Guardsmen Of Tomorrow Part 27

When I finished, he only had one question for me.

"And if they won't come?"

"I think they will," I said with more certainty than I felt. "As you've noted, they've been hurt by the pirates, too, and here's a chance to get back something of their own. And if they don't show, well, we can always fall back on your plan."

The three s.h.i.+ps we were tracking-a third had joined the convoy while we were arguing-headed in the direction of a large planetoid just beyond a broad asteroid belt.

The backside of this planetoid was a favorite place for smugglers to linger before bringing in a cargo, since it gave them a chance to scan the system and make certain that the black s.h.i.+ps were patrolling elsewhere. Most successful smugglers carried legal goods as well as illegal, but who wanted to risk a search if one could be avoided?

So popular had this particular lurking spot become that the black s.h.i.+ps checked it as a matter of routine.

Still, the Absolutists might not know that. Once I was fairly certain where the convoy was headed, I took the Mercury out along a different route, one that took advantage of intervening asteroids and other bits of s.p.a.ce debris to obscure our signal. I prided myself that the supply s.h.i.+p never knew we were closing on them.

Meanwhile, I sent out tight-beam comm squirts to a couple dozen locations I'd marked earlier-placeswhere a faint signal hinted that a s.h.i.+p with damped identification beacon drifted, its power down-a typical smuggler's trick. My message was scrambled, just in case the wrong s.h.i.+p intercepted it, and pretty terse. In a few words it invited these outlaws of the solar lanes to join the Mercury in kicking some pirate b.u.t.t.

Responses came rapidly, crammed with the same ques-tions over and over: "Why are you doing this?"

"Where's the pirate?" and, most often, "What's in it for me?"

I sent out the answers, offering each s.h.i.+p that joined me and Spike a share of the loot. Most of the outlaws agreed, tantalized by the promise of gain beyond a smuggler's dreams-and enticed further by the chance to get even with hated pirates, those big operators who made it almost impossible for a little s.h.i.+p to turn a slightly dishonest profit and who ruined a good market just when the smugglers had opened it up.

Not knowing how they'd respond to the political angle, I kept the news of the Absolute's presence to myself for now. I figured if we took the pirate, I could act as surprised as anybody, and if we didn't, it wouldn't matter.

We glided through the Endpoint system, our engines powered down as low as possible. The fact that we were approaching a smuggler's rest most of us had used at one time or another helped us to hide our presence. So did the fact that we were coming toward our target and the ma.s.s of our s.h.i.+ps masked our engine signatures.

As we approached, I used the Mercury's comm system to collect and relay information. I got each s.h.i.+p to give me her strengths and weaknesses. I knew from past experience-and a couple of devastating poker losses-that a couple of the other s.h.i.+ps' captains were brilliant tacticians. They took the information I beamed to them and transformed it into a possible plan. Despite their input, the Mercury remained in command since only her comm system had the reach and power to blip out and retrieve information so swiftly that the pirates would have no chance of detecting our signals.

Even as we laid our plans, every s.h.i.+p in my outlaw fleet kept alert for the black s.h.i.+ps. At this moment, we were doing nothing precisely illegal-though some might argue that we had turned pirate ourselves-but a delay would be bothersome and the presence of a black s.h.i.+p or two cruising, these reaches might spook the pirates into deeper cover.

However, there was no trace of the Silent Watch in this vicinity. Doubtless they were being kept busy by the increased traffic in-system, but I did wonder if a Watcher or two-perhaps the officer who set the duty rosters-had been paid to keep the black s.h.i.+ps out of this area. A solar system is vast beyond mortal comprehension; not even the black s.h.i.+ps could be expected to patrol every bit of it.

Eventually, the Mercury closed on our target. Signaling my approaching allies to hold their various concealed positions, I set the Mercury's scanners to a broad sweep that would be unlikely to trip even an alert comm tech. Thus, the picture that appeared on the Mercury's screen had to be cleared and enhanced. It hardly mattered. We had found what we sought.

