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"We've got suits," Staley said grimly. "Can you protect the civilians until we can get through this door? We're in vacuum."
"Lord, yes, sir. Wait a minute." Something whirred. Instruments showed the pressure falling beyond the bulkhead companionway. Then the dogs turned. The door opened to reveal an armored figure inside the petty officers' mess room. Behind Hasner two other Marines trained weapons on Staley as he entered. Behind them-Staley gasped.
The civilians were at the other end of the compartment. They wore the usual white coveralls of the scientific staff. Staley recognized Dr. Blevins, the veterinarian. The civilians were chattering-among themselves- "But there's no air in here!" Staley yelled.
"Not here, sir," Hasner said. He pointed. "Some kind of box thing there, makes like a curtain, Mr. Staley. Air can't get through it but we can."
Kelley growled and moved his squad into the mess room. The suits were flung to the civilians.
Staley shook his head iii wonder. "Kelley. Take charge here. Get everybody forward-and take that box with you if it'll move!"
"It moves," Blevins said. He was speaking into the microphone of the helmet Kelley had passed him, but he wasn't wearing the helmet. "It can be turned on and off, too. Corporal Hasner killed some miniatures who were doing things to it."
"Fine. We'll take it," Staley snapped. "Get ‘em moving, Kelley."
"Sir!" The Marine Gu
Staley growled deep in his throat and motioned to the other midshipmen. "Coffeepot," he said. He sounded as if he didn't believe it. "Lafferty. Kruppman. Janowitz. You'll come with us." He went back through the companionway to the ruins beyond.
There was a double-door airtight companionway at the other end, and Staley motioned Whitbread to open it. The dogs turned easily, and they crowded into the small air lock to peer through the thick glass into the main starboard co
"Looks normal enough," Whitbread whispered.
It seemed to be. They went through the air lock in two cycles and pulled themselves along the corridor walls by hand holds to the entryway into the main crew mess room.
Staley looked through the thick glass into the mess compartment. "God's teeth!"
"What is it, Horst?" Whitbread asked. He crowded his helmet against Staley's.
There were dozens of miniatures in the compartment. Most were armed with laser weapons-and they were firing at each other. There was no order to the battle. It seemed that every miniature was fighting every other, although that might have been only a first impression. The compartment drifted with a pinkish fog: Mode bloat Dead and wounded Moties flopped in an insane dance as the room winked with green-blue pencils of light.
"Not in there," Staley whispered. He remembered he was speaking through his suit radio and raised his voice. "We'd never get through that alive. Forget the coffeepot." They moved on through the corridor and searched for other human survivors.
There were none, Staley led them back toward the crew messroom. "Kruppman," he barked. "Take Janowitz and get this corridor into vacuum. Burn out bulkheads, use grenades-anything, but get it into vacuum. Then get the hell off this ship."
"Aye aye, sir." When the Marines rounded a turn in the steel corridor the midshipmen lost contact with them. The suit radios were line-of-sight only. They could still hear, though. MacArthur was alive with sound. High-pitched screams, the sounds of tearing metal, hums and buzzes- none of it was familiar.
"She's not ours any more," Potter murmured.
There was a whoosh. The corridor was in vacuum. Staley tossed a thermite grenade against the mess-room bulkhead and stepped back around a turn. Light flared briefly, and Staley charged back to fire his hand laser at the still-glowing spot on the bulkhead. The others fired with him.
The wall began to bulge, then broke through. Air whistled into the corridor, with a cloud of dead Modes. Staley turned the dogs on the companionway but nothing happened. Grimly they burned at the bulkhead until the hole was large enough to crawl into.
There was no sign of live miniatures. "Why can't we do that all over the ship?" Whitbread demanded. "We could get back in control of her...
"Maybe," Staley answered. "Lafferty. Get the coffee maker and take it port side. Move, we'll cover you."
The plainsman waved and dove down the corridor in the direction the Marines had vanished. "Had we nae best be goin'wi' him?" Potter asked.
"Torpedo," Staley barked. "We've got to detonate the torpedo."
"But, Horst," Whitbread protested. "Can't we get control of the ship? 1 haven't seen any miniatures with vacuum suits
"They can build those magic pressure curtains," Staley reminded him."
"Besides, we've got our orders." He pointed aft, and they moved ahead of him. Now that MacArthur was clear of humans they hurried, burning through airtight compartments and grenading the corridors beyond. Potter and Whitbread shuddered at the damage they were doing to the ship. Their weapons were not meant to be used aboard a working spacecraft.
The torpedoes were in place: Staley and Whitbread had been part of the work crew that welded them on either side of the Field generator. Only-the generator was gone. A hollow shell remained where it had been.
Potter was reaching for the timers that would trigger the torpedo. "Wait," Staley ordered. He found a direct wire intercom outlet and plugged his suit in. "Anyone, this is Midshipman Horst Staley in the Field generator compartment. Anyone there?"
"Aye aye, Mr. Staley," a voice answered. "A moment, sir, here's the Captain." Captain Blaine came on the line.
Staley explained the situation. "The Field generator's gone, sir, but the Field seems strong as ever. .
There was a long pause. Then Blaine swore viciously, but cut himself off. "You're overtime, Mr. Staley. We've orders to close the holes in the Field and get aboard Lenin's boats in five minutes. You'll never get out before Lenin opens fire."
"No, sir. What should we do?"
Blaine hesitated a moment. "I'll have to buck that one up to the Admiral. Stay right where you are."
A sudden roaring hurricane sent them scurrying for cover. There was silence, then Potter said u
"Then they'll soon be here." Whitbread cursed, "Damn them anyway." They waited. "What's keeping the Captain?" Whitbread demanded. There was no possible answer, and they crouched tensely, their weapons drawn, while around them they heard MacArthur coming back to life. Her new masters were approaching.
"I won't leave without the middies," Rod was saying to the Admiral.
"You are certain they ca
"Not in ten minutes, Admiral. The Brownies have control of that part of the ship. The kids would have to fight all the way."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Let them use the lifeboats, sir," Rod said hopefully. There were lifeboats in various parts of the ship, with a dozen not twenty meters from the Field generator compartment. Basically solid-fuel motors with inflatable cabins, they were meant only to enable a refugee to survive for a few hours in the event that the ship was damaged beyond repair-or about to explode. Either was a good description of MacArthur's present status.
"The miniatures may have built recording devices and transmitters into lifeboats," Kutuzov said. "A method of giving large Moties all of MacArthur's secrets." He spoke to someone else. "Do you think that possible, Chaplain?"
Blaine heard Chaplain Hardy speaking in the background. "No, sir. The miniatures are animals. I've always thought so, the adult Modes say so, and all the evidence supports the hypothesis. They would be capable of that only if directly ordered-and, Admiral, if they've been that anxious to communicate with the Moties, you can be certain they've already done it."