Chapter Twenty-Three
SCHISM
"Shut up, Fatboy."

The Observer and his visitor sit quietly, staring out the huge view port of the dimly lit Deluxe Guest Quarters(tm) aboard the Decimater. They have been studying the crippled Abrogate, marveling at the subtle beauty of the craft.

Debris from the previous battle and subsequent grid detonation is quite dense in the area. Most of it is small, but occasional massive chunks drift into view. It is one of these large pieces which, bright white against the backdrop of space, drifts past in the background beyond the forward belly of the Abrogate. The resulting contrast between the blackened ship and the white debris reveals the dark silhouette of a War Buzzard(tm) drifting lazily below the nose of the Abrogate, and the three tiny, space-suited figures moving hand over hand along the hull of the military vessel. They are nearing a cargo hatch on its underside.

"Interesting," says the Observer softly, turning to the visitor. "Lock the, uh, door."

Gladius pries at the personnel access door next to the huge cargo hatch. It has been damaged and there is a narrow gap along the mis-seated edge. Using the butt of the BIGGER GUN(tm) for leverage, he manages to open it enough to squeeze through. He glances over his shoulder at South and Geronimo, who wait with their weapons drawn. Nodding, Slate pulls himself inside the cargo bay.

The cavernous cargo bay is a mess of free-floating litter: containers and packages once filled with the ship's supplies, torn loose by the battle. The MaxiGrav(tm) gravity generator of the battleship has failed in the bay compartment and Gladius propels himself through the jumble toward a door on the far side. Arriving at the hatch he secures himself by gripping a valve on the wall, then turns to watch Geronimo and Salata make their way to him. Upon their arrival he looks to Salata and motions to the door.

"Main access corridor," replies South in clipped, hushed tones.

Geronimo is examining the area and waves to the pair, pointing to a warning pasted on the wall beside the access way. The small notice reads:

Gladius reads the message and looks through the small window in the door, into the corridor beyond. At the next bulkhead, several meters along, there is another Emergency Atmosphere Control Door(tm), open and waiting.

"Another way?" he asks, with a glance to South.

South thinks for a moment, looking around the bay, then shakes his head.

Gladius nods. He looks to the floating debris within the bay, spies a container marked: TooterPack(tm) PROPELLANT. He taps Geronimo on the arm and motions for him to bring the case over to them. Geronimo gives him a questioning look and then moves to get the case.

Salata gives Slate a "what's up?" gesture. Gladius offers a "bear with me" look and takes the case from the returning Geronimo. He pops the seal on the container and pulls out one of the meter-long metal cylinders, hands it to Lavoriss. A second one he passes to South, and a third he keeps for himself. He gives the remainder a shove, sending the half-open case caroming across the bay.

Slate, now commanding the undivided attention of his cohorts, begins to explain what he has in mind. He points to the notice at the side of the Emergency Atmosphere Control Door(tm), underlining the phrase "door seals automatically" with his index finger, then points to the second door through the window. The pair peek through the window and nod, agreeing that there is another door that will shut automatically if this one fails.

Gladius now motions to the BIGGER GUN(tm), pointing it in a shooting gesture at the door in front of them. Lavoriss and South look at Slate momentarily, turn to each other, then slowly return their gaze to Gladius. He now displays the pressurized cylinder of TooterPack(tm) PROPELLANT. Holding it horizontally, its base pointing in the direction of the second Emergency Atmosphere Control Door(tm), he grips it around the middle with one arm and, with the other hand, gently nudges open the release valve. A small jet of propellant squirts from the valve and pushes the cylinder in the opposite direction, Gladius moving with it. He shuts the valve and bumps gently against the sealed door.

Salata and Geronimo stare at him, unmoving.

Gladius quickly mimes through the sequence of events one more time: shoot door, crank valves, ride cylinders through second door before it shuts.

