The Rostma Lure by Sean Dalton

Author:Sean Dalton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780441635801
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1991-03-31T23:00:00+00:00

Eight minutes later they entered the armory. Crawling up emergency ladders had left Siggerson winded and weak, his head throbbing worse than ever, but he did not want lift activity to betray the fact that they were free.

While Beaulieu hustled around the racks, selecting weapons, Siggerson decoded the lock on the small emergency hatchway leading into a minuscule auxiliary master station. He crawled inside and had to duck because there wasn’t enough clearance for his height. The only light was that coming from the armory; it wasn’t quite enough. He groped cautiously for the security scanner and pressed his palm flat against it.

The screen was cold against his skin, but it quickly warmed to match his body temperature. A blue scanning band oscillated across the screen, casting a cold, eerie light around the silhouette of his splayed fingers.

“Siggerson, Olaf,” he said. “Pilot, MSS Sabre. IDent number 555-96-0021. Classified suffix number 476.”

“Voice print verified. Palm print and IDent codes verified. Security lock released.”

“Cancel duality link between bridge and auxiliary master stations,” said Siggerson hastily, anxious that no activity in here show on the bridge. He didn’t want Nash pinpointing them. “Auxiliary reserve power only.”

“Acknowledged,” said the computer.

The control boards powered up around him. As long as they were running off battery power instead of the photonic drive, no power rerouting would show either.

Beaulieu stuck her head through the hatchway. “Found him yet?”

“Just a moment, Doctor. Computer, conduct internal ship scan. Locate all human lifeforms aboard.”

“Working.” The computer hummed to itself a moment, then a three-dimensional blueprint of the ship came onscreen. Flashing yellow indicators marked Siggerson and Beaulieu, Mohatsa still where he’d left her, and Nash on the bridge.

Siggerson glanced at Beaulieu. “He’s on the bridge. Computer, identify his activity.”

“Holographic projection cancelled. Communications channel open for two-way transmissions. Receiving planetary communications signal.”

Siggerson slammed his fist upon the edge of the console. “Damn! He’s betrayed us to them. That—”

Breaking off his own emotional reaction, Siggerson left his sentence hanging and said quickly, “Computer, put communications channel on audio here.”

“Acknowledged.”

Seconds later Nash’s voice came on: “. . . ship is secured and in my possession. It’s ready to be handed over as soon as you give me proper assurances that Ambassador Caliban is still alive. . . .”

“He’s selling us to the drug-runners,” said Siggerson. Cold fury cleared away his headache. “That idiot is going to hand over this ship for a diplomat? A speech-riddled, pompous, good-for-nothing colonial diplomat? Politicians are as plentiful as sparlin crystals. Anyone could take her place. Anyone!”

“Siggerson, calm down,” said Beaulieu. “We’ve got to take him—”

Siggerson wasn’t listening. He swept his hand over the controls, placing an override on communications, and cut the channel in the middle of the planetary spokesman’s reply. If he’d had the means without jeopardizing all of them, he would have flushed the bridge with lethal gas, purged it of that repellant, short-sighted fool, and jettisoned him with the other garbage.

Beaulieu gripped his sleeve and shook him. “Siggerson, what did you do?”

“I cut the channel.

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