The Android's Dream

Chapter 14

There's a small detail about entering and exiting n-space that captains and their navigators don't bother sharing with the general population; namely, that they are completely blind when they do it.

Entering n-space completely blind isn't actually much of a problem. N-space doesn't have anything in it, at least not in a "whoops we've just hit an iceberg" sense; it's a complicated mishmash of theoretical states and nested dimensions and undetermined probabilities that even higher order physicists admit, after two beers or six, that they just don't goddamn get. The races of the CC use n-space to get around because they know it works, even if on a fundamental level they are not entirely clear why it works. It drives the physicists mad and every few years one will snap and begin raving that sentient beings should nae fuck with that which they ken nae unnerstan'.

Meanwhile, captains and navigators and everyone who travels in n-space on a regular basis shrug (or whatever their species equivalent of such an action may be) because in over 40,000 years of recorded space travel, not a single ship has ever been lost entering or using n-space. A few have been lost because someone entered bad coordinates prior to entry and thereby ended up hundreds, thousands, or millions of light-years from where they intended. But that was mere stupidity. N-space couldn't be blamed for that.

No, it was the coming out of n-space that gets you. Objects coming out of n-space—much to the disappointment of special effects professionals across the galaxy—don't flash, streak, blur, and fade into existence. They simply arrive, fining up what is sincerely hoped to be empty vacuum with their mass. And if it isn't empty vacuum, well, then there's trouble as the atoms of the object coming out n-space and the object that was already mere fight it out in a quantum-level game of musical chairs to see who gets to sit in the space they both wish to occupy.

This only occasionally results in a shattering release of atomic energy annihilating both objects. Most of the time there was simply a tremendous amount of conventional damage. Of course, even "conventional" damage is no picnic, as anyone who has just had a hole ripped out of the skin of her ship will tell you, if she survives, which she generally will not.

For this reason, it is extremely rare for a ship filled with living entities to blithely pop out of n-space in a random spot near an inhabited planet. The near space of nearly every inhabited planet is well-nigh infested with objects ranging from communication satellites and freight barges to trash launched overboard to burn up in a planet's atmosphere and the wreckage of personal cruisers whose drivers manage to find someone or something to crash into well beyond their planet's ionosphere. A captain who just dropped his ship into a stew of that density might not actually be considered a suicide risk by most major religions, but after a couple of these maneuvers he would find it extremely difficult to find a reputable insurer.

The solution was simple: Designated drop-in zones, cubes of space roughly three kilometers to a side, which were assiduously kept clear of small debris by a cadre of basketball-sized monitor craft, and of large debris by tow barges. Every inhabited world has dozens of such zones devoted to civilian use, whose coordinates are well known and whose use is scheduled with the sort of ruthless efficiency that would make a Prussian quartermaster tingle. In the case of ships like cruise liners, which have set, predictable itineraries, drop-in zones are scheduled weeks and sometimes months in advance, as the Neverland's was, to prevent potential and catastrophic conflicts.

This is why the Nidu had all the time in the world to prepare for the arrival of the Neverland. They knew when it would arrive, they knew where, and they knew that there would be no witnesses for what came next

"Relax, Rod," Jean Schroeder said. "This is all going to be over in about an hour."

"I remember someone saying that to me before the Arlington Mall," Rod Acuna said. He paced the small guest deck of Ambassador win-Getag's private transport. The transport floated off to the side of a Nidu gunship, whose Marines would perform the boarding of the Neverland to take the girl, and which would then take care of the cruise liner after they returned.

"This really isn't the Arlington Mall," Schroeder said. "We're in Nidu space. The Neverland will be floating in space. There's a damn huge Nidu gunship ready to blast the thing to pieces. If the Nidu Marines don't kill Creek dead, he'll be dead when the Neverland gets turned into dust"

"I'll believe it when I see it," Acuna said.

"Believe it, Rod," Schroeder said. "Now relax. That"s an order." Schroeder waved in the direction of a corner. "Look at your flunky over there. He's relaxed. Take a page from him."

Acuna glanced over at Takk, who had his face jammed in the same book he'd been reading for the last couple of days, the one he'd gotten off the geek before he ate him. Acuna had mocked Takk earlier for taking a souvenir; Takk had just looked at him with a flat, expressionless stare that Acuna figured wouldn't have been out of place on a cow. He hadn't actually been aware Takk could read, or read English, in any event.

"He's relaxed because he's got the IQ of furniture," Acuna said, and walked back over to the strip of manufactured crystal that served as the deck's window. The limb of Chagfun was visible at the bottom left. "I can't believe I'm back at this shit hole," he said.

"That's right, this is where the Battle of Pajmhi was," Schroeder said, in a tone of voice that exactly expressed his total lack of interest in the topic. Acuna glanced over at him and not for the first time wondered what it would be like to crack that smug head like a melon. Acuna wasn't the sort to get "band of brothers" emotional, but even he treated the battle with something that approached (for Acuna) grim and quiet contemplation. Schroeder's casual obliviousness to it was insulting.

Acuna shook it off. Regardless of how much Schroeder could benefit from a metal bar across the teeth, if one were applied to him, Acuna wouldn't get paid afterward. And it certainly wouldn't help him in his desire to serve it up to Creek.

"There she is," Schroeder said, and stood up to look out the window, where the Neverland had just popped into existence a second earlier. "Right about now their captain should be noticing that his communications are jammed, and in about a minute the Nidu are going to tell him to stand down and prepare to be boarded."