A hulking vessel large enough to dwarf the Mercury- though small in comparison to some war s.h.i.+ps I'd seen- hung in the shadows behind the planetoid. Its...o...b..t was set to avoid easy detection both from Gilbert and from the more or less inhabited reaches in the planet's vicinity. Tellingly, the identification beacon required by interstellar law had been pulled-even smugglers usually only damped theirs- as clear a sign of a pirate s.h.i.+p as a skull and crossbones had been millennia before.

The pirate vessel was not a pretty s.h.i.+p, her hull scarred and patched, her blocky shape constructed fordeep s.p.a.ce, not atmospheric entry. She had probably started life as an ore hauler. Such s.h.i.+ps were often drafted into pirate service as general cargo carriers.

Ore haulers' ma.s.sive bay doors permitted small vessels to be tucked inside the hold and their powerful engines- designed not only to maneuver a great deal of ma.s.s but often to fuel processing plants within the s.h.i.+p-gave the unattractive s.h.i.+ps surprising speed for short bursts. Many a pirate-hunting expedition had been left gaping when a seemingly sluggish target had departed in a contemptuous burst of speed.

I told Spike all of this, cautioning him not to underestimate the vessel and adding that the three supply s.h.i.+ps we had followed had probably been taken directly on board. As I saw it, we were lucky that there was only one s.h.i.+p waiting out here, but doubtless the pirates weren't wasting vessels.

One s.h.i.+p to the fourteen in our outlaw fleet. Victory looked easy enough in the abstract. The thing was, only half or so of our s.h.i.+ps were armed. Most smugglers didn't bother with armament-it drew too much attention. Other recruits to our fleet were guilty of prospecting without a license; other s.h.i.+ps held fugitives from the justice of one system or another. A few were simply the dwellings of interstellar hermits.

Armed and unarmed, sleek and beautiful, or battered bits of metal and machinery eking out a last few years before being sc.r.a.pped for junk, the outlaw s.h.i.+ps slipped through the chill void, taking heed of my cautions, tight-beaming their communications so that all the pirate s.h.i.+p could have heard were vague whispers that would have been dismissed as the hissing pops of a star's breathing.

In less than an eye blink the pirate hulk found herself surrounded by a sphere of some dozen plus s.h.i.+ps, each carefully positioned to balance our various strengths and weaknesses. Since the Mercury was unarmed and unarmored, built for speed and communications rather than war, we were placed where the pirate's first shots should not be able to reach us.

Spike was disappointed, but I was rather glad. I would rather not risk my life-no matter how well insured.

When the glittering globe of lights on my board showed me that the outlaw fleet was all in place, I hailed the pirate s.h.i.+p: "Beaconless s.h.i.+p, this is Captain Ah Lee of the Mercury. Identify yourself and open your ports to inspection or prepare for the consequences!"

I had deduced-perhaps "hoped" is a more honest term- that the pirate s.h.i.+p would not fire. No matter who had been paid off, no matter how far up the chain of command, none of Endpoint's guard s.h.i.+ps could overlook a fire fight right in system and the pirates wouldn't want to attract notice.

To my dismay, the pirate s.h.i.+p fired almost immediately, a thin beam of eye-searingly brilliant light jolting out from forward energy batteries.

The blue-white light melted an ugly runnel through the heavy armor of the s.h.i.+p holding the dangerous post directly in front. Later I'd learn that an engineer had been killed. Even as the energy weapon did its worst, the nameless pirate's gunnery tubes belched forth slower, but more deadly missiles. Energy fire from our own side caught these before they could reach their destination, but I saw that the missiles had been meant merely as a distraction.

