"A few hundred kilometers an hour?"
"Naturally," said Wit. He began unstrapping his harness. "How much time do I have?"
"Under two minutes. I suggest you pick up the pace."
Wit wiggled out of the harness and got to his feet. "How are you going to get close enough to grab them without them shooting us down?"
"We'll come at them from above. They won't be looking in that direction. Probably. Plus these are transports. They're not made for deep space travel. They don't have collision avoidance systems. At least the ones we've destroyed in the past didn't, and this one looks no different. Also, they don't yet know we're a threat."
"Of course we're a threat. We're an armed aircraft."
"Formics ignore us until we pose a threat. Think about the Formics that stormed the dozers. They killed the crew after our man attacked. It's only when we confront them, when we resist, that they retaliate. Otherwise, we're not worth their notice."
"What about the armored vehicle that was ripped in half, the man eviscerated on the asphalt?"
"Maybe he fired first. Maybe his gunner engaged them."
"And maybe you're full of it."
"Maybe," said Mazer. "And maybe I'm right. Either way you've got about sixty seconds until we intercept them. Are we doing this or not?"
Wit considered a moment then nodded. "How do I hook myself to the winch cable?"
>
"There's a body harness in a compartment in the main cabin, directly behind me. Slip it on and tighten the straps around your thighs, chest, and shoulders. Then attach the carabiner on the chest of the harness to the matching carabiner on the pulley cable. There's a screw lock on each. Righty tighty, lefty loosey."
"I know how to tighten a screw lock," said Wit. He left the cockpit and moved back to the cabin.
Mazer heard him rummaging through the compartment, grabbing the gear. They were high above the transport now. It had drastically decelerated. Mazer couldn't tell if the shield was still engaged or not. He called back to Wit. "Are you harnessed in?"
"I've got a harness on. Heaven knows if I strapped it on right."
"Does it feel like the worst wedgie of your life?" asked Mazer.
"The strap's so far up my crack, it's part of my digestive system," said Wit.
"Then you're wearing it correctly. Pull some slack on the cable and buckle in to one of the jump seats. Once we're in position, I'll open the door and you can get up."
A moment later Wit said, "I'm buckled. And I'm already regretting this."
Mazer started blinking out commands, getting ready for the drop. "Hold on to something. Our forward thrusters will still be open, but once I disengage the grav lens, we'll lose altitude fast. The less time they have to react the better."
He put his hand in the holofield where the virtual knob for the grav lens had appeared. "Here we go!"
He cranked the knob hard to the right, and the HERC dropped like a stone.
The straps on Mazer's lap and chest pulled taut as he was lifted off his seat, his stomach roiling with momentary weightlessness. He gripped the stick tight, breathing evenly, staying calm.
The transport was two hundred meters below them.
One hundred and fifty.
One hundred.
Mazer didn't slow. His stomach was in his throat. He watched the transport with the external cameras, their feeds projected in the holofield in front of him. The transport could react at any moment, he knew. It could spin, flip over, rocket forward to evade them.
Fifty meters.