Acuna was lost in thought for a moment. "That ship is here to do some sort of ceremony, right?" he asked Schroeder.

Schroeder shrugged. "You tell me, Rod," he said. "It was your little newsletter that brought us here."

"Yeah, they were," Acuna said. "They were going to do some sort of memorial service. That's why they're here in the first place."

Schroeder glanced over, slightly annoyed. "So?"

Acuna walked back over to the window. "Landing shuttles, Jean," he said. "Prepared and ready to go. Creek isn't stupid. Once he figures out what's happening, he's going to look for a bolt hole. He's got one waiting. You better hope those Nidu marines are good at their job. If you give him a chance to get out, he's going to take it. And if he gets away and gets down to the planet, they're never going to find him. He survived this fucking rock when 100,000 of these reptilian bastards had guns and rockets pointed at his head. He'll survive it again."

Harry picked up the communicator on the third ring and glanced at the hour as he flipped it open: 3:36 a.m., ship's time. "Hello?" he said.

"Creek," Captain Lehane said. "You and your friend have trouble coming."

Harry felt cold. "How do you know—" he said.

"I've known since Caledonia," Lehane said, cutting him off. "There's no time to talk about it now. We're being boarded by Nidu marines, Creek. They're jamming our outbound transmissions and they've told me to stand down while they take your friend off the ship. They say they're at war with her, whatever the hell that means. You two need to get moving. If they're jamming our transmissions that means they don't want to let anyone know we're here. I think once they take your friend they mean to blow us out of the sky. The longer you two stay away from them, the longer I have to think of a way out of this. Get going. Good luck." Lehane switched off.

Creek shook Robin, who was dozing in her bunk. "Robin," he said. "Wake up. We're in trouble."

"What?" Robin said. She was groggy.

"Come on, Robin." Creek sat her up. Robin had been sleeping in her sweats; they would have to do. Creek switched on the light and opened the wardrobe to get out their shoes and also pants for himself. "Wake up, Robin. Wake up. We have to get moving."

"What's going on?" she said, still not entirely awake.

"Nidu marines are on board," Creek said, slipping on his pants. "They're coming for you. Once they have you, they're probably going to destroy the ship. We have to get moving and hide from them. Come on, Robin. No time to talk. We have to move." Pants on, Creek slipped his shoes over bare feet and then helped Robin with hers. She stood up.

"What's going to happen to us?" she said.

"They want you alive," Creek said. "No matter what, you're going to be fine for now. It's the rest of us who have to worry. Are you ready?" Robin nodded. Creek went to their cabin door and opened it a crack.

The hallway was clear in both directions. Creek glanced at the deck plan attached to the door. They were on one of the smaller, lower decks. There were stairwells at each end of the deck. An elevator lay recessed from the hallway near the center of the deck. Their own cabin lay near the fore of the deck, close to one of the stairwells.

"I'm going to call the elevator," Creek said to Robin. "Stay here until I call you. Then run like hell."

"We're taking the elevator?" Robin said, slightly incredulous.

"They'll be taking the stairs," Creek said. "There's probably a lot of them and they're probably carrying a lot of stuff. They won't fit in elevators. Here I go." He slipped out the door, padded quickly to the elevator, and pressed the "up" button. Shuttlebays were two decks below; it was the logical place for the Nidu to enter the ship. Up was better.

Cruise liner elevators are designed for comfort, not speed, and to move large numbers of passengers bloated by cruise buffets. It took its sweet time dropping down from the Galaxy Deck.

After nearly a minute, the elevator doors opened. Creek yelled at Robin to run as he heard the clunk of the stairwell door handle being depressed. Robin heard it too and did not need further encouragement to run like hell. Creek let go of the elevator door just before Robin reached it and yanked her in to keep her from resetting the doors. He jammed the button for the Promenade Deck, the highest passenger-accessible deck on the ship. The elevator started moving.

"Do you think they saw us get in the elevator?" Robin asked.

From below them they could hear pounding.

"Yeah," said Creek.

"What are we going to do now?" Robin said.

"I'm thinking,'' Creek said. The Neverland had five full decks of passenger cabins plus four full and partial decks primarily for shops and entertainment; crew and cargo decks and shuttlebays were below passenger decks. The entertainment decks were filled with places to hide, but it was early morning ship time; doors would be closed and locked. Passenger decks offered places to hide if they could convince someone to let them into their cabin. But once in they were likely to be trapped; a room-to-room search would take time but eventually they would be found. No matter where they went on the ship it was just a matter of time before they were tracked and caught.

"We need to get off the ship," Creek said.

"Harry," Robin said, and pointed to the elevator's button panel. "Look."

In decks above and below them, elevator buttons were flashing on.

"Shit, they're moving fast," Creek said. They were about to pass two deck, the second deck of cabins; Creek jabbed at the button for the deck.

"Stand away from the door, Robin," Creek said, pushed her gently against the wall next to the elevator, and popped out the "hold" button for the elevator. Then he took off his shirt and wadded it tightly.

"What are you doing?" Robin asked.

"Quiet," Creek said, stepped slightly to the side, crouched, and threw his shirt through the crack in the door as soon as it slid open.

