rang through the ship. The artificial gravity suddenly went off. At first Kinjie was dismayed, but then realized wonderingly that much of the clumsy motor dysfunction he’d been struggling with had been weakness. Without gravity, he found he could propel himself forward more easily, though reaching things to push off of remained difficult.
Kinjie realized that part of the reason he was traveling well was because he was being pulled along by a strong air current! There must be a hull breach near the bow! Why didn’t the bulkhead doors close? he wondered. Then he realized, Ach, the power cabling must be cut too!
Kinjie’s pressure suit began to activate, indicating that there’d been a significant pressure drop. He peered ahead into the bridge with his good left head-hand. The images coming from his right head-hand’s eye cluster as it banged along flaccidly beside him kept distracting him. Zoaden’s bridge was strewn with floating bodies and moaning victims. He noted, with the same satisfaction he’d felt over diplomat Quell’s injury, that Captain Quinjot was one of the completely flaccid ones, drifting and slowly revolving near the ceiling, apparently dead. The bridge seemed to be losing air through multiple small holes, rather than one big one.
As Kinjie turned to look toward the comm-ports, a tremendous flash of light from the opening of Yaitan’s rescue portal nearly blinded him. Recognizing it for what it was, Kinjie immediately launched himself toward it. The blast of wind blowing out of the rescue portal into the low pressure of Zoaden’s bridge pushed him back. Kinjie caught himself on a desk and relaunched toward the portal, harder this time. The rescue port’s airlock chamber was now nearly empty so the resistance of the air current had died down. Kinjie sailed through the rescue portal, only to crash agonizingly to the floor in the normal gravity field beyond the portal. Mother! What a mess!
A noncom lifted Kinjie in the necks of both of her head-hands and carried him to the lock as others scurried into Zoaden to search for other kranes to rescue. Kinjie’s functioning left head-hand turned and maneuvered close to the ear on the noncom’s right head where it was supporting the front of Kinjie’s own carapace. “Take me to the bridge,” he said, the sound coming out as a whispered croak.
Kinjie found himself lulled by the sound of the noncom’s claws as they clattered down the long passageway toward the bridge. He was again strangely disturbed by the receding, rolling, out-of-focus view behind him that came from his flaccid right head-hand. With a supreme effort, he found that he could pull that head-hand around and get it looking forward. To his relief, the view from that eye cluster, though tilted and still out of focus, merged into the dominant picture from the left head-hand and even gave him some fuzzy sense of binocular depth.
Jenkoit was not sure whether he was dismayed or amused at the picture Commander Kinjie made as he was carried onto the bridge. He lay on a noncom’s carapace, cradled by the noncom’s necks. His left head-hand wove drunkenly in the air and the right head-hand lolled on his own carapace. When the noncom slid him off onto the floor it appeared for a minute that the commander might tip over onto the back of his carapace to lay helplessly with his legs waving in the air like some kind of bug. At the last moment the noncom caught and righted him, getting smeared grossly in the process by some of the yellowish circulatory fluid leaking from a crack on the right side of Kinjie’s carapace. Jenkoit wondered for a moment whether Kinjie’s injuries were permanent. Before he could speak however, multiple sensors on the bridge recorded Yaitan’s shift-ring flash.
Kinjie’s left neck became suddenly rigid at full extension and he managed to look imperious despite his drooping right head-hand. “Why are you shifting? You’ve lost the rescue port on Zoaden!”
“Yes
Kinjie realized that part of the reason he was traveling well was because he was being pulled along by a strong air current! There must be a hull breach near the bow! Why didn’t the bulkhead doors close? he wondered. Then he realized, Ach, the power cabling must be cut too!
Kinjie’s pressure suit began to activate, indicating that there’d been a significant pressure drop. He peered ahead into the bridge with his good left head-hand. The images coming from his right head-hand’s eye cluster as it banged along flaccidly beside him kept distracting him. Zoaden’s bridge was strewn with floating bodies and moaning victims. He noted, with the same satisfaction he’d felt over diplomat Quell’s injury, that Captain Quinjot was one of the completely flaccid ones, drifting and slowly revolving near the ceiling, apparently dead. The bridge seemed to be losing air through multiple small holes, rather than one big one.
As Kinjie turned to look toward the comm-ports, a tremendous flash of light from the opening of Yaitan’s rescue portal nearly blinded him. Recognizing it for what it was, Kinjie immediately launched himself toward it. The blast of wind blowing out of the rescue portal into the low pressure of Zoaden’s bridge pushed him back. Kinjie caught himself on a desk and relaunched toward the portal, harder this time. The rescue port’s airlock chamber was now nearly empty so the resistance of the air current had died down. Kinjie sailed through the rescue portal, only to crash agonizingly to the floor in the normal gravity field beyond the portal. Mother! What a mess!
A noncom lifted Kinjie in the necks of both of her head-hands and carried him to the lock as others scurried into Zoaden to search for other kranes to rescue. Kinjie’s functioning left head-hand turned and maneuvered close to the ear on the noncom’s right head where it was supporting the front of Kinjie’s own carapace. “Take me to the bridge,” he said, the sound coming out as a whispered croak.
Kinjie found himself lulled by the sound of the noncom’s claws as they clattered down the long passageway toward the bridge. He was again strangely disturbed by the receding, rolling, out-of-focus view behind him that came from his flaccid right head-hand. With a supreme effort, he found that he could pull that head-hand around and get it looking forward. To his relief, the view from that eye cluster, though tilted and still out of focus, merged into the dominant picture from the left head-hand and even gave him some fuzzy sense of binocular depth.
Jenkoit was not sure whether he was dismayed or amused at the picture Commander Kinjie made as he was carried onto the bridge. He lay on a noncom’s carapace, cradled by the noncom’s necks. His left head-hand wove drunkenly in the air and the right head-hand lolled on his own carapace. When the noncom slid him off onto the floor it appeared for a minute that the commander might tip over onto the back of his carapace to lay helplessly with his legs waving in the air like some kind of bug. At the last moment the noncom caught and righted him, getting smeared grossly in the process by some of the yellowish circulatory fluid leaking from a crack on the right side of Kinjie’s carapace. Jenkoit wondered for a moment whether Kinjie’s injuries were permanent. Before he could speak however, multiple sensors on the bridge recorded Yaitan’s shift-ring flash.
Kinjie’s left neck became suddenly rigid at full extension and he managed to look imperious despite his drooping right head-hand. “Why are you shifting? You’ve lost the rescue port on Zoaden!”
“Yes
Similar Books
