Eric Flint: Threshold

There was concern in the young engineer's voice. "Are you not coming on board?" "No, Mr. Eberhart. I doubt if Fitzgerald is less of a marksman than myself, and in order for me to reach the ramp I must cross a considerable empty space. He will have an excellent field of fire and cover, while I would have to give up all cover in order to board. "On the other hand, you must get out of here immediately for two reasons. Firstly, because if you go to these coordinates"-he transmitted a location on the wreck ofOdin -"you will find a few more survivors whose time is running out. And secondly, because if I do not keep Mr. Fitzgerald busy"-he suited actions to words by firing two shots in the general direction of the renegade security chief-"he will almost certainly find a way to disable or control the launching mechanisms, and then no one will leave here unless he allows it."

"Only… a few survivors?" "Five, when I left. One was… not well. I believe there are no others left that we could reach in time.

The radiation shielding was badly damaged in most areas, in addition to the general decompression damage and the many people killed or injured directly by projectiles. I am afraid that even if there are people left alive currently, other than in the location I gave you-which is still shielded-they are simply breathing dead." "Dear God. I had forgotten about the radiation hazard." "As did I, at first, until my radiation alarm went off when I tried to enter one of the cross corridors. We are being reminded again, and now as savagely as possible, how deadly the environment is so close to Jupiter. Now go, pick them up. You are no pilot. It will take you some time to master the controls and reach that location, and we have no time to waste."

"But, General-" "That is a direct order, Mr. Eberhart. Get yourself and the remainder of my crew to safety." "Are you insane?" Fitzgerald finally burst out. "Munincan handle at least ten people! There's plenty of room for both of us!" He could not make out the former Irish mercenary, but looked in the direction of the outraged voice. "Mr.

Fitzgerald, there is no room on any ship under my command for a mutineer, a traitor, and a murderer, and you are all three. While I live, Odin andMunin remain under my command. And since I sincerely doubt that you are ready to nobly allow me to boardMunin and go down with my ship in expiation for your crimes"-Hohenheim carefully inserted another magazine into his weapon-"it appears that we are about to play out the final act of a melodrama. Carry out your orders, Mr. Eberhardt." After a moment's pause, Eberhart replied. His voice was strained and thick. "Yes, General." "Good luck, Horst, Anthony, Mia. It has been an honor having you on my crew." "It's been an honor to serve under you, sir," Anthony said quietly. The noises in the background indicated that perhaps the others simply could not speak.

"Not so honorable as I might have been, I'm afraid. Please tender my apologies to theNebula Storm and, when the time comes, to my superiors. I accept all the responsibility for the mission's failure.

I am now carrying out my final duty as the captain of this vessel." He triggered the airlock, which shut behind him and Fitzgerald. "Launch, Mr. Eberhart." Fitzgerald's angry voice came again. "So, we're both going to just bloody sit here and watch the only hope we've gotfly away? " As the ramp ofMunin locked closed and atmosphere began to vent out, Hohenheim chuckled. "Yes, Mr. Fitzgerald, we are going to do exactly that. Because if you make any move to stop them, you will show me where you are. And then"-he braced himself against any backblast from the shuttle-"I will most certainly shoot you dead." *** I can't bloody believe this. Fitzgerald saw the doors opening, and very nearlydid try to make a dive for the manual cut-outs that would have forced the launch bay to close back up. If theMunin left without him, he'd only live another few hours on the dyingOdin before being shot by Hohenheim, killed by a radiation overdose, or-oh, happy day!-making landfall as a meteor on Io. But Hohenheim had demonstrated the deadly accuracy of his microgravity firearms skill.

Someone had slipped up on part of his background, obviously; the file Fitzgerald had on the general hadn't indicated anything like that kind of skill. While none of the other deaths appealed to him, even less did Fitzgerald like the idea of being shot down like a desperate dog leaping for something he knew he'd never reach. Better to die stalking each other than like that. Dignity mattered. And there were still some other angles possible. He'd heard the coordinates Hohenheim had given Horst. Although he knew the rudiments of handling the landing craft and had been given some basic training, Eberhart was a programmer and system engineer, not an experienced pilot. It would take him some time to getMunin under enough control to be able to dock with the right area ofOdin to rescue the other refugees. If Fitzgerald could somehow get past the general, he could cutthrough the ship to get to the refugee area and once more pull the ancient but still effective hostage approach. And once he was on board, Hohenheim would either already be dead or be as good as dead. So he watched-not without considerable concern-asMunin lifted and drifted out the doors, which closed once the shuttle was well clear. Time to get things moving. And talking is always a good distractor. "Well, now, that was bloody brilliant, General Hohenheim. You've sentenced us both to death, and for what? A little overenthusiasm on my part in carrying out my orders? In trying to make sure we actually succeeded in our mission?

Which, if I might remind you, was to find the treasure and get it for ourselves, not share it out to those who were already awash in wealth." Hohenheim sighed. "You see, that's the problem. I see now that it's always been the problem, Mr. Fitzgerald. You see everything about you in simple terms, no matter how complicated it really is. To you, this is about you doing one simple job-no matter what. I suppose it was Bitteschell who gave you your directives?" "He hired me. He set the general terms." Fitzgerald saw no reason any longer to dance about. Either he or Hohenheim or both would soon be dead anyway. "But the specific orders-not to mention the offer of a monster bonus-came from Osterhoudt at the ESDC." "Ah, that company's chief operations officer. That makes sense, now. I had been puzzled by the thought that Bitteschell had given such ruthless instructions. That's really not like him. But Osterhoudt does have such a reputation." Fitzgerald didn't really care what Hohenheim said; it was simply important that he be kept responding, because the more he focused on the conversation, the less he might focus on other things. As he got out one of the charges, Fitzgerald said: "I'm amused by your use of the term 'simple.' Itmight have been simple, if you hadn't kept making it harder. Though I have to give you credit, sir. That was impressive shooting you did. I wouldn't have expected it from a man in your position." "Even good intelligence usually misses things, especially when they don't seem important at the time. Fifteen years or so ago, when I was stationed in America for a while, I was friends with some people in their Special Forces. I spent considerable time learning something about small arms and their military uses. I was quite a marksman, in fact. Of course, using those skills in space poses its own challenges. But I have as many hours in space as any astronauts in the world except a handful of Americans and three Russians." That explained a bit. But there was a great deal of difference between being a marksman with small arms, even one trained by elite military forces, and being what Fitzgerald himself was. He eased himself along the support as slowly as he could. There were shadows here, and some cover, and he knew that Hohenheim still had to be in the cover of the doorway. If Hohenheim remembered that… His instincts warned him again, pulling him entirely around the loading arm as two more shots rang out in air that was just starting to return to the landing bay.