"Why? They've got us. We're helpless and they know it." Fiske turned to the intercom. "Tell them we accept. Tell them to lower their screens and prepare to receive boarders." He turned to Pedersen. "Wonder how we're fixed for a boarding party? You have any idea?"
Pedersen shook his head.
"I'm going to have a look." Fiske removed his safety harness and rose stiffly from his chair, moving painfully toward the manway that led aft to the main gun batteries and the drives.
He passed shambles. Bodies were everywhere. The sick bay had been destroyed by a direct hit. Guns and torpedo mounts were twisted wreckage garnished with dead. The communications center was miraculously untouched, still operating on emergency power, still broadcasting over the all wave transmitter as the endless tape ran and reran through its guides. A hulking figure was bent over the transmitter, working with torch and welding rod resetting tie-downs broken by concussion. With dull surprise, Fiske recognized Sandoval.
The big man saw him and grinned feebly. It was a miracle that he hadn't been opened up, but his battered armor was intact except for several minor rips covered with patches and sealant. His helmet was dented and the short range communicator at its back was shot away. Fiske shook his head as he approached and laid his helmet against the engineer's.
Sandoval's voice came through "I've got what's left of my boys working on the drive. Give us an hour and we'll be moving again."
"Call them off, Sandy. There's no need. The Eglan has surrendered."