Labyrinth of Night (49 page)

He pulled himself to his feet, gasping at the renewed pain in his ribs. It was the first time he had ever killed anyone. Strangely, he felt no remorse. He couldn’t help remembering how taciturn she had been when he had buried three people on Boot Hill only yesterday; maybe she’d thought she was immortal and had only contempt for the dead.

‘Any last words now?’ he asked.

‘You killed her.’
Miho whispered.

‘Yeah. Uh-huh.’ Nash didn’t dare look at Miho, but he wasn’t about to argue the point. He reached out and grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s go. Maybe we can still get out of here.’

Pulling her along, Nash stalked toward the prow of the dying airship. They now only had a few minutes left until the slow demolition of the
Akron
reached a critical point, when the mass of the airship simply wouldn’t be able to support its own weight in the frail Martian atmosphere. If they moved fast enough, they might still be able to make an escape through the unpressurised cargo-bay hatch.

And if they weren’t quick, they would certainly be dead. Even so, Nash knew there was one last matter to be resolved…

L’Enfant.

It was time for the man to die.

O
NCE THEY REACHED
the end of the gangway, Nash found the access hatch to the main airlock open; Swigart had apparently left it that way when she’d gone into the envelope. As soon as they climbed down the ladder into the small compartment, though, she saw red emergency LEDs blinking on the airlock control panel. He had only to study the panel for a moment to realize exactly what had been done.

‘Damn it,’ he hissed. ‘The bastard froze the airlock shut.’

The hatch leading into the crew compartment was sealed from the inside; either L’Enfant had forced Boggs to override the automatic controls or the commander himself had monkeyed with the main fuses. The result was the same either way; Nash could not open the hatch from his side of the airlock. Not only that, but another LED told him that the crew compartment and the gondola had been depressurized. At first he thought that the nanites had managed to blow out the pressurized parts of the
Akron—
in which case both Boggs and L’Enfant were already dead—but then he noticed that three of the skinsuit lockers were open and empty.

His mind was still racing as Sasaki opened the hatch leading into the cargo bay. Yet another tremor ran through the vessel as he stared sightlessly at the disabled control panel
. ‘I can still manually open the bay doors and drop the cable,’
Miho said tersely,
‘but how are we going to get Waylon out of there before…?’

‘Do it!’ Nash snapped without looking back at her. There was one small chance…‘Just get it ready to go…and be prepared to bail out if this doesn’t work!’

Before Sasaki could ask what he meant, Nash switched the comlink to Channel One, the common-use frequency. ‘Captain L’Enfant,’ he said. ‘This is Seaman Nash. Open the hatch, sir.’

He could hear the static hiss of an open channel, but nothing more. ‘Captain, this is Nash,’ he said. ‘I’m still alive. Both of us are still alive. You blew it, sir. Now open the hatch.’

For a few moments there was no reply; Nash was about to switch to another band and try again when L’Enfant’s soft voice came over the comlink.

‘On the contrary, Mr Nash, I didn’t blow anything.’

Nash’s hand froze above his gauntlet’s comlink control. L’Enfant sounded ridiculously calm, even taunting.
‘Except for a nuclear warhead, and of course that was my main priority. I’m only sorry that you and Dr. Sasaki are still alive, but I suppose I can’t always prevent stowaways from…’

Nash broke in. ‘You didn’t finish off the pseudo-Cooties, if that’s what you mean,’ he said. ‘They were building a starship down there and they used your nuke for its launch. The big flash you saw last night was their ship lifting off. We watched the whole thing from the topside blister.’ He paused, then deliberately added a touch of irony to his voice. ‘Nice try, but Miho and I helped them get away. Hope you don’t mind.’

Again, there was silence over the comlink. Nash wondered why he hadn’t yet heard anything from Boggs. The pilot had to be alive—someone must be keeping what little control still remained over the
Akron—
so it was most likely that L’Enfant was keeping him quiet at gunpoint. ‘If you haven’t noticed already,’ he went on, ‘this ship’s going down.’

‘Your powers of observation remain as acute as ever, Mr Nash.’
It was hard to tell, but L’Enfant’s voice seemed to have lost its smoothness.
‘Lieutenant Swigart reported that something was causing the ship to deteriorate before she met her untimely demise. I assume it has something to do with the aliens.’
Another pause.
‘Did you bring something aboard, Mr Nash? If so, then you’re responsible for whatever…’

‘Christ, you’re long-winded!’ Nash retorted. ‘You’re like some plebe who keeps trying to talk his way out of not having his bed made in time for inspection!’