"When I said take charge of your life," blurts Geronimo, "I didn't mean for you to try and get us all killed with this kinda hair-brained stunt!"

Slate and South grab at Lavoriss, trying to shut him up. He calms down, but continues to glare at Gladius.

"Risky," agrees South. "Alarms."

Slate shrugs, looks around. "Battle damage?"

Salata ponders the condition of the vessel, remembers the state of the crew when he last saw them. He looks to Geronimo, then moves to peer through the window at the second door one more time. "Fifteen second delay. We'd have to be fast."

"One shot deal," assures Gladius.

Salata considers the options, can't come up with an alternative, nods.

"No, no way! You're both fuckin' nuts! It's been nice knowin' ya!" snaps Geronimo. The other two again gesture frantically for him to shut up, but he is already squirming to get into position.

The trio trade a glance, fully aware of the danger. If anyone should fail to make the open door, and manage to survive crashing into the closed one, there will be no other way in. He'd be destined to drift alone, helpless, until his oxygen supply ran out.

There is a moment of silence as each man, alone with his thoughts, prepares. Then Gladius signals for Salata to go first, followed by Geronimo, with himself last. They nod agreement and Gladius arranges himself to shoot and still grip his cylinder. He takes a deep breath and utters one final statement: "Good luck… here goes."

BLA-BLAM!

The door erupts. Fragments fling past the trio.

WHHOOOSHHH!

The corridor begins to depressurize. Salata and Geronimo slap at the valves. Gas hisses and South is propelled forward, rapidly gaining speed against the stiff breeze issuing from the doorway. Gladius rearranges the BIGGER GUN(tm), places his hand on the valve and looks to Geronimo, who is struggling, unable to open his valve.

Gladius glances at the open passageway, sees the retreating South, looks back to Geronimo. Time is rapidly passing, there isn't enough to writhe over and help Geronimo; to even try would mean they'd both be trapped. He watches his partner struggle, helpless.

Without looking up, Geronimo senses Gladius's distress. "Go!" he shouts, remaining intent on the stuck valve.

Startled by the shout Gladius jerks his head, makes the decision to go and cracks his valve, moving out.

Verging on panic, Geronimo grabs a metal shard of door as it floats by and hammers the valve off the cylinder. A high-pressure stream of gas blasts from the canister, the force causing it to slip in Geronimo's unprepared grasp. His eyes widen with realization: without the jet propulsion he'll never make it down the corridor before the Emergency Atmosphere Control Door(tm) shuts. His grip fails and the bottle blasts off, snagging into his unruly red cape, yanking him backward.

The walls of the corridor are a blur of motion as South races toward the open bulkhead. Slate is further back and slower, the inertia of his larger mass hampering his acceleration. A red light has begun to flash. The Emergency Atmosphere Control Door(tm) whines, its hydraulics charging for release.

Suddenly, with a huge roar, the screaming red streak of Geronimo being dragged by the cylinder caught in his cape, catapults past both of them, zinging through the doorway. South then whizzes through, just as the door commences to close.

Gladius tightens his grip on the fully-open valve, trying to force it further. His eyes lock on the door emerging from the wall.

FWWWWWSSSHHHH!!! THUNK!

The door slams shut, grazing Gladius's feet as he passes through. He tumbles to the corridor floor and closes the valve on his cylinder, safe, alive, and thankful that the artificial gravity is operating in this part of the vessel.

Geronimo's cylinder has run out of pressure and he has crashed, balled up against the bulkhead. Gladius scrambles to his feet and rushes to check on him. Geronimo pulls himself up, the liberated Ambassador's cape tangled around his head. Cursing, he clutches at it, manages to free himself. Gladius helps him off with his helmet. Their eyes meet, trading a silent knowledge of the mortality they have shared. They peel off the bulky pressure suits and quickly regather their weaponry.

South, his suit and tank piled in a corner, is already peering into doorways further down the corridor. "Come on, we've got to get moving before somebody investigates."

