“Now, sir, we must regroup to complete our mission. Have one of your men turn off the suppressor—”
“What?”
“Long enough to satisfy the pirates that their plan is working. They will proceed to the counter-raid. Half my squad will be inside the Hidden Flower, ready to take their ship; the other half will deal with the pirate raid.”
“Half your squad—five men—can handle the whole pirate ship?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir, in this circumstance. The pirates will radio you to demand your surrender; you must avoid committing yourself. They will then issue an ultimatum: If any of your men resist their raiders, they will blow up both ships. You must accuse them of bluffing, but you must sound uncertain.”
“I comprehend the ploy. Any other orders, Sergeant?” he inquired ironically.
“Just keep alert, sir. This is no sure thing, because those pirates are primed for action. Turn the suppressor on again when my corporal tells you to. Mistiming could be fatal, for they will surely use their destruct system when they realize they are being outmaneuvered.” I turned to my second-in-command, who had been waiting silently behind me. “When you observe their raiding party clear their ship, take them down without warning, with your stunner beams. Then turn on the suppressor—before they can activate their destruct system—and come in after me, in the Hidden Flower. Fast. The rest as before.”
My corporal nodded. He knew what to do and how to do it. I had confidence in him, and now he had confidence in me.
I took five men and returned to the lock. It was chancy doing this, for the pirates might wonder why we were going back and forth. But they were waiting for the suppressor to stop, so probably thought we were just ferrying our captives out. They had sacrificed six men to lull us; the rest would wait for us to bumble inefficiently into their trap.
We entered, then crowded into equipment-storage alcoves and waited. After a minute, the suppressor went off; the captain was following orders.
Almost immediately there was activity in the pirate ship. The lights did not come on; they were too canny for that. But we heard the faint noises of the supplementary airlock being used; their raiding party was sneaking out, and their communications officer was surely getting in touch with ours to deliver the ultimatum. Other men were coming toward us, armed with power weapons that we supposedly believed were inoperative. A man using a knife against a laser pistol would live or die according to the state of that pistol. But we were similarly armed and warned, and they did not know this. This was our counter-countertrap.
I heard a man come into the access passage, followed by others. They did not speak, but I knew they were perplexed. Where were we? We waited, unmoving.
When discovery was incipient, I fired my stunner at the nearest. He went limp without a sound, for I had taken him in the throat. We had to keep them silent, to avoid giving alarm before my corporal’s party took out the external raiders. My men followed suit. In a moment we had stunned five pirates.
That took care of eleven, here. I judged that a dozen more would be out with the raiding party. That should leave only about seven in the ship, one of which was Spirit. The odds were now just about even.
We waited, and the suppressor came back on. The corporal had scored! We put away our inoperative power weapons and moved on toward the pirate control room. The remaining pirates should be disorganized now, caught by the restoration of the suppressor; we could put them away relatively efficiently.
It wasn’t quite that simple. The pirates, aware that something was wrong, were now playing the same game we were. My men spread out, delving like deadly snakes for their hiding prey. I dropped silently down the center tunnel to the control area. The ships were spinning end-over-end, Navy-fashion, so the centrifugal gee was greatest at the extremes. I touched the ladder lightly with alternate hands, controlling my fall and pushing myself away from the wall, since such a fall seems curved. I reached the floor and paused, listening.
There was someone near. My suit was designed for completely silent life support; his was not. Therefore, it was not one of my men. I pictured him in my mind, getting his position clear; then I moved in and ran my metal needle into his main oxygen tube.
Now he was in trouble, for I had holed his tube between the tank and the regulatory valve. Oxygen hissed into his suit under unrestrained pressure, bypassing the valve. The outer puncture sealed itself, but not the tube; he was inflating uncomfortably. He had no recourse but to remove his helmet to relieve that pressure, and then I caught his head and jammed my armored finger at a buried nerve complex under the ear, and he was unconscious. I left him on the floor and moved on.
I entered the control room. It was empty. Since the suppressor made all the electrical controls inoperative, including the self-destruct system, it was pointless for them to man it. I moved on to the captain’s office and paused again. There was only one entrance to the office, and it would be dangerous to use that.
Again the image of a steel ball striking another came to my mind: Open that door and trigger a devastating reaction. Captain Brinker was no shrinking violet, though she was the truly hidden flower. I needed another way.
Quickly I removed my suit. There was air here; the suits were in case the ship got holed, or its stalled life-support system was insufficient. There was air at the moment, and I would use it.
I set up the empty suit before the office door. Then I stood to the side and extended a hand to draw the entry panel aside.
Something thunked into the suit. It fell over. I waited. I knew Captain Brinker could not afford to leave the suit there long; it would serve as a signal of her presence.
I heard her come out. She wore no suit, either, knowing it interfered with nocturnal combat.
I could have knifed her, but I wanted her alive. I went after her bare-handed, launching myself in a tackle.