The two Nidu marines on the other side of the elevator door had their weapons raised and were prepared to handle any human that might be in the elevator, but weren't prepared for a flappy blue object arcing toward them at head height. The nearest Nidu let out a hiss and fired at the shirt in a panic, stitching bullets in an upward pattern into the back wall and ceiling of the elevator and into the deck ceiling. The kickback of uncontrolled fire pushed the marine back into his teammate, who snarled at the first marine in the Nidu language and attempted to push him away.

Creek followed quickly behind the thrown shirt and from a crouched position launched himself at the first marine, knocking the already unbalanced Nidu to the floor. The second marine tried to raise his weapon; Creek stepped inside the length of the rifle, grabbed it with his left hand near the end of the barrel to deflect its path, and crooked his right arm to connect his elbow with the Nidu's extraordinarily sensitive snout. The Nidu marine grunted in pain and staggered back; Creek grabbed him by his uniform with his left hand and reeled him back in to take another shot with the elbow. The Nidu marine dropped his weapon; Creek pushed the marine away and hefted the rifle.

Nidu rifles are networked and keyed to the individual Nidu to which they are assigned; only that Nidu can fire the weapon and only then with the permission of his superior officer. Creek had no hope of shooting either Nidu marine with it

He didn't try. He swung the rifle around and stuffed the stock into the face of the first Nidu marine, who was trying to rise and level his own rifle at Creek. The marine went down a second time. Creek turned and swung the rifle like a bat at the other marine; it connected with the marine's helmet with a muffled, hollow gong, further disorienting the Nidu. Then Creek returned his attention to the first marine. He alternated between the two for the next minute until he was reasonably sure both were dead.

The door to the cabin Creek was standing in front of opened and a man in his underwear poked out his head.

"You really want to stay in your cabin," Creek said to him. The man took another look at the half-naked Creek standing over the bodies of two dead Nidu, a blood-stained rifle in his hand, and was inclined to agree. He shut the door with a quick little slam. Creek dropped the rifle and began searching the bodies for objects he could use. He called to Robin.

"Oh my God," Robin said, looking at the Nidu marines.

"Take this," Creek said, and handed Robin one of the marines' nearly foot-long combat knife. He took the other as well as two marble-sized objects he recognized as Nidu flash grenades.

"Are you expecting me to use this?" Robin asked.

"Hopefully not," Creek said. "But if it comes to that, I hope you'll think about it. They need to take you alive. That"'s going to make them want to not hurt you. That's to your advantage." He stood up and retrieved his shirt, which now had multiple holes in it, and put it on. "Come on," he said. "They'll have figured out the elevator's stopped by now. We need to move."

"Where are we going to go?" Robin asked.

"Down," Creek said, and started walking toward the nearest stairwell. They would be watching the elevators now, which made the stairs a better bet. "Down to the shuttlebay. We need to get off the ship."

"That's nuts, Harry," Robin said, following behind. "These guys came from the shuttlebay. We'll walk right into them."

"We've got them spread out on several decks," Creek said. "They're looking for us to hide. They're not expecting us to go to the shuttlebay. There's probably their pilot and one or maybe two of the marines there." When he said it in a rush like that, Creek almost believed it himself.

"Harry—" Robin said, men stopped. The stairwell door was opening.

"Get down," Creek said. "Look the other way." Robin sank to the floor. Creek fingered one of the grenades, feeling for the slight ridge that indicated where he needed to press to trigger the timer. Creek recalled that at Pajmhi, Nidu grenades had about a three-second timer. He pressed hard on the grenade, felt a click, counted a long one one thousand, and then flung it as the stairway door was kicked open from the other side, looking away as soon as he tossed it

The grenade detonated waist-high about eighteen inches in front of the first Nidu, who dropped his weapon and grabbed his eyes and screamed in pain. The second Nidu directly behind the first received nearly the same amount of searing light; he staggered backward and dropped a hand to the stair railing to steady himself, and in the process activated the explosive grenade he had nestled in his palm. Behind these two a second pair of Nidu marines was ascending the stairwell, just now arriving at the landing. Creek, who had planned to rush the blinded Nidu, saw the grenade as the second Nidu raised his hand. He was too close to the door to retreat; he hit the door instead and pushed it closed as hard as he could.

He almost had it closed when the grenade detonated, blowing the door back open and slamming Creek back against the perpendicular wall. Creek's head connected solidly with the wall; he spent about six seconds vacillating between the choices of vomiting and passing out before choosing neither and standing up. He touched the back of his head and winced, but his fingers didn't come away with blood on them. Small blessings.

"You okay?" he asked Robin.

"What just happened?" Robin asked.

"Grenade," Creek said. "Someone else's. Come on. Other stairwell. This one's messy and loud, and that's going to bring company." Robin got up and started running to the other side of the deck; Creek paced somewhat unsteadily behind.

Robin and Creek got down two decks on the stairwell when they heard heavy steps coming up from one of the lower decks—two sets. Creek grabbed Robin and as quietly as possible opened the door to the nearest deck. Creek had Robin step away from the door; he crouched and put an ear up to it. On the other side he could hear the footsteps get louder as they approached, a quick snippet of Nidu speech, and then footsteps receding up the staircase.

"Hiroki?" Creek heard behind him. He turned to find Ned Leff, in a bathrobe.

"Jesus, Ned," Creek said. "Get back to your room."

"What me hell is going on?" Leff said. "People are hearing gunfire and explosions, and about three minutes ago two Nidu stomped down the hall with guns. I saw them through the peephole."

"Nidu marines have boarded the ship. They're looking for someone," Creek said.

