Ship's Boy by Phil Geusz Page A

missed because even though Hummingbird was barely crawling by interstellar standards, she was also very near at hand and the heavy mountings could only track just so quickly. For an instant I watched the fireworks, transfixed by the terrible majesty of it all. Then Sergeant Wells whapped me a good one, and it was time to go!
    I felt very naked indeed as the sergeant and I stood up side-by side amidst all the blaster-fire—space itself seemed to be aflame! I powered up my Field, which hadn’t been done earlier because it would’ve shown up on the Imperial’s sensors. Meanwhile, as my protective shield stabilized Sergeant Wells bound us together with an umbilical and clipped on the reel of superconducting rope. Then we were ready, but my companion decided to toss a couple shots of his own into the melee before we pushed off towards the enemy vessel. Both struck home on Imperials who were attempting to escape the terrible crossfire; one was a certain kill, while the second caught its target in the calf. I was watching gape-mouthed as the wounded Imperial first writhed in agony and then began an a desperate attempt at patching himself when my companion cuffed me again. First he held up one finger, as I braced myself for the big leap. Then two…
    And three !
    Squish! my still-damp feet went as I shoved off just as hard as I could towards Sword of the People , and then I was on my way. Both the sergeant and I made good leaps; though he was by far the larger and stronger of us we Rabbits were extra-strong in the legs, so our efforts weren’t too terribly mismatched. He got us stabilized in nothing flat, something he had to take care of for both of us since Field suits carried their generator in the place where a jetpack was normally mounted. And then…
    …we simply floated along.
    While there were probably safer places to watch a battle from, there’s probably never been a better one. Hummingbird ’s light mounts were all firing independently now, just as fast as their chargers would feed them. The rounds might not’ve been very heavy, but there sure were lots of them! And, in the absence of a protective Field, they were absolutely shredding Sword —one of her big twin turrets was already out of action, while the others still weren’t hitting much of anything. Perhaps they’d never been calibrated for such a close-in target? And yet… Sword ’s skin was already starting to develop a silvery sheen as her engine-room staff strove desperately to get her underway. The sudden new holes appearing all over her skin weren’t making her chief engineer’s job any easier, I knew. Nor were the already-damaged engines. And her plant was finicky, I reminded myself.
    But still—we weren’t moving half fast enough to suit me!
    Sergeant Wells might’ve—and possibly even should’ve—nudged us along a little faster with his jetpack. But he was plenty busy dealing with our other immediate problems. Chief among them were a group of Imperials who, having escaped the crossfire, had seen my silvered-suit and rope and put two and two together with commendable speed. Six or seven of them were jetting our way, letting fly with everything that’d shoot. All I could do at first was watch—my blaster was configured for short-range work only. Sergeant Wells picked several off, then took a glancing hit on the back of his left glove that required a patch. He was quick, Sergeant Wells was. But not half quick enough. The Imperials kept right on closing, accelerating all the way as he worked. Finally, still certain they were too far away, I drew my own blaster and let fly. The result was… amazing! At first I thought the weapon had exploded in my hand, the discharge was so intense. But at least a dozen bolts blasted out in a fanlike pattern, killing two of the remaining three Imperials outright and holing the third’s boot.  This last one kept right on firing despite the fact that he must’ve been breathing something closely resembling