‘Oh, please. Spare me your inconsequential…’

L’Enfant’s voice was condescending, yet Nash instinctively knew that he was hitting a raw nerve. ‘Yak yak yak, that’s all we ever hear from you,’ he said, sticking the needle in hard. ‘Always trying to pin the blame on someone else. The senior cadets must have had fun hazing you, you incompetent loser. I bet they had you down on the bathroom floor doing push-ups until you were begging for…’

‘That’s enough!’
L’Enfant snapped.
‘I won’t have a swabbie questioning my…’

The gambit was working; despite the immediate danger, Nash found himself grinning. ‘Enough?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t even begun! It’s just like when you fucked up during the
Takada Maru…
you can’t get anything right, can you?’ He allowed a sneer to enter his voice. ‘I screwed up your whole operation, captain L’Enfant fucking
sir.
I enabled the Cooties to make their getaway, then I brought some of their little friends aboard the
Akron,
and I just scragged one of your officers. How’s that for a swabbie?’

He stopped for a second, letting it sink in. ‘And I gotta tell you,’ he went on, ‘I took considerable pleasure in chucking the bitch off the gangway. You should have seen the look on her face when she took that last big dive. Did you hear her scream? She just…’

‘You goddamn cocksucking…!’
L’Enfant’s scream was pure infantile rage; the megalomaniac had been challenged.
‘I’m going to kill you! I swear to God, as I’m a commissioned officer, I’m going to…!’

‘Kill me?’ Nash forced a laugh out of his throat. ‘You
coward!
You don’t even have the balls to face me!’ He took a deep breath. ‘All you can do is hold hostages and throw them in front of the guns when the flak gets heavy,’ he added with calm, heartfelt contempt. ‘So fuck you and your commission. I piss on ’em both from a considerable height.’

A height which was decreasing with each second. He waited. Nothing. He couldn’t play this game for much longer. ‘Try this, you pompous dick,’ he continued. ‘Open the hatch and let Boggs out of there. He can put the ship on auto-pilot. It won’t matter, we’re all doomed anyway. So let’s you and me settle our bill, once and for all. Man to man, if you think you can take it.’

Again, Nash waited. He heard only static over the comlink. He glanced over his shoulder into the open hatchway of the cargo bay. Sasaki had cranked open the cargo doors and had lowered the cables; she was hanging onto a couple of bulkhead grommets and staring at him. Through the open cargo hatch, he could see the rocky ground scudding past, less than a hundred feet from the underside of the
Akron.

In another few minutes, the airship would crash; at this velocity, nobody would survive.

He yanked his eyes back to the airlock hatch. ‘C’mon, L’Enfant!’ he barked. ‘Let’s see if you have the nerve to…!’

One of the red lights on the panel was suddenly extinguished; at the same moment, the hatch popped open slightly as its internal gaskets were relaxed. The airlock had been unsealed.

Nash immediately grabbed the handle, then hesitated. L’Enfant was still armed; he had to keep that in mind. The bastard could have his gun—Nash’s gun—aimed straight at the airlock. He stepped aside, pressing his back against the bulkhead, then licked his dry lips and reached out to gently push the hatch open. On the count of three, he thought. One…two…

The hatch was yanked open from within; Nash pulled his right fist back, ready to slam it into L’Enfant when he came through the doorway, but instead it was Boggs who charged into the airlock.

He skidded to a halt as soon as he saw Nash; he stared wide-eyed at him as he steadied himself on the sloping deck.
‘Goddamn, man!’
he brayed.
‘You scared the shit outta…!’

‘Get out of here!’ Nash grabbed Boggs by the shoulders and shoved him through the airlock toward the cargo bay. ‘Miho’s got the cable dropped to the ground! Follow her down, she’ll…!’

The
Akron
pitched violently again; they could hear the tortured screech of metal rending itself apart from somewhere high above them as the two men toppled against each other. ‘Get going!’ Nash yelled. He thrust Boggs toward the cargo bay. ‘You can make it down! I’ll take care of him! Now get…!’

‘No!’
Miho screamed.
‘Waylon, make him…!’