"Who?" Leff said.

"Me," Robin said.

Leff gazed at her for a moment. "Why?" he said, finally.

"Ned," Creek said, not unkindly. "Get back to your room. It's not safe."

"What are you going to do?" Leff asked.

"Get off the ship," Creek said. "If we stay, they'll find us. And the communications are jammed. If I can get to the surface, I might be able to use my comm and get word out what's going on."

"There's a communication center on the Plain of Pajmhi," Leff said. "Right where we're going to have our ceremony. We were going to use it to send back a live feed. That's got a direct connection to the UNE network. You could use that. And I know the shuttles are already programmed to fly there since I gave the information to the shuttle coordinator myself. You wouldn't even need a pilot. You could just cycle the launch and arrival program."

"That sounds good," Creek said. "Thanks, Ned. Now get back to your room."

"Hold on," Leff said. "don't leave yet." He paced quickly to a door a third of the way down the deck and re-emerged almost immediately carrying an object in his hand "Here," he said, handing it to Creek.

"A handgun," Creek said, setting down the Nidu knife and taking the gun.

"An M1911 Colt .45," Leff said. "Or a replica, anyway. Standard issue handgun for U.S. officers for most of me twentieth century. I wear it with my dress uniform. Call it an affectation. But the point is, it works. And I just loaded it: seven bullets in the magazine, one in the chamber. Semi-automatic, just point and shoot. I think you need it more than I do."

"Thank you, Ned," Creek said. "Now, please. Get back to your room." Leff smiled and hurried to his cabin.

"Ready?" Creek said to Robin.

"No," Robin said.

"Great," Creek said. "Here we go." He opened the door, checked for company, men held the door to let Robin hustle through.

Robin had just slipped through the stairwell door of the shuttlebay and Creek was sneaking through the door when Creek's comm signal fired up; its mellow ping carried surprisingly far in me near-empty bay. Creek bit his cheek and fumbled to answer the communicator, dropping the Colt .45 as he did so. It was this clatter that the pilot of me Nidu shuttle, standing bored outside his craft, heard and headed toward, rifle hefted for action.

"Oh, shit," Robin whispered. The two of them were caught in the open; shuttlebays were kept bare as possible to avoid damage to shuttlecraft if me bay doors ever buckled and explosive decompression followed.

The Nidu pilot spotted them and headed toward them, bellowing in Nidu as he did so and jerking his rifle as if to say, Put your hands up. Creek reached into his pants pocket and found the second flash grenade; he activated it and then raised his hands, launching the grenade directly above his head like a miniature shot put, and yelling at Robin to close her eyes as he did the same. Creek could feel the hair on his head crisp as the grenade flared into brilliant light; he knew that every exposed surface on his body had just experienced a very bad sunburn. The Nidu pilot gurgled and grabbed his eyes; Creek opened his, lunged for the Colt .45, and prayed that Leff actually had put a bullet in me chamber.

He had.

"Christ," Creek said to whomever was on the other end of me communicator. "You just about got us killed."

"Creek," Captain Lehane said, not bothering with an apology. "Ned Leff just told me you're planning to take a shuttle to the surface."

"Yeah," Creek said.

"don't," Lehane said. "That Nidu gunship will track you and blast you before you get ten klicks out."

"We can't stay on the ship," Creek said.

"No you can't," Lehane agreed. "But I want you to use a lifepod instead."

"Why?" Creek said.

"We have dozens on the ship," Lehane said. "If I launch them all when you launch, the Nidu will have to track them. You'll have a better chance of making it to the surface."

"That leaves you with no lifepods for anyone else," Creek said.

"It's a risk," Lehane said. "But a calculated one. Each lifepod has its own beacon that connects to the nearest CC network. If we launch the lifepods, some of them will get past the jamming radius and start signaling. Then it becomes harder for the Nidu to pretend we didn't arrive."

"It's a gamble, Captain," Creek said.

"It's better odds than what we have now," Lehane said.

"Where do we go?" Creek said.

"I want you to use the lifepods on the Promenade Deck," Lehane said.

"Give me a fucking break!" Creek said. Robin, who could hear only Creek's side of the conversation, looked over in shock. "That's ten decks up. We nearly got killed three times getting down here. By now they're watching the stairs and elevators both."

"If you use the lifepods on the Promenade Deck, I'll be able to give the Nidu an extra surprise," Lehane said.

"Your surprise won't do us any good if we're dead," Creek said.

"There's a service elevator in the shuttlebay, along the aft wall," Lehane said. "I've unlocked it for you. It can take you up to Promenade Deck into the crew corridors. I can't guarantee they won't be waiting for you, but it seems less likely that they would. I've just turned on the emergency lighting on the Promenade Deck. Follow the nearest lit path to a lifepod. Once you're in a pod I'll program it to land at the Pajmhi communication center. Good enough?"

"Good enough," Creek said.

"Good luck, Creek," Lehane said. Creek closed the communicator, then opened it again and turned the notification signal to "vibrate." No need for another unpleasant surprise.

Creek pointed to the elevator in question. "Our next stop," he said to Robin.

"I thought we were going to take a shuttle," Robin said. "Now we're going back up?"

"The captain thinks we'll be safer using a lifepod. He's going to launch them all and make it hard for them to find us," Creek said.

"We're already here," Robin said. "Why don't we take the Nidu shuttle?"

