Battle Station Read Free Page B

Varshni whispered.
    â€œYes, but their bodies must be recovered. We owe them that. And their families.” He glanced toward Yang. “And we’ve got to determine what caused the blowout.”
    Varshni’s face twisted unhappily at the thought of the mangled bodies.
    â€œI want a status report from each section of the station,” Hazard went on, knowing that activity was the key to maintaining discipline. “Start with …”
    A beeping sound made all five of them turn toward the communications console. Its orange demand light blinked for attention in time with the angry beeps. Hazard reached for a handgrip to steady himself as he swung toward the comm console. He noted how easily the youngsters handled themselves in zero gee. For him it still took a conscious, gut-wrenching effort.
    Stromsen touched the keyboard with a slender finger. A man’s unsmiling face appeared on the screen: light brown hair clipped as close as Hazard’s gray, lips pressed together in an uncompromising line. He wore the blue-gray of the IPF with a commander’s silver star on his collar.
    â€œThis is Buckbee, commander of station Graham . I want to speak to Commander Hazard.”
    Sliding in front of the screen, Hazard grasped the console’s edge with both white-knuckled hands. He knew Buckbee only by reputation, a former U.S. Air
Force colonel, from the Space Command until it had been disbanded, but before that he had put in a dozen years with SAC.
    â€œThis is Hazard.”
    Buckbee’s lips moved slightly in what might have been a smile, but his eyes remained cold. “Hazard, you’ve just lost your bridge.”
    â€œAnd six lives.”
    Unmoved, Buckbee continued as if reading from a prepared script, “We offer you a chance to save the lives of the rest of your crew. Surrender the Hunter to us.”
    â€œUs?”
    Buckbee nodded, a small economical movement. “We will bring order and greatness out of this farce called the IPF.”
    A wave of loathing so intense that it almost made him vomit swept through Hazard. He realized that he had known all along, with a certainty that had not needed conscious verification, that his bridge had been destroyed by deliberate attack, not by accident.
    â€œYou killed six kids,” he said, his voice so low that he barely heard it himself. It was not a whisper but a growl.
    â€œWe had to prove that we mean business, Hazard. Now surrender your station or we’ll blow you all to hell. Any further deaths will be on your head, not ours.”
    Â 
    Jonathan Wilson Hazard, captain, U.S. Navy (ret.). Marital status: divorced. Two children: Jonathan, Jr., twenty-six; Virginia Elizabeth, twenty. Served twentyeight years in U.S. Navy, mostly in submarines. Commanded fleet ballistic-missile submarines Ohio, Corpus Christi , and Utah. Later served as technical advisor to Joint Chiefs of Staff and as naval liaison to NATO headquarters in Brussels. Retired from Navy
after hostage crisis in Brussels. Joined International Peacekeeping Force and appointed commander of orbital battle station Hunter .
    Â 
    â€œI can’t just hand this station over to a face on a screen,” Hazard replied, stalling, desperately trying to think his way through the situation. “I don’t know what you’re up to, what your intentions are, who you really are.”
    â€œYou’re in no position to bargain, Hazard,” said Buckbee, his voice flat and hard. “We want control of your station. Either you give it to us or we’ll eliminate you completely.”
    â€œWho the hell is ‘we’?”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter.”
    â€œThe hell it doesn’t! I want to know who you are and what you’re up to.”
    Buckbee frowned. His eyes shifted away slightly, as if looking to someone standing out of range of the video camera.
    â€œWe don’t have time to go into that now,” he said at last.
    Hazard