Miles, Mutants and Microbes - Lois McMaster Bujold [103]
"Oh, dear." Madame Minchenko sat up straight. "Now what?"
"We don't open the hatches, anyway. No matter what."
In a few minutes the groundcar pulled up about fifty meters from the shuttle. An antenna rose from its roof and quivered demandingly. Silver switched on the com—it was so irritating, not to have the full use of her lower arms—and called up a menu of the com channels from the computer. The shuttle seemed to have access to an inordinate number of them. Security audio was 9999. She tuned them in.
"—by God! Hey, you in there—answer!"
"Yes, what do you want?" said Silver.
There was a spluttery pause. "Why didn't you answer?"
"I didn't know you were calling me," Silver answered logically.
"Yeah, well—this freight shuttle is the property of GalacTech."
"So am I. So what?"
"Eh . . . ? Look, lady, this is Sergeant Fors of GalacTech Security. You have to disembark and turn this shuttle over to us."
A voice in the background, not quite sufficiently muffled, inquired, "Hey, Bern—d'you think we'll get the ten percent bonus for recovering stolen property on this one?"
"Dream on," growled another voice. "Nobody's gonna give us a quarter million."
Madame Minchenko held up a hand, and leaned forward to cut in, quavering, "Young man, this is Ivy Minchenko. My husband, Dr. Minchenko, has commandeered this craft in order to respond to an urgent medical emergency. Not only is this his right, it's his legally compelled duty—and you are required by GalacTech regulation to assist, not hinder him."
A somewhat baffled growl greeted this. "I'm required to take this shuttle back. Those are my orders. Nobody told me anything about any medical emergency."
"Well, I'm telling you!"
The background voice again, ". . . it's just a couple of women. Come on!"
The sergeant: "Are you going to open the hatch, lady?"
Silver did not respond. Madame Minchenko raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Silver shook her head silently. Madame Minchenko sighed and nodded.
The sergeant repeated his demands, his voice fraying—he stopped just short, Silver felt, of degenerating into obscenities. After a minute or two he broke off.
After a few more minutes the doors of the groundcar winged up and the three men, now wearing breath masks, clambered out to stamp over and stare up at the hatches of the shuttle high over their heads. They returned to the groundcar, got in—it circled. Going away? Silver hoped against hope. No, it came up and parked again under the forward shuttle hatch. Two of the men rummaged in the back for tools, then climbed to the car's roof.
"They've got some kind of cutting things," said Silver in alarm. "They must be going to try to cut their way in."
Banging reverberated through the shuttle.
Madame Minchenko nodded toward the laser-solderer. "Is it time for that?" she asked fearfully.
Silver shook her head unhappily. "No. Not again. Besides, I can't let them damage the ship either—it's got to stay spaceworthy or we can't get home."
She had watched Ti. . . . She inhaled deeply and reached for the shuttle controls. The foot pedals were hopelessly awkward to grope for; she would have to get along without them. Right engine, activate; left engine, activate—a purr ran through the ship. Brakes—there, surely. She pulled the lever gently to the "release" position. Nothing happened.
Then the shuttle lurched forward. Frightened at the abrupt motion, Silver hit the brake lever again and the ship rocked to a halt. She searched the outside monitors wildly. Where—?
The shuttle's starboard airfoil had swept over the roof of the security groundcar, missing it by half a meter. Silver realized with a guilty shudder that she should have checked its height before she began to move. She might have torn the wing right off, with ghastly chaining consequences to them all.
The security guards were nowhere to be seen—no, there they were, scattered out onto the dry lake bed. One picked himself up out of the dirt and