"Do you read Nidu?" Creek said. "Because I don't. Come on, Robin. We're almost done. We can do this one last thing."

"They're in the elevator," First Mate Aidan Picks told Lehane.

"Good," Lehane said, and turned his attention back to the small bank of monitors in front of him, in which he could see what remained of the Nidu marines pacing through the various decks of the ship. There had been 20 of them, not including their shuttle pilot, when they arrived. Through the monitor banks, Lehane and his bridge crew—all the principals on station because they had come out of n-space—had watched as Creek dispatched six of them; Lehane had heard him shoot the pilot over the communicator. Lehane felt very bad about exposing Creek like that, but it couldn't have been avoided. He needed Creek to get to the lifepods so he could take care of the other marines.

Lehane knew about Creek and Robin Baker since shortly after Ned Leffhad approached him about finding a dress uniform for Creek. Leff was clearly excited about having a "survivor of the 6th" take part in the ceremony; Lehane was skeptical. There weren't enough survivors of the 6th for one of them to randomly pop up under the radar, and certainly not a clearly non-Asian man with a last name of Toshima.

Lehane met with "Toshima" shortly thereafter and tossed the name of a fictional colonel at him to see if he would bite; he didn't. After Toshima left him, Lehane had his security chief Matt Jensen pull up a data feed from the UNE network to find out what he could about the 6th. No Hiroki Toshima. But there was a picture of a Private First Class H. Harris Creek, thinner and younger but unmistakably the same man Lehane had just seen. An actual survivor of the 6th, yes. And a recipient of the Distinguished Service Cross. Just not under the name he was using now.

Jensen's digging revealed why: Creek and his female friend were wanted in connection with a shoot-out in a DC area mall, which left four men—men with interesting police records—dead and another couple injured. Creek's friend also appeared to be named in some sort of legal suit by the Nidu government; Jensen didn't go into it but offered the opinion that the two were con artists of some sort. By the time Jensen caught Lehane up with all this, they were already under way to Brjnn, and their schedule was too tight to accommodate an emergency stop to have the two removed. Lehane instructed Jensen to alert authorities at Phoenix colony, their next UNE destination; the two would be discreetly removed from the ship then. Until then, Lehane didn't see why they shouldn't enjoy their vacation. Lehane told Jensen to keep an eye out to make sure the pair didn't try to con any of the passengers, but otherwise let them be.

Lehane hadn't given the pair any additional thought until the Neverland popped out of n-space and discovered a Nidu gunship waiting for them and jamming their communications. Lehane immediately locked down the bridge, sealing the bridge crew in with airtight blast doors. The commander of the Nidu ship sent a message demanding the surrender of Creek's friend Robin Baker (with whom the nation of Nidu was enigmatically at war), the location of her cabin, and that the Neverland open its shuttlebay to allow a squad of marines already en route to the Neverland to retrieve her. The failure to perform any of these would result in the gunship opening fire on the Neverland. Lehane complied, sent Baker's room information and ordered the shuttle bay to begin its cycle.

"If we let them take these two, do you think that'll be the end of it?" Picks asked Lehane, as they watched the Nidu shuttle enter the Neverland's bay.

"They jammed our communications as we entered normal space," Lehane said. "No one knows we're here. I don't think they plan to let anyone know we were ever here."

Then he was on the communicator to Creek; the Nidu were jamming outbound communications but personal communicators had a short-distance peer-to-peer protocol that operated on a separate frequency. It was thankfully unjammed. As Lehane and his crew watched Creek and Robin evade the Nidu marines (or not evade them as the case was on three occasions), Lehane thought mirthlessly that his security chief was dead wrong. Whatever Creek and Baker were in trouble for, simple con artistry was not part of the equation.

"Elevator's at the Promenade Deck," Picks said.

"Here we go," Lehane said. "Let's see if this guy's luck holds out."

"There's one," Robin said, pointing at a lit path on the otherwise dim Promenade Deck that led to a lifepod door. "Now all we have to do is get to it."

The two of them emerged from the elevator in a corridor behind the kitchen of the Celestial Room, the Promenade Deck's restaurant. The Celestial Room was constructed on a platform that stood above the rest of the triple-height Promenade Deck for what the brochures for the Neverland promised was a "delightful dining experience, floating among the stars." At the moment, however, it just meant that Creek and Robin had a flight of stairs to get down.

Creek poked his head up over the railing and spotted three Nidu marines in front of them, walking in the direction opposite of that he and Robin needed to go. The marines Creek had seen were working in pairs. That meant there was one missing. Robin tugged on Creek's shirt and pointed down the stairwell they needed to walk down. The fourth Nidu marine had just appeared in front of it.

Creek and Robin flattened down to avoid being seen, but the Nidu marine wasn't looking in their direction anyway. As they watched, the marine scratched himself, yawned, and sat on the bottom stair. He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a silvery object, then peeled the silver skin, letting it flutter to the ground, and bit off part of what was left. The marine was having a snack.

In spite of everything, Creek felt bemusedly offended; apparently this marine thought so little of his quarry that he could take a meal break. Creek pulled out the Colt .45.

Robin's eyes widened. What are you doing? she mouthed to Creek, silently. Creek put his finger to his lips as a warning and then crouched up and looked down the Promenade Deck. The three other marines were still out there, facing away from Creek, Robin, and the fourth marine. Down the deck Creek saw little shops and kiosks that would normally provide passengers with all manner of goodies to stuff themselves silly upon. He focused on one he remembered sold soft drinks, about 60 yards down the Promenade and just slightly ahead of one of the marines. Creek raised his gun, steadied his aim, and shot at it.