She heard me and moved. I sideswiped her, managing to catch hold of one bare arm. I yanked on it, getting her off-balance, and swept at her ankles with my foot, using a judo takedown. I had not seen her body in the blackness, but my glancing touch had provided me with a suggestion of amazing femininity.
She jumped and swung at me with her free hand. By the way she moved, I knew there was a knife in it.
I caught that hand, clasping it with my fingers, squeezing it, seeking leverage on the knife. We fell together to the floor, torso to torso, and I confirmed that she was not only naked but voluptuous. How had she concealed her gender so effectively?
Then I felt the fingers of her hand and realized that her little finger was missing. “Spirit!” I whispered.
She froze. “Hope,” she responded after a moment.
“I got your message. EMPTY HAND. Where’s Brinker?”
The cold metal of the blade of a knife touched my neck. Suddenly I knew where Captain Brinker was.
I was trained in combat, but so was Brinker. She had reflexes no other person could match, and iron nerve. She had the drop on me with the knife; I knew I could not escape it. I had her ship by this time, but she had me. She had sprung yet another trap, using my sister to put me off-guard. What a callous ploy that was: Spirit, believing I was a pirate raider from a rival ship, could have killed me, or I her. Captain Brinker, the bloodless female pirate, didn’t care; either way, she had her chance.
I held Spirit, savoring her presence after four years, though I had not rescued her yet. “What is your offer, Captain?”
“Life for life,” she said. “Yours for mine.”
“Agreed.” And the knife withdrew. I kissed Spirit, then disengaged and got to my feet. “You can take your lifeboat out, as I did before.”
“Yes. I know you are a man of honor, Hubris.”
Honor. Lieutenant Repro had lectured me on it, and increasingly I accepted his definition. Truth can be a liar, when incomplete; honor is more than integrity. Honor obliged me to follow through on the spirit of the agreement as well as the letter. There would he no treachery, no loophole.
&n
bsp; “Spirit,” I said. “Go get dressed, then stay clear while we deal.”
Spirit moved away in the dark, and Captain Brinker did not protest. Brinker knew that Spirit had been forfeited as a hostage the moment she was used to decoy me.
“What other deal?” Brinker asked.
“A secret for a secret. Yours for Kife’s.”
“Agreed.” She paused momentarily, knowing that I protected the secret of her sex by not even naming it. “Kife offered a Naval vessel for a key you wear. He set up the trap; I was to deliver the key. I do not know what the key is for.”
“He honored his bargain with you,” I said. “He betrayed me, but I caught on. How can I reach him?”
“Communications were anonymous. I was to mail the key to Box Q, New Wash, USJ, 20013.”
“Company,” Spirit murmured, returning.
“We’re done here,” I said. I raised my voice. “Navy in charge here. Is the ship secure?”
“Secure, Sergeant,” one of my men agreed from the control room. He was the one Spirit had heard.
“Losses?”
“One, inside. No report from outside.”
“Go check. Tell the captain I am releasing the pirate lifeboat; let it go without molestation. Turn off the suppressor when satisfied that all is secure.”
“Right.” He moved off.
“I’ll lead; you follow, Spirit,” I said. I set out for the Hidden Flower’s lifeboat, Captain Brinker behind me, Spirit following her.
One of my men guarded the lifeboat access. “Hubris here,” I told him in the dark. “I have made a deal. I am releasing this pirate to the lifeboat.”
My man moved aside, not questioning this. Captain Brinker entered the lifeboat. “Perhaps we shall deal again, Hubris,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I agreed noncommittally.
She closed the hatch. She would not be able to take off until the suppressor field stopped, but she was aware of that. The key element of our deal was that the lifeboat would not be fired on as it departed.
Then I found Spirit’s hand in the dark and drew her in to me. We embraced and kissed again like long-lost lovers. She was my closest kin and best friend; now my life had shape.
As I held her, noting her newly strange adult body so like that of my older sister, Faith, and yet reminiscent of the twelve-year-old child I had left, I knew there would be complications to negotiate. I would have to persuade the Navy captain to make no protest over my handling of either the traitor or the pirate captain. But a successful mission would make his record, too, look better. He could spare himself embarrassment by going along, and I rather thought he would. Spirit was a more complicated problem. I wanted her with me, now and always, but she was a civilian.
A civilian? She had had four years experience aboard a pirate ship! She surely knew more about handling a spacecraft than any ordinary person did.
“You are going to join the Navy,” I informed her.
“Of course,” she agreed, as if there had never been any question. Perhaps this was true; she had always had a clear notion where she was going, though she generally had not shared her insights with others.
Then the power returned. The lights came on, and we had to separate slightly. The lifeboat took off. Things were busy after that.