"Sir," calls the helmsman over a distorting Commucon(tm). Wu Su adjusts the volume, grimacing at the screeching feedback. "We've had a breach in the area of the forward cargo bay. An emergency bulkhead door has activated, so we aren't venting atmosphere."

"Have someone check it out. The worst damage is down there. We better find out if we're in danger of losing the ship." Wu Su clicks off and returns his attention to his distinguished guests. "This way," he motions, leading Itchtrong and Snoyan down a dimly lit corridor.

South guides his new-found partners through a maze of vacated hallways and access spaces, all twisted and creaking in an eerie, grotesque mockery of engineering. Pushing through the gloom of emergency lighting, he finally stops at a small service door. Locked. He rams his shoulder into it, but it doesn't budge.

Gladius taps him on the shoulder. "Allow me." With a glance to either side, the muscular man gives a great heave against the door and it pops open. The trio hustle in and shut the door. They are in a utility passageway filled with pipes, wires and, in the corner of the small cubbyhole, a set of rungs mounted on the wall extending into an access way, up through the ceiling and down through the floor.

"Two decks up is Wu Su's private quarters," informs Salata. "There's an observation window looking down onto the bridge."

"Let's move it," Geronimo suggests, "I don't want a bunch of pissed off military dicks tryin' to shoot at me." He catches South's glare. "No offense."

The three of them climb up the ladder and peek into the corridor two floors up. They are immediately opposite Wu Su's quarters.

"Wait here," whispers Salata, "I'll check and see if it's clear."

He dashes across to Wu Su's door and stops with his hand on the knob. Geronimo and Gladius, one to either side, breathe over South's shoulders.

"Hey, c'mon," Salata says, "we're together in this, guys."

Gladius and Geronimo remain silent.

The door is unlocked and the trio slink inside. Keeping the lights off, they move to the window to peek at Wu Su leading Itchtrong and Snoyan onto the bridge. South reaches down and switches on the intercom, motioning to the others to remain absolutely quiet.

Itchtrong follows Wu Su through the lingering haze, eyes darting about the room, taking in the residual damage. The ship's nerve center is a mess of blown control panels and blackened components. The seriously wounded personnel have been evacuated and a skeleton crew maintains the bridge. A temporary morgue, now over full, has been set up in the gymnasium, and the remaining crew wait patiently in a holding area near the airlock for transferral arrangements to be made.

"I'm afraid our main computer has experienced a memory burp," informs Wu Su, "resulting in the loss of much of our recent recordings. It will be difficult to verify exactly what happened when we assaulted the grid." The Major looks to High Commander Supreme Snoyan. "You'll have to rely on my personal account of the events."

Snoyan squints in the irritating smoke. "If that's all we have. Fortunately, you and many of your crew survived. It's always better, of course, to have hard evidence in the form of transaction logs when entering an inquest of this magnitude, but eyewitness accounts will be fine."

"Inquest?" Itchtrong fails to hide his surprise.

"Yes," Snoyan replies, turning her attention to the commander of the Decimater. "This whole mission has been one botch up after another. From Ragellon going off half-cocked to you, Colonel, failing to facilitate an immediate rescue. And then there is the matter of your conduct on the planet below." Snoyan's look is hardened granite. Her gaze burns intensely into Itchtrong.

"Major Wu Su," she begins again, still staring at Itchtrong, "as the third-highest ranking member aboard these linked vessels, I am appointing you group commander. Colonel Itchtrong, until such time as you can be placed into military police custody, you will confine yourself to your quarters aboard the Decimater."

The veins bulge on Itchtrong's neck. "High Commander Supreme, I was only acting upon your orders, you can't take away my command."

Wu Su watches the display, trying to catch up with the hidden nuances of the conversation.

Snoyan nods to two of the Frak Craks. "Escort the Colonel to his quarters."

The Frak Craks don't move, keeping their focus on Itchtrong, their commanding officer.

"Now!"

The Frak Craks reluctantly usher Itchtrong from the bridge. Salata turns off the intercom. "They've arrested Itchtrong. I think it's safe to present ourselves to the High Commander Supreme."

"Bullshit," Geronimo says.

"Yeah, what did he mean about following her orders?" queries Gladius.

Salata wavers. "I don't know. We informed Snoyan directly when we requested backup. We had no knowledge of what interaction may have taken place between her and the dispatched commanding officers."

"I think there's more going on here than meets the eye," Gladius retorts, "and I'm not presenting myself to anybody until I've found out what it is." He hustles to the door, looks out.

"Where are you going?" South asks.

"Those Hornheads are taking their direct superior back to his ship. If we don't beat them there, we won't have another chance to get in."

"What are you saying?"

"South, don't be so dense. You saw those Frak Craks hesitate when given a direct order from the High Commander. The moment they're back on Itchtrong's ship, he's going to take charge."

"Mutiny?" South's gears are whirring.

"Gladman's right," agrees Geronimo. "Those dicks'll probably blow the fuck outta this hulk. Let's haul butt."

Gladius darts across the hall, enters the service duct, and slides down the ladder, Geronimo and Salata right behind him.

Itchtrong is being escorted in silence through the dim emergency lighting in the halls of the Abrogate. The two Frak Crak troopers glance at each other and relax ever-so-slightly.

"Helmsman," Wu Su rasps. The weary helmsman looks up from her controls. "You have the command. I'll be aboard the Decimater supervising the transfer of the remaining crew."

"Aye, sir."

Wu Su and Snoyan exit the bridge and carefully begin to pick their way down the bent corridors toward the airlock.

"You see anybody?" Geronimo is craning to see around Gladius.

"One guard."

Salata edges up to peer into the inner airlock chamber. The single Abrogate crew member on duty at the open door is one of the troopers present when Ikky Hummanah attempted to board.

"Allow me," says South, stepping by them. "Soldier."

The trooper looks, surprised to see Captain South back aboard the Abrogate. "Sir, how did… when did you return? We thought you were lost."

"It's still a secret, private." Salata motions for Gladius and Geronimo to join him. "I'd like to keep it that way, for the time being."

"Yes, sir." The trooper snaps to attention and proffers a salute as the trio enter the Flexi-Ramp(tm).

The three men skulk across the gangway to the Decimater airlock, quietly pull themselves inside the exterior alcove, and peek around the corner. A fully armed Frak Crak is guarding the door.

South taps his forefinger on the captain's insignia on his collar, then steps boldly out of the airlock.

"Freeze," snaps the Frak Crak, training his weapon on South.

Salata flashes the insignia. "Captain Salata South, Special Investigations Division."

"You'll have to wait," the Frak Crak says, unmoving, "uninjured personnel transferral hasn't started yet."

"I'm ordering you to let me board this ship."

"My orders come from Colonel Itchtrong or Lieutenant Flinnff."

South paces around the room. The soldier keeps his aim fixed on the Captain, turning his back to the airlock.

WHAM!

Gladius thumps the Frak Crak on the back of the skull with the butt of the BIGGER GUN(tm), rendering him unconscious.

"Let's move him," blurts Geronimo. "Somebody else has entered the ramp."

Itchtrong steps into the Decimater airlock. He immediately notices the absence of the guard and turns to his two escorts. "Guard the airlock. Nobody comes across. I mean nobody."

"Yes, sir."

Itchtrong activates his Commucon. "Flinnff, that bitch Snoyan just put me under house arrest. I want everybody on battle alert. There's no way she's going to take my command without a fight."

"Right away, sir," comes the reply.

"Have you figured out who our guest is yet?"

"No, whoever it is they've locked themselves in the Deluxe Guest Quarters."

"Send me six more men."

From a ventilation duct near the airlock on the Decimater, Slate, South and Geronimo watch six Frak Craks join the disgruntled Itchtrong.

"Sir," calls the guard posted at the foot of the Flexi-Ramp(tm), "somebody's coming across."

Itchtrong moves to the airlock and looks down the ramp. "All right men, look alive. Company's coming."

"What are they doin'?" Geronimo whispers.

"Looks like trouble," Slate answers, softly.

South scans the troopers gathered in the tiny room, spotting one of the soldiers surreptitiously passing Itchtrong a Junior Hand Cannon(tm), which the Colonel quickly pockets.

"Itchtrong," snaps High Commander Supreme Snoyan as she steps into the airlock, "why aren't you in your quarters?"

Itchtrong glares at her, his lips pressed tight, smouldering.

Wu Su is instantly uneasy, sensing new layers of treachery. "Colonel, the High Commander Supreme asked you a question. I suggest you answer her before this situation gets out of hand."

"Shut up, Fatboy," snaps Itchtrong, pulling the Junior Hand Cannon(tm) from his pocket.

POW!

Wu Su topples backward like a fallen oak, the blast from Itchtrong's weapon having slammed into his sternum.

In the ventilation duct, South reacts violently, reaching for the grate release. Gladius yanks him back, while Geronimo clamps a hand over Salata's mouth.

Snoyan steps back, aghast. "What are you doing?"

Itchtrong levels the weapon at her head, begins speaking in rapid, icy tones. "What's going on, Dashe? Who's the guest you brought with you. And why the hell are you talking inquest?"

"Itchtrong, you have to understand the situation. The Observer doesn't––"

"The Observer!" Itchtrong cocks the weapon.

Snoyan flinches at the resounding click. "Yes, the Observer knew everything was going to fall apart, wanted to be here."

Suddenly, the ship's Inform-U-Amp(tm) speakers crackle to life: "Colonel, High Commander, no quarreling please. I'm in the Deluxe Guest Quarters, and I request your presence."

Itchtrong grabs Snoyan roughly. "If you've screwed things up, Dashe, you're dead," he hisses in her ear. "Very dead."

"Cut the, uh, dramatics, Dwayne," comes the voice over the intercom, "and get your butts up here."

Itchtrong yanks Snoyan through the door.

In the ventilation shaft Slate perks at the sound of the voice. He scrambles through his memory, trying to identify it. "Do you know that voice?" he asks of Geronimo

"It sure is familiar."

"Let's find out!" South says, scar blazing at Itchtrong's betrayal. Before they can stop him, Salata boots the grate open.

The milling Frak Craks turn at the new intrusion. South bursts from the tube, squeezing the trigger of his Intensifier Musket(tm). He nails two of the Frak Craks before they can reach their weapons.

"Don't move!" roars the Captain. He swings his weapon, ready to blast the first Hornhead to twitch. He sees one of them inching a hand toward a sidearm.

BLA-BLA-BLAM!

"Aaauuuggghhh!"

The Frak Crak falls to the floor, clutching his forearm. Bone fragments protrude from the shredded skin of the trooper's wrist, his shirtfront growing soggy with blood.

"I mean it!" shouts South, his gaze searing. The Frak Craks slowly raise their arms in capitulation.

Gladius begins to move out of the duct, but Lavoriss yanks him back. A figure has appeared in the doorway behind South. Salata begins to turn, but stops, knees buckling, as a Pro-Stunner 9000(tm) is pressed to the back of his neck by Lieutenant Flinnff.

"Bring him to the bridge."

Gladius follows Geronimo as they quickly retreat through the ductwork, away from the airlock.

"Where are we going?" whispers Slate.

"How the hell should I know? You're the one with all the big plans all the damn time. Where do you wanna go?"

"The Deluxe Guest Quarters. I want to find out who this Observer clown is. I know that voice."

"Me, too. But how are we gonna get there?"

Gladius shrugs, pointing further along the duct.