It was a good hit. The bullet hit the kiosk and tore through the aluminum drink dispenser, dislodging the fiber hose inside that connected to the C02 canister. The hose flailed back and forth in the drink dispenser, rattling and hissing. The marine closest to the kiosk barked in surprise and opened fire on the drink stand; the two other marines, hearing the commotion, rushed to their comrade's location and pumped bullets into the kiosk as well.

The noise was deafening—loud enough that the three marines could not hear when Creek turned, ran halfway down the stairwell, and shot at the fourth Nidu marine, who was already standing and turning toward Creek; he'd heard the shot being fired above him. Creek's shot was badly aimed and went wide, the result of trying to run down stairs and aim at the same time.

The marine was surprised but competent; he raised his rifle and let out a short burst. Creek saw the rifle lift and moved to avoid fire. He didn't. Creek felt shocking clarity of pain when one bullet of the four glancingly tore through pants and connected with the communicator in his pocket, exploding the communicator and sending its shrapnel into his leg. Creek stumbled but fired again, hitting the marine in the hand. He roared and raised his hand in pain; Creek, steadier now, shot him in the throat He went down.

Down the Promenade Deck the three other Nidu marines stopped their firing and examined the wreckage of the kiosk.

"Robin," Creek hissed. "Let's go. Now."

Robin came down the stairs and saw Creek's leg. "You've been shot," she said.

"My communicator was shot," Creek said. "I was just a bystander. Come on. Our chariot awaits."

From down the deck they heard bellowing in Nidu.

"I think they just noticed their friend is missing," Robin said.

"Go get the pod opened," Creek said. "I'll hold them off."

"What are you going to do?" Robin said.

"Something messy," Creek said. "Go." Robin went toward the pod. Creek took the marine's knife from its sheath, and then searched for which of the marine's hands carried the network implant that allowed him to use his weapon. It was on the marine's right hand, disguised as a decorative applique on the outermost finger. Creek put a knee on the hand to pin it down and then severed the finger with the knife. He dropped the knife, grabbed the finger and the rifle and then jammed the finger into his right palm, pressed up against the rifle stock. The implant had to be within a few centimeters of the trigger or the rifle wouldn't work. It was painful to leave the Colt behind; it was a beautiful weapon. But it was down to four bullets and Creek didn't think his aim was that good.

"Harry!" Robin said. She had wrenched down the manual bar to open the airlock door that would let them into the lifepod.

"Coming," Creek said, and started walking backward to the lifepod, limping from the communicator fragments in his leg, rifle up and sighted in toward where he knew the other Nidu marines would be coming.

The first came around the corner in a rush and screamed when he saw the marine on the floor. A second later he appeared to notice Creek. He bellowed and raised his rifle; Creek, who had sighted him in, let out a burst of fire to his chest. The kickback of the rifle was impressive and caused the last few shots of the burst to miss; the first three, however, connected just fine. The marine flew back to the ground, twitching and bellowing. Creek turned and hobbled quickly toward the lifepod. He was pretty sure the downed marine would keep the others from rushing down the deck long enough for him and Robin to get on their way.

The lifepod was a compact ball designed to do exactly one thing—get passengers away from a broken ship. The inside held ten seats: two levels of five, arrayed in a circle, each emanating from the white plastic molding that formed the inside shell of the lifepod. Each seat had four-point belts designed to keep people pinned to their seats while the pod fell away from the ship. Save for a porthole on the door, there were no windows, which would have compromised the structural integrity of the pods. Save for the door sealer, which also served to begin the launch sequence, there were no controls; the pods were programmed to hone in on pod beacons when they were in UNE space or to preassigned locations in other worlds. When you entered a lifepod, it was with the recognition that to do otherwise would be to perish. That being a given, you didn't get a choice where you got to go. It was survival at its most minimum.

Creek entered the pod and threw his rifle (and its attendant finger), into the closest seat. "Sit down," he said to Robin, who took a seat on the other side of the pod from the rifle and began to strap herself in. Creek grabbed the door sealer and yanked it down; the door vacuum-sealed itself with a hiss.

Creek glanced through the tiny porthole and saw the other two marines finally creeping past their downed teammates. One of them saw the outside door to the pod closing and raised his rifle to fire. The airlock door, which sealed the pod from the ship, slammed shut, blocking Creek's view; as it did so Creek heard the dull thunk of bullets striking its other side.

"What do we do now?" Robin said.

"Lifepods automatically start a countdown once you seal them," Creek said, strapping himself into his seat. "We should be launching any second now."

"Good," Robin said. She sat back, closed her eyes, and waited for the launch.

A minute later she opened her eyes again. "Harry," she said. "We're still here."

"I know," Creek said.

"I thought we were supposed to launch," Robin said.

"We were," Creek said.

There was a very loud bang on the other side of the door.

"What was that?" Robin said.

"I'm guessing it was a grenade," Creek said. "They're trying to blow their way through the outer door."

"What do we do now?" Robin said.

"I don't know," Creek said. He reached over and collected up the rifle and the Nidu marine's finger. If any of the other Nidu marines had noticed that both of these objects were missing, there was a reasonably good chance that the rifle had already been disconnected from the network and would be useless as anything but a club. Creek didn't see much point in passing on that bit of information to Robin.

