The Dragon Never Sleeps

— 133 —

The number two rider drifted as though it had been crippled, ignored. Then it blew the main drive off Delicate Harmony's opponent. "Tricky," Turtle said. "Keep working. They haven't quit."

He saw what his people planned. Stupid. A bet against long odds. But they were going to try. He had to cooperate.

He backed to the nearest hatch, jammed it with a shot, did the same with a second, then stepped through a third, jammed it from the outside, headed toward the rider locks.

He ran headlong into the Damage Control party he had summoned. There was a tense moment. A shot sent them scurrying.

In minutes the whole ship would be alert. Even if they took him off, how did they figure to pull out again under fire?

He knocked out spy eyes, welded hatchways shut. He created a zone where he could not be pinpointed. Then he examined the rider hatches. They could not be sealed by remote.

Delicate Harmony shuddered. Lighting faded, came back. A mechanical clanging started aft, hysterical in intensity. The ship lurched, lurched again. What the devil? It was hell being blind to everything but that passage.

He picked a spot near the middle hatch and prepared to make the stand so likely to get puffed in legend.

New noises started up forward. They had begun breaking through the sealed hatches.

Delicate Harmony continued to stumble and lurch and clatter.

The passageway was full of fire. On the deck were six Outsiders who had tried to be heroes. Turtle did not miss.

They could not get a clear shot without exposing themselves. Stalemate. Till the bunch working their way forward set up a crossfire.

Turtle had maybe three shots left. He was considering saving the last for himself. Or should he go out hand to hand, risking capture, torture, sacrifice?

Zap! A running Outsider pitched headlong. Two shots left. Or one and the easy way out.

He had refused that option when they ground the Dire Radiant down.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The outboard hatches blew inward. Grenades tumbled through with Ku warriors right behind.

The shooting was over in seconds. An assault team headed forward. Ah! They meant to hit Combat so there could be no shooting when the rider pulled away.

He reeled as Midnight smashed into him. "Oh! You're all right. I was so worried."

"You'd better get back..."

The Outsiders from back aft arrived. Turtle shoved Midnight through the hatchway. A wild beam gnawed at his back. He grunted, shoved her at Provik. "Hang onto her!" He raced to the rider's Combat Center, ignoring pain.

Only one soldier was on duty. "Any comm off ship?"

"No, sir."

"Damn." But he had expected it. He tried to estimate how long to reach Combat, how much resistance, while catching up on the situation outside.

That was going exactly as choreographed.

He went to the nearest outboard lock. It was quiet out there now. They were waiting to cover the assault team. He asked one of his people, "You arrange to unload the rider crew?"

"They go out fore and aft, shielding us as we fall back through the midships hatchway. They've been told they have forty seconds before we disconnect and decompress the passageway."

"Good. Carry on. I'll be in Combat."

He did not make it. His wound was worse than he thought. Blessed, Midnight, and the Valerena dragged him to the rider's rudimentary dispensary.

The rider had been away two hours, tumbling like a derelict, when Turtle did reach Combat. "I ought to court-martial you all. But where would I find an unbiased court?"

They were drifting away from the action. The attack was nearing its peak. It would continue a long time unless the Godspeakers had an uncharacteristic attack of strategic sense.

"We pulled it off," he said. "And have a chance of getting out." Six hours and the rider would be outside detection range. There would be futures to consider, probably in the guest colonies Outside.