CHAPTER 4
CHIRON
True to my deal with Sergeant Smith, who was now back up to E6, I put in for Officer’s Training School and was accepted. I had thought Basic Training was bad; this was worse. But I struggled through for several months while my sister Spirit breezed through Basic. I emerged an ensign, O1, the lowest form of officer, and she became a private. I continued my training, and so did she, and when I was twenty and she seventeen, she, too, went in for officer’s training. In due course I was a lieutenant j.g., O2, and she was an ensign. One tends to think of the distaff as weaker, or at least gentler, but Spirit seemed to get through the rigors of training and qualifications, Tail and all, with less difficulty than I had.
Now Lieutenant Repro presented me with the next stage of his ambition. “You must achieve your own command,” he told me. “You must gather within it the most capable officers available, so as to make it the best unit in the Navy. But you must not let the upper echelons realize how good it is, or they will destroy it.”
I smiled. “I’m only a junior-grade lieutenant,” I reminded him. “It will be decades, if ever, before I command anything—and at such time as I do, I’ll be more interested in wiping out pirates than in forming the perfect concealed showcase unit.”
“Not so, Hubris,” he said. “You are a man of destiny. Your talent is the understanding of people. You will be a leader. You will indeed go alter the pirates—once you have your position.”
That interested me. “I have sworn to extirpate piracy from the System,” I said. “If your ambition aligns with that, I’m with you.”
“To abolish the illicit drug trade, it is necessary first to abolish piracy,” he said. “That is part of my ambition.”
I gazed at him. He was an addict, of what particular drug I felt it was not my business to know, but it continued to devastate him. He had grown more gaunt in the past three years. I had to believe him; he wanted the drug trade stopped. But if it stopped, his own supply would be cut off. His motive remained too complex for me to fathom.
“Your first target is Lieutenant Commander Phist,” he said. “Draw him into your orbit. He is the best logistics officer in the Navy.”
“How can an O2 lieutenant draw in an O4 commander?”
“You won’t stay O2 forever,” Repro said. “But he will remain 04 forever, just as I will remain O3 forever. You must find a way to snag him before he resigns from the Navy.”
I was now in charge of a maintenance platoon, doing routine inspections of Navy equipment. It was a standby operation, and I had time on my hands. I got to work researching Lieutenant Commander Phist.
Gerald Phist was thirty-five years old. He had been a rising logistics officer, highly competent, with an impressive number of citations for excellence. It had been his job to oversee the Navy’s acquisition of supplies and equipment, and he had done that well.
Then he had blown the whistle on a billion-dollar cost overrun that was bilking the Navy of hard-pressed resources and reducing combat efficiency. But in so doing he had stepped on the toes of certain profiteering commercial interests. Strings had been pulled, and instead of being rewarded for service to the Navy and, indeed, to Jupiter itself, Phist had been passed over for promotion, removed from his position, and assigned to irrelevant duties. His Navy career was essentially over, because he had done his job too well. He was described as a pleasant, handsome, conscientious, and extraordinarily capable man of conservative philosophy and absolutely honest; but these qualities, it seemed, counted for nothing in this situation.
Lieutenant Repro was right. There was the smell of something rotten in the Navy, and Commander Phist was the kind of officer I wanted at my side when the going got tough. But how could I, a lowly Hispanic lieutenant, keep Phist in the Navy, let alone bring him to me? What miracle did Repro require of me?
I discussed it with Spirit. As a surviving sibling of a devastated family, she was permitted to serve in my unit; the Navy did have some slight conscience about such things. At seventeen she was a lovely young woman, with luxuriant dark hair and a classic figure. Her face was not as striking as Faith’s had been, partly because of the faint scar tissue from a mishap we had had as refugees with a rocket motor, and her left little finger was a stub; but Spirit remained a woman of considerable esthetic appeal. Her mind, too, was laser swift; she was more intelligent than I, and more incisive. She also had more nerve, though it seldom showed overtly.
“I will fetch him for you,” she said.
Again I looked at her. My talent has this limitation: It loses effect when my own emotions are involved. I could not read my sister. But I knew she was capable of things I would hesitate to speculate about. “How?” I asked.
Spirit had always been able to bluff me out, the only person who could do so. She was, in a subtle sense, my strength. She would reveal her design to me in her own fashion and time. “I don’t know whether there’s any real meaning in Lieutenant Repro’s ambition,” I said. “He has worked out a slate of ideal officers as an intellectual exercise, not necessarily during his lucid periods. It may be no more than a pipe dream.”
“It’s a good dream,” she said.
Weeks passed in the normal routine, and the dream faded into the background. In the Navy one must live with delays; they are part of the bureaucratic fabric, without which it would doubtless fall apart. Every so often I dropped in on Sergeant Smith, who was still training recruits; he always grinned as he saluted me. I represented a victory for him; he had decided I was officer material, and he had been vindicated. He was doing the same with other selected recruits, steering them right. I was gratified to have come through for him. Yet so far my life as an officer was no more progressive than it had been as an enlisted man. Military life, if the truth must be told, is not nearly as dramatic as the recruiting posters pretend. Of course, it might be different during a war.
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