"They're in the pod," Picks said.

"Stop their countdown," Captain Lehane said. "But program in their destination coordinates."

"Done," Picks said, after a second. "Now what do you want to do?"

"Ready the other pod launchers to go," Lehane said, and glanced back down to his monitors, where he could see the Nidu marines congregate around the pod airlock. "And wait for the flies to come to the honey."

After a few seconds Picks glanced over at the monitor. "Those two must be going bugshit in there, wondering why the pod hasn't launched."

"It won't be long now," Lehane said. Four more Marines showed up on the Promenade Deck, and then another two. Four more and they'd be ready to go.

"That's easy for you to say," Picks said, as he watched the Nidu marines scurry to take cover from the grenade they'd placed by the airlock. "You're not the one on the other side of that door."

"There," Lehane said, and pointed to one of the monitors. The final foursome of Nidu Marines had come up the stairs and were making their way to the pod. "That's all of them. Confirm that for me, please, Aidan."

Picks bent over the monitors and did a count. "Looks like twelve of them to me," Picks said. "That's all that are left standing."

"Aidan," Captain Lehane said. "I do believe there's been a catastrophic hull breach on the Promenade Deck. Bring the ship to emergency status. I authorize you to section and seal the Promenade Deck. If you please, section and seal the aft left quarter first; that's the site of the breach."

Picks grinned. "Yes, Captain," he said, and went oft"to deliver the orders.

Promenade Decks are both a blessing and curse to commercial cruise liners. They are designed to accommodate huge windows that allow passengers to oooh and aaaah over starfields, planets, and all other manner of celestial phenomena, and make for fabulous brochure pictures to sell Midwest housewives and their cheap husbands on the idea of an interstellar cruise. The curse is these windows make Promenade Decks inherently far less structurally sound than any other part of the ship. A good random smack by chunk of rock or debris into a window at cruising speed runs the statistically extremely small yet not entirely trivial chance the window will buckle or shatter, sucking its fragments and any poor passengers nearby into the blackness of space.

After a few high-profile incidents of this, including the unfortunate incident of the Hong Kong Star, in which the parents of the First Husband of the UNE were popped into cold vacuum like two immensely politically connected corks, every space-going cruise liner with a Promenade Deck registered for service by the UNE had to be able to lock down the entire deck at least and preferably the deck in sections, to insure a hull breach on the Promenade Deck did not threaten the integrity of the entire ship or expose any more passengers than absolutely necessary to the risk having their blood boil into nothingness as they unexpectedly toured the cosmos without a ship.

In the case of a catastrophic hull breach (according to UNE regulations on the subject) a ship the size of the Neverland must be able to seal its Promenade Deck in no more than 15 seconds. In tests, the Neverland could seal off its Promenade Deck in 12.6 seconds. Sectional seals took even less time: between 5.1 and 7.8 seconds. Of course, that was before the Neverland had been entirely furnished and put into service. Captain Lehane wondered idly if the presence of carpeting, lounges, and potted palms would have any effect on the final numbers.

"Sealing now," Picks said. There was a shipwide wrenching and an immense noise as Promenade Deck vacuum doors, cleverly disguised as floors and walls, sprang up and out and connected together with an alacrity that made Lehane want to track down their designer and send him or her a congratulatory fruit basket. The carpets, lounges, and plants didn't seem to slow down the doors, although they catapulted quite nicely. On his monitor, Lehane could see some of the Nidu marines firing at furniture in surprise as it was flung around them.

"Done," Picks said, "thirteen point two seconds. Not bad. And all the Nidu marines are in the aft left quarter."

"Excellent work, Aidan," Lehane said. "Now, if I recall correctly, the hull breach occurred in that section of the deck."

"I believe it did," Picks said.

"That means one of the panorama windows has been compromised," Lehane said. "I order you to clear out the rest of the window, in order to seal the breach."

"Yes, sir," Picks said. "Does the captain have any particular window in mind?"

"I leave it in your capable hands," Lehane said.

Although the Haysbert-American cruise line was a low-to-mid-price cruise line, it nevertheless had one of the best reputations for ship safety in the entire UNE commercial fleet; the Haysbert-American executives believed that such a reputation would be a selling point to the previously mentioned Midwest housewives, and indeed it was. One of the more obscure safety touches was that every window on a Haysbert-American ship, from the smallest porthole to the largest dome, was a single transparent crystal grown into its setting during ship manufacture. The crystal's shearing angle—its "weak" angle—was along an axis secured by the setting; the axis describing the surface of the window was remarkably resistant to collision. If something cracked a window on a Haysbert-American cruise liner, it was indeed a hell of an impact.

The drawback to growing one's windows into place was if one was cracked or broken it was difficult to extract it. Haysbert-American solved this problem by constructing tiny shaped explosive charges into their window settings which would drive chisel-like planes of metal into the crystals shearing angle, shattering what remained of the crystal and allowing deployment of the emergency vacuum door hidden within its retaining wall. This deployment occurred automatically unless overridden by the bridge.

"Clearing debris," Picks said, and shattered the panoramic window closest to the lifepod.

From his monitor Lehane saw the long, curving window suddenly appear to go opaque as millions of hairline cracks accelerated through the crystal lattice. The Nidu marines visibly jumped at the sound; one of them wheeled around and raised his weapon at the window to fire at the noise.