Nash angrily pushed away from Boggs and hauled himself through the open airlock hatch into the passenger compartment; he caught a final glimpse of the pilot’s face just before he slammed the hatch shut behind him. As an abrupt afterthought, he stabbed the recompression button on the inside control panel; although the command was useless, now that the airlock was open to the cargo bay, it would keep the hatch shut.

‘Sorry, gang,’ he whispered, ‘but captain L’Enfant and I have a few private things to discuss.’

He had started to turn around when the
Akron
made another sickening yaw to the left. Nash was flung forward through the companionway; he collided with the edge of the mess table in the galley and his tender stomach muscles howled in anguish as he doubled over, clutching his gut as he fell to the floor.

‘You’re quite right, Seaman.’
L’Enfant’s voice was once again smooth and confident.
‘We do have many things to discuss, you and I
…’

It felt as if a rib or two had been fractured. The agony was murderous. Nash tasted blood on his lips; he impulsively raised a hand to his face, but his gloved fingers met only the faceplate of his helmet. Alphanumeric codes flashed irrelevantly across his heads-up display.

‘I seem to remember a little bit of Alice,’
L’Enfant continued. His voice was madness itself: monotoned, infinitely banal.
‘Do you know Alice? Or perhaps her old tutor, Lewis Carroll
…
?’

Nash gasped as he struggled to his knees. A spike seemed to have been hammered into his chest. The aisle was littered with trash which had been torn loose by the sudden decompression: foam coffee cups, pens, shredded pillows from the bunks, logbook pages, part of a nudie calendar with a voluptuous model teasingly draped across the hood of a sports car. The deck jumped again, but he was braced on his hands.
‘No? A little worn out, perhaps? Let me refresh your memory…’

Nash grasped the table with both hands and dragged himself to his feet. He made himself trudge forward, step by weary step. Just beyond the short aisle was the gangway leading down into the gondola. Hugging his chest with his left arm, he hauled himself toward the open hatch. Already he could see down into the flight deck. It seemed to be empty.

‘
“The time has come,” the Walrus said, “to talk of many things…”’

No. There. L’Enfant was sitting complacently in the right-hand co-pilot seat, his hands relaxed upon the armrests. Nash couldn’t see his face; he was looking directly ahead.

‘
“Of shoes and ships and sealing wax…”’

Through the wide gondola windows, he could see the jagged edge of a vast wound hurtling toward them: the Noctis Labyrinthis, the western end of the Valles Marineris. The Labyrinth of Night.

The last traces of sunlight gleamed across the sharp, rugged wall of its far rim: mammoth bluffs higher than any canyon on Earth, falling down into a dark nothingness where the sun only reached in the earliest hours of the morning. The
Akron
was only a few hundred feet from reaching the precipice.

‘“Of cabbages and kings…”’

His gun lay on the bottom step of the gangway.

Nash half-fell down the gangway, almost tripping over the SIG/Sauer. He bent over painfully and picked it up. The gun was already cocked. An invitation to end the battle once and for all…

If he had the nerve.

‘“And why the sea is boiling hot
…
”’

The memory of torpedoes slicing through chill, moonlit waters, in a place and time only a few scant years ago, yet many millions of miles away. A sea which had not yet been turned into a barren, windswept wilderness. A young man whose innocent belief that authority equaled righteousness was irreversibly shattered by the screams of dying sailors…

‘“And whether pigs have wings,”’ Nash finished. ‘
Alice In Wonderland.
My boss loves it.’

L’Enfant said nothing. Nash could now see his profile through the faceplate of his helmet, yet he wore an expectant smile as he gazed upon the abyss hurtling toward them. It was far too late for either of them to escape their shared fate.

He hugged his chest with his left arm and slowly raised the gun.

‘Your boss has good taste,’
L’Enfant murmured.

‘No,’ Nash replied. ‘He’s just a jerk like you. Talks too much.’

L’Enfant sat still in his chair, saying nothing. Patiently waiting for the bullet.

Nash closed his eyes, then he placed the barrel of the gun against the side of L’Enfant’s helmet and squeezed the trigger.

He felt the recoil, heard the shot and the sharp crack of L’Enfant’s helmet shattering. Yet he didn’t look at what he had just done; he had seen enough blood. The satisfaction of getting the job done was good enough to last the rest of his life.