On one side of the pirate vessel the enormous bay doors began slowly sliding open. My tactical masters had been ready for something like this. As briefed, I thumbed a pre-coded message from the Mercury's board, jamming the doors long enough for a barrage from a couple of the prospectors' digging lasers to ruin them beyond use.Our unarmed s.h.i.+ps were maintaining a jamming screen, making it impossible for the pirate s.h.i.+p to call on others of its ilk for help-if any others were near. Based on our pooled observations we thought this unlikely, but still the possibility could not be overlooked.

Having given the pirate a chance to surrender without a fight, now our side attacked. Only four of our outlaw fleet had proved to be heavily armed-all of these mining s.h.i.+ps, which could conceal armaments as digging lasers or more domestic explosives. A few other of the outlaws' s.h.i.+ps possessed light lasers, these meant more for meteor defense than for battle. Each s.h.i.+p had been a.s.signed its target in advance-points plotted out and selected by tight-beam communication from the moment I sent out an image of our target.

Beneath our initial barrage, the pirate vessel seemed to rock. Burning air gouted forth from several breached compartments; scanner readings showed a loss of power from various systems.

Still, the pirate hulk held up remarkably well. None of the systems we had targeted had been completely destroyed. Engine power remained strong. Even as our s.h.i.+ps danced in evasion of expected retaliation, the Mercury's scanners reported that backup systems were coming on-line all over the pirate s.h.i.+p.

In this initial attack, it had been to our fleet's advantage that the Mercury had been able to scout ahead, to our advantage as well that none of our number believed we could take a pirate vessel without coordinated effort and planning. In that way, our small flotilla was wiser than marines and militia, for these often underestimated their opponents.

I bit my lip in growing desperation, speaking more to myself than to Spike: "We can't keep this up for long. None of our s.h.i.+ps has the power to keep firing and we don't have a wars.h.i.+p's armory. If we don't take the pirate out soon, it will get away and leave us to do the explaining when the black s.h.i.+ps arrive."

"The pirates don't know that," Spike said suddenly.

He'd been rather quiet since the real fighting had started, though he'd had plenty to say while the outlaw fleet a.s.sembled-some of it useful, too.

"What?" I asked.

"The pirates don't know that," Spike repeated with emphasis. "They might suspect our capacities are limited, but not those hop-headed Absolutist fanatics. They aren't going to want to see their treasured Absolute blown into oblivion. Can't you..."

"I'm right with you," I said, hands surging over my boards as I worked up something that would splice into the pirate s.h.i.+p's intercom system and override any other messages. "Spike, get on another channel and tell our fleet to prepare for another strike. Don't worry about being overheard. It might be better if we were."

Spike nodded, and moments later I could hear him snapping out orders to the others. We'd all hoped that we'd never need fire a shot, but not one of us had been so optimistic that we didn't plan for a fight.

As we hadn't lost a s.h.i.+p-though there had been damage-our second strike could go ahead as programmed.

The most heavily armed of the miner s.h.i.+ps-a s.h.i.+p I suspected of doing a bit of small-scale piracy itself when opportunity presented-took the front this time. A red-orange globule was forming on the tips of the forward energy weapons when I broke through the pirate's internal communications."This is the commander of the fleet surrounding you," I said, promoting myself shamelessly. "Surrender, else we will destroy you. You have been warned once. We will not be so gentle a second time. Since we want your cargo, not your persons, we will be targeting personnel compartments. No one can expect to survive our next attack."

It was all bl.u.s.ter and balderdash, but I was counting on what Spike had said, counting, too, that the pirates would not be quite certain just what armaments we might have hidden among our motley fleet.

After all, their s.h.i.+p looked like nothing more than an ore carrier. What might we be?

"You have a five count to surrender-absolutely," I announced.

The last was a hint to the pirates. Surrender the Absolute, and we'd let the rest pa.s.s. Who knows, maybe the pirates would take us for Batherite Loyalists who'd tracked the Absolutist leader into hiding.

I wondered what the rest of the fleet would think.

"Absolutely!" I repeated as thunderously as possible. Then I started counting, "Five! Four! Three!"