"Jumpin' Jesus," Lehane said. These had to be some of the most jittery military personnel Lehane had ever seen.

The Nidu marine didn't get a chance to fire his weapon; the cracked window exploded outward, sucking the marine out with it. Several other marines followed in short order, some knocked out the hole by flying debris, others simply pushed out by the hurricane force of the air escaping into space and seeking equilibrium with a vacuum countless millions of kilometers on all sides. Two marines managed to keep themselves from being launched into the darkness, which merely meant they spent their last few seconds vomiting their lungs out onto the Promenade Deck. Death relaxed their grips and the two of them collapsed onto the floor, the very last of the air in the section ruffling their uniforms as it whistled past.

"Your orders, Captain," Picks said.

"Secure that breach and launch the lifepods," Lehane said. "But delay launching Creek's until I tell you."

"Breach secured," Picks said. "Launching pods now." Lifepods engirdled the Neverland like strings of pearls, each pod set in something akin to a magazine for a gun. When a life-pod is activated, it is pushed into space by electromagnetic repulsion, after which its tiny directional engines kick in, tweaking the descent of the lifepod toward its assigned beacon or location. As soon as one launches, a second is hauled up to the airlock door to allow another set of passengers to load in. The process is efficient and surprisingly quick; a new pod moves up to the airlock door in as little as five seconds after the last one clears. There were 144 lifepods on board, more than enough for passengers and crew. Except for today, when they were all being launched with only two passengers to share between them. Lehane hoped to God he knew what he was doing.

Around the ship Picks launched one lifepod after another, far more rapidly than usual because there was no wait for passengers. Lehane counted 40, 50,60 pods popped into space. "Launch Creek's pod," Lehane said. "Launched," Picks said, a moment later. "Keep launching the pods. All of them," Lehane said.

"Sir, the Nidu ship is hailing us," said Susan Weiss, the Never-land's communications technician. "They're demanding we stop launching lifepods and asking for the whereabouts of their marines."

"Ignore them," Lehane said. Too many pods were out there now. There was no way they could shoot them all down before one of them got clear of the communications jam and broadcast its distress beacon. The Nidu couldn't blow up the Neverland now, not without risking open war and censure. Lehane felt okay with pissing on them a little bit.

"The Nidu are firing," Picks said, and switched his video feed to one of Lehane's monitors.

"At us?" Lehane asked.

"Not yet," Picks said. "It looks like they're going after the pods."

Lehane watched as rockets flared silently from the Nidu gun-ship, followed a few seconds later by erupting flashes as the rockets hit their marks.

Come on Creek, Lehane thought. Make it through.

"Holy shit" Picks said, staring at his monitor.

"What is it?" Lehane said.

Picks looked up at his captain with a wide-open grin. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, and sent the feed to Lehane.

Lehane looked down at his monitor again. Picks was right. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

It was a UNE naval destroyer, about three times the size of the Nidu gunship.

"Here comes the cavalry," Lehane said.

Creek felt himself yanked forward as the lifepod finally launched. Robin cried out in a mixture of terror, surprise, and gratitude. The last few minutes had been extremely noisy and mysterious; after the grenades there had been an immense grinding sound, followed by muffled shouting, followed by a bang and what sounded like a tornado, followed by complete and total silence and then their pod pushing away from the Neverland. Creek had had more enervating slices of time in his life, those two days on the Plain of Pajmhi among them, but these last minutes were definitely in the top five.

Creek unbuckled from his seat and floated to the porthole in the sudden zero gravity. Out the porthole Creek could see a vacuum door on the Promenade Deck where a window used to be.

"That son of a bitch," Creek said, with admiration. "He shot them into space." If he made it out of this alive, he was definitely going to buy Lehane a drink.

The lifepod engines kicked on; Creek hauled himself back into his seat until they stopped firing. Once they had, Creek unlatched again and went back to the portal.

"What do you see?" Robin said.

"Lifepods coming off the Neverland," Creek said. "Lots of them. Do you want to look?"

"I don't think so," Robin said. "This zero gravity thing is not so good for my stomach."

Creek noticed a flash of light on the periphery of the porthole and then another closer to the center. "Uh-oh," he said.

"What?" Robin asked.

"I think the Nidu are firing on the lifepods," Creek said.

"Of course they are," Robin said. "We're still alive, Harry. That just won't do." There was a bitter edge to her voice that Creek felt was entirely justified at this point.

Another flash, much closer now, and then another. And then another, less than a kilometer away.

"Maybe I will take a look," Robin said, and tugged on her belt straps. "Sitting here isn't helping my stomach any."

"You might want to stay in your seat," Creek said.

"Why?" Robin asked.

Creek was about to answer when something large took over a significant chunk of the porthole field of view.

"Never mind what I just said," Creek said. "You're definitely going to want to see this."

Robin unhooked and swam her way to the porthole. "What am I looking at?" She asked.

"The very large UNE ship," Creek said, pointing. "Right there. And just in time."

"What do you mean, 'just in time'?" Robin said. "It would be 'just in time' if we were still on the Neverland. As far as I'm concerned, they're a little late."

"Trust me," Creek said, and looked out the porthole again to see if there were any more flashes, which signified exploding lifepods. There weren't. "They're just in time."

The lifepod suddenly shook violently.

"What was that?" Robin said.

"Atmosphere," Creek said. "We're on our way to the Chagfun surface. Time to strap in, Robin. This next part's going to get bumpy."