He moved slowly backwards, so that he was now behind a crooked stack of discarded equipment. And then a shadow passed in front of one of the lights. But still he waited, trying to hold his breath so he could hear better.
He moved a little more to his left, and more behind the escape pod. And then he heard it, the faint scrape of a shoe on the floor. The noisy air stopped, and Jarl held his breath and listened with all his being. High above him, the vent released another hiss of air. Not that, Jarl knew, abandoning the ship in this remote corner of the universe was any kind of solution the best it would bring would be a slow death trapped in a powerless life pod.ĭamn that Sharon Hindman anyway! What right did she have to knock him out? And why, with dozens of drugs on board, did she hit him over the head with an electronic clipboard? What had she hoped to gain? Had she hoped to somehow get him to the golden ship they had seen orbiting the green-blue planet below? And why couldn’t she have organized a simple ambush for the CEP storm troopers? Jarl had seen the results, and it was obvious that she, her crew, and all the Space Marines had walked blindly into a firefight, into what had become a slug match, where both sides threw reinforcements piecemeal into the battle, and where everyone on both sides had been killed. The sick bay and bridge were cut off by the automatic air locks, and there was no way to get to the medical supplies, no way to send a distress signal, and no good way to get off the wrecked ship. No one Jarl had thought had survived the pitched battle that followed the assault of the CEP’s landing partys on the ship. If he could get to the medical supplies, maybe then she would have a chance.īut that was another lost hope. She had been shot in one shoulder with a blaster rifle, and was now struggling with fluid in her lungs. He could hear the faint rasp of her breathing, which was good, but with no medical supplies there was little he could do other than stop the bleeding. He risked a quick glance at the yeoman on the table behind him. Suicide, he knew and dreaded was the best choice of all. And his capture, Jarl knew, would lead to a very public, very humiliating trial, and he would be tortured for the secrets he knew. And, more than likely, the Mjollnir would return and destroy the pod or capture him. But then what? He knew that no one, other than the Mjollnir, would hear his distress beacon, andCwithout power he had no hope of descending to the planet below or traveling to the great golden ship they had seen in orbit. Jarl had been trying to bolt the last hatch onto the last life pod, and then inject himself into space. He was clearly a hunter, patient and also waiting. And he waited, silently, listening to the rapid, terribly loud beating of his heart, waiting for the other person to make the first move. He rubbed his arm across his face, wiping away the sweat, and feeling the roughness of an old scar.
That made four times in the past hour, and Jarl knew there were other holes in the hull, holes he could not find, and holes he had no more foam to plug. But that had not worked, and now the duct behind him automatically vented air into the room again. Three times he had injected foam into the damaged hull of the spaceship, hoping to stop the escape of the air.
#Bookwright problems full#
The first time had been brief, only two seconds, but the second time had lasted a full Earth minute, long enough for Jarl to float more than a meter into the air, and then when the gravity came back on slam him hard back onto the steel deck, hurting his right knee, and bouncing his tools all over the transport bay.Īnd there was no time. Twice now, the dying Cassiopeia ‘s artificial gravity had failed. His head hurt, his knuckles hurt, his right knee hurt, and he was terrified. With one exception, everyone else on board the ship was dead, killed by the Mjollnir ‘s two attacks or the CEP’s assault force. He knew he had no time for this, not with what little air there was escaping, but he also knew with all probability that whoever had entered the room so silently had most likely come to kill him. He moved to his left, just as quietly, and placed his wrench on the floor and picked up his blaster pistol. One of the flood lights he had placed near the door flickered, and Jarl knew someone deadly silent had entered the room.
Bookwright book cover, book one of a sci-fi trilogy featuring space travel, epic battles and magic
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