On five, the globes of energy forming at the tips of our s.h.i.+ps' energy weapons turned white hot. On four, missile tubes rotated, some preparing to vomit forth nothing more than junk-but the pirates didn't know that. On three, I added a bone s.h.i.+vering frequency beneath my vocal track. On two, a thin, panicked voice yelled over a broad band.

"Don't fire! Don't fire! It's over here. In control! We'll surrender! We have everything under control!"

It didn't sound like the speaker had even himself under control, but I heard Spike sonorously address our allies: "Stand by, fleet. Don't power down. I repeat. Don't power down."

A crackle from another channel-from one of the hermits, I think-reported simultaneously: "Scan shows no evidence that pirate vessel is powering up. We still hold the advantage."

I addressed the panicked voice. "Identify yourself."

"I'm... Jeremy, Jeremy Langthorp. I'm with this ore carrier, the Deep Pockets, it is."

"Deep Pockets," I confirmed. "You seem to have pulled your ID beacon, Captain Langthorp."

"I'm not the captain." Langthorp shrilled a thread of near hysterical laughter. "They shot the captain, the fanatics did, shot her soon after they came aboard and she wouldn't drink their foul tea."

Over the next hour, the full story came out. It seemed that when the Absolute and his fanatics had boarded, the pirates found themselves the victims of piracy. Several of the crew had already been bought by the Absolute and these attacked their s.h.i.+pmates. It had been intended that the turncoats would handle the s.h.i.+p while the Absolute did his work in the onboard chemistry lab. Then richer by a s.h.i.+p and a hold full of drugs, the Absolute would have returned to his war.

However, the rest of the crew hadn't been as easily subdued as the Absolute had planned. The Deep Pocket's captain had died early on in the take-over, as had her first officer and several others, including over half of the turncoats. At that point, the rest of the pirates had submitted philosophically, first pointing out to the Absolute that they couldn't run the s.h.i.+p with their brains turned to goo by one of his "teas."

Jeremy Langthorp had been the chief gunnery officer- and cook when there was no shooting todo-and although he had ordered the first volley against our fleet, he had delayed a second strike, claiming that some of his systems had been damaged.

Then my announcement had thrown the fanatics into a panic-even the Absolute, who had not realized to that point what danger he'd put himself in.

While the fanatics were dithering, the remaining pirates had counterattacked. The fanatics had retreated into the chemistry lab where the pirates had imprisoned them-presumably with the Absolute.

"My s.h.i.+pmates and I are ready to surrender," Jeremy Langthorp said. "Ready and willing if you'll promise us safe delivery to Gilbert."

"Where, doubtless, they have some crooked lawyer ready to get them off," I grumbled to Spike. Then I asked Lang-thorp directly, "How many of you are left?"

"Four," Langthorp replied promptly, "not counting the fanatics in the chemistry lab."

Spike gave me one of his lopsided grins. "I guess it's time for me to take over, Captain Ah Lee. You've done your part."

Standing, Spike crowded the Mercury's tiny cabin, but he managed to get his blaster-a showy metallic blue model with a chromed grip and holographic insets along the barrel-out of his coverall pocket.

"Coming with me, Captain?" he asked, holding the blaster at a jaunty angle.

I sighed. "Let me see who else can go over to Deep Pockets with you. I don't quite trust the pirates. We only have their word that there are just four left."

"I trust Langthorp," Spike said. "There was real fear in that man's voice, but I suppose I could use a few extra hands to help defeat the fanatics."

Rolling my eyes at his supreme overconfidence, I beamed a request to the other s.h.i.+ps.

Remembering various conversations over poker in s.p.a.ceport bars, I figured that while many of the smugglers might be apolitical regarding the Batherite question, there was enough resentment over how the pirates had used the refugees as cover for their own operations to attract a posse-especially now that we had taken Deep Pockets and the promise of loot was sweet and near.

