He didn't wait to sort it out either. The detonations obscured much of the board for some seconds. There was a clear target however in close range, fleeing in system and the friend or foe computer said it wasn't one of theirs.
It identified it as a frigate at three quarters as long as a destroyer. It carried no friend or foe transponder to ward off missiles, because they were on the end of the ship that had been shot off. He never considered it might be a Fargone vessel or other third party. The officer laid his cursor on the target and released four X-heads within seconds of the plot forming at emergence.
The Phoenix was gone at the drive end and damage control was trying to sort things out. However the weapons system was still on dual mode to shoot manually, or if the computer saw a clear threat. Both tubes had missiles and power. The friend or foe had been switched off so they could shoot at the Retribution, as the computer insisted on seeing her as a friendly. It fired both tubes twice before somebody shut the whole system down manually. That was the last of their X-head missiles anyway. Then the missiles from the Calgary hit.
The Calgary fended off the first two missiles. Of the second pair the first one managed a hit that barely punched a small hole through the ship a third of the way back. However it took out the starboard anti-missile missile locker feed. The software rolled the ship to bring the other to bear, but way too slowly. The second missile bored in unopposed and detonated five hundred kilometers away. The primary beam took out the rear reactor and running drive system. The Calgary vanished in a ball of plasma that made the missile warheads look feeble.
Key West hailed Fargone. "We demand you cease fire and stand down. This is an unprovoked attack. We will defend ourselves vigorously if targeted again."
"Stop shooting long enough to read your plot you frigging idiot. No Fargone forces have fired a single shot. The USNA destroyer Phoenix fired on the Red Tree Heavy Cruiser Retribution. The Retribution fired on the Phoenix and heavily damaged her before jumping. She also laid fire on the Paradise emergence point. That fire destroyed the Deep Space Battle Platform we saw emerge. Her escort cruiser destroyed the wreck of the Phoenix and was destroyed by her return fire."
"We strongly urge you to quit shooting each other. Sooner or later you are going to screw up and shoot a neutral and we will not be amused. You were not invited in to use our system as a shooting gallery. We are dispatching a fast courier to Earth with the plot to lodge a complaint, because we don't trust you to not try to shift the blame to us."
The Fargone courier could be seen on run for jump and for an instant the Combat Control officer in the Key West read the distances to see if an interception was possible. That would have precipitated war with Fargone. Then sanity returned.
Skeptical and watching intently for any betrayal, he did what Control suggested and read the plot, the shifting dots and weaving colored lines on his screen telling the story as the clock kept pace in the corner. Bright bubbles blowing and popping in innocent parody of nuclear death, "Shittt..." he muttered. They were right.
* * *
Jesus pulled in an abandoned State Forest Campground. They pulled in among the trees, where they would be sheltered from the wind. The agents jumped out and worked with precision.
Two cases of spray paint were cut open and a step ladder spread and locked. The top of the van was cleaned and being painted before the windows were completely masked. The license plate was yanked, the area behind painted and the new plate installed before a painter returned and blended in to the edges.
An agent with a shovel and a rake jogged off into the woods and returned to carry the heavy weapons and empty spray cans away to bury. In twenty minutes they had a dark blue van, with correct plates that would run clean on the computer and a florist's bright logo on the side. It really looked good too. There were no runs and it was a very fast drying formula. The cartons and masking were doused with a nonsmoking fluid and burned carefully in a fire pit.
The agents jumped back in the van and the last agent finished working back to the van with a coarse broom obscuring their footprints. He leaned out the door and cleaned the dirt off the broom carefully at the end. "Fire out?" asked Chris. "Shovel washed off?" he inquired. "No blue paint on your clothing or hands?" At the chorus of affirmative replies he announced, "Good, free to roll," to the driver.
"Ready