GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(5)

Both men had been injured early in the engagement. Rennault had failed to strap in and was hurled around the cabin by the first frantic course changes. He would have been pounded to death and could have inflicted damage on equipment and other personnel had not the wiry Fenstermacher risked a similar fate by partially unstrapping and tackling Rennault in midflight. Fenstermacher had tethered them both down, secure enough to keep from flying about, but not enough to escape the thrashing inflicted by the pounding g-loads.

Fenstermacher struggled to lift his head; his inertia reels were locked. Lee released the locks, and the injured man turned to face her, peering unsteadily from behind a smeared visor.

"Smells sweet in there, eh?" Lee chided as she leaned over and used a penlight to check pupil dilation. It was difficult to see through the contaminated visor. She leaned over further to check his left arm, which was immobilized by an inflatable cast. Lee dimly sensed pressure on the front of her suit. Fenstermacher moaned with a peculiar, melancholy tone. Startled by his exclamations, and mistaking them for a signal of pain, Lee backed off sufficiently to see Fenstermacher' s right hand wandering suggestively across her chest. The suit provided no hint of anatomical topography, and its coarse stiffness barely transmitted the sensation of contact, but Fenstermacher persistently continued his exertions, groaning lasciviously. She looked down at his hand and tiredly brushed it away, smiling wistfully at the presumptions of the living.

"Fool," she said quietly, thickly, near tears.

"Ah, don't worry, Les," said Fenstermacher, breaking lifeboat regulations by speaking, his voice feeble. "We'll make it. Someone will pick us up."

"Yeah, Leslie," said another voice—Dawson' s. Lee looked over to station three to see the communication technician's helmet lift from the harness. "For once in his life, Fensterprick is right."

"Why, thank you, gruesome," said Fenstermacher hoarsely. "I take back what I said about you being stupid and ugly. You're just ugly."

"He ain't worth getting angry over," Dawson retorted, "but I sure hope he's in pain. Leslie, either knock him out or make him scream."

"Fleet's gone," another voice grumbled—Tookmanian, one of the weapons technicians. "We are forsaken. Only He will save us now."

"Not now, Tooks," admonished Schmidt, the other weapons rating.

"Praise the Lord," echoed another voice—Gordon, the youngest of the spacer Marines.

"Thanks, but I'll put my faith in Commander Quinn and Lieutenant Buccari," Dawson replied. "If anyone can get us out of this, they can."

"The lieutenant sure took a bite out of your tall, skinny tail," Fenstermacher sniped.

"She was doing her job, and I was doing mine, pukebrains," Dawson said cheerfully. "Buccari knows what she's doing. She can yell at me any time she wants."

"Okay, you guys," Lee said. "We got rules. Can the chatter." The petty officer sighed helplessly and looked about the cramped interior of the cylinder. She floated to her station, noting that the solar cells had deployed. The lifeboat was close to a star; electrical power would not be a problem; the lights would be on when they suffocated. She swallowed hard and endeavored to concentrate, but anxiety swept over her. Aliens! The fleet was gone and the corvette was in trouble. She was frightened.

An indicator flashed. An aural alarm buzzed. Lee reconnected her helmet lead and heard Ensign Hudson trying to raise her.

"Life One is up," she reported, failing to keep her voice calm.

"Roger, One. The bug ship was flashed!" Hudson replied excitedly. "We made it . . . for now anyway. I'm coming to get you. You having problems?"

"No, sir. Everything's okay. I was checking on the injured." Lee strapped in as she spoke, relieving her tension with activity. Noting that her passengers were reasonably calm and breathing normally, she punched a digital switch several times, thinning the oxygen being metered to her charges; any oxygen saved now might mean another few minutes of existence.

"How're they doing? I hear Fenstermacher's a hero," Hudson said.

"A real dumb one. And he puked in his pajamas to boot." She realized radio communications were being fed to every station in the lifeboat. She turned around and looked back at Fenstermacher. His good arm hung out into the aisle with its thumb up.

"Stop moving. You know the regs!" she commanded. "Fenstermacher, arm back by your side or I'll knock you out!" Fenstermacher' s arm retreated but not before his erect thumb was replaced by his middle digit. She switched off communications to the cabin.