With very little persuasion on my part, a volunteer from every s.h.i.+p agreed to go aboard Deep Pockets -as long as I went, too. Poor Spike's feelings were hurt, but I rea.s.sured him as I suited up.

"It isn't you, Spike. They trust you-remember, they came on your promise of payment. It's just that I got them into this and they're going to make sure I'm in as deep as they are."

"Code of the underworld?" Spike asked, checking his own suit's seals.

"Something like that," I muttered.

Jeremy Langthorp, a short, fairly heavyset man with curly hair the color of sunlit sand and washed-out blue eyes, met us at the entry port. He looked more like a well-fed cook than the popular action vid depiction of a pirate and I could tell that Spike was disappointed.

"Where are the fanatics holing up?" Spike asked as soon as routine introductions had been made and four members of our posse had peeled off to discretely cover the pirates."Chem lab," Langthorp said. He tapped up a schematic on a view screen. "When we took this job, we adapted part of the factory deck to a lab. It's the only thing down there except for our cargo."

"So we can't," I said quickly, just in case Spike was about to suggest it, "blow out that deck without damaging the cargo."

"That's about it," Langthorp agreed, his round face rueful. Clearly, the pirates had considered the idea and had decided that whatever punishment their own higher up doled out for losing a cargo were worse than being doped by the fanatics.

"The bulkheads?" asked Beatty, one of the prospectors.

"Armor grade," Langthorp said. "Goes back to when Deep Pockets was an ore carrier."

Beatty nodded sharply. "Then we can't hope to cut through with any speed. Can we just shut off life support to that deck?"

Langthorp didn't hesitate at this brutal suggestion, but I saw Spike wince.

"Could," Langthorp agreed, "but they have suits and the chem lab has both scrubbers and extra air. The Absolute ordered them 'cause he said he preferred to mix his potions on a big scale and didn't want to risk soaking up the stuff through his skin."

"Whether or not that's the case," I said, forestalling a debate as to the Absolute's real motives, "we can't get them that way, not before the black s.h.i.+ps get here."

" And if we want to get paid quickly," Beatty said, "we don't wait."

"Right." I frowned and studied the diagram. "If I had time, I could try and override the bulkhead locks, but we don't have time for that. I only see one solution that's both fast and has a chance to work. The ducts."

Spike nodded. "I didn't want to suggest it, Allie. It's above and beyond the call of duty."

I shrugged. "But I'm the only one small enough to crawl through while wearing a suit. Spike, you still have those gas pellets?"

The insurance investigator produced them rather reluctantly.

"They won't work if the fanatics are suited," he warned.

"I know," I said, "but I'm betting that they won't all be sealed tight. A sealed suit gets pretty claustrophobic if you're not used to it, and those poor slobs I watched back in the Bathtub weren't s.p.a.cers."

Beatty had been studying the diagram, his finger tracing the blue lines of the ductwork for the benefit of the rest.

"It's gonna get snug, Allie," he warned.

"When you've only got one ace," I said, glad that my deadpan expression didn't betray my pounding heart, "you've got to bet it or fold."

Crawling through those conduits is something I don't really want to remember, so I won't share the nightmare here. If it hadn't been for Spike keeping me on course through my suit radio, I'd haveprobably gotten disoriented, but eventually, I made it to the chem lab.

Through the filter grille, I looked down on the Absolute and his fanatics-twenty in all. Only a third-including the Absolute, I was sorry to see-were sealed in their suits.

After sending this information to Spike and the others- who were waiting outside both of the entries to the chem lab-I started dropping gas pellets.

With his sense for the dramatic, Spike had chosen pellets that sent up theatrical swirls of dark purple smoke. This brand did work faster than any other type on the market, so within a few moments the fanatics in the unsealed suits were puffing and wheezing. A few fumbled for faceplates and seals. Most of the rest just dropped, taken off into deep purple dreams.