Miceal Jellico!"

He smiled broadly, partly from relief, partly to conceal it. "That borders pretty closely upon insubordination," he observed.

Fear gripped Rael, however, and she did not answer him as he expected. The Solar Queen had encountered a small galaxy of trouble since she had joined the ship's company. Superstition had a powerful hold on some space hounds, even among the best, the bravest, the most intelligent of their breed. If Jellico had come to believe she was, in fact, a jinx . . .

Her eyes fell. Initially, she had intended using her association with the Solar Queen as a means of gaining control of the funds currently tied up with the Roving Star and then, as soon as she had acquired the experience and reputation she required to bolster her credentials, to cut loose again and return to her brother's organization on her own terms. Slowly, without her even realizing it, that purpose had altered, and for all her Trader's discipline, she was hard-pressed to face this man without betraying the misery the possibility of his rejection, the possibility that he might fear her, aroused in her. "Seriously, Miceal," she said in the low tone that was all she could trust herself to use steadily, "you are the skipper. If— you don't think I fit in with the best interests of the ship for some reason, I'll take my earnings to date and pull out, no questions asked."

"No!"

She looked up and smiled. There was no mistaking the

decision in that roar. "After all this, I wasn't sure I'd be wanted . . ."

"I want you, damn it!" Miceal gripped himself. He was annoyed by the sharpness of his own response. He made himself go on quickly, as if without hesitation, in a quieter tone. "Doctor, life's been interesting since you've come aboard, right enough, but what you don't seem to realize is that life's been interesting aboard the Solar Queen since the day she was launched. That's not likely to change, and I'm not about to quit the starlanes or my ship as a result, especially since things seem to get just as lively in the supposed safety of a planet's surface."

Rael smiled once more, somewhat shyly this time. His vehemence had taken her a little aback, but it was surprisingly pleasing. "Maybe we'll have a bit more peace and quiet from now on," she ventured hopefully. "We've surely earned it."

"Maybe," Jellico agreed. He, for one, doubted it, but whatever fortune was to bring, he found himself looking forward to facing it. The Queen had seen her share of trials in the past and had claimed a reasonable quota of profit, and right now, her future and his own seemed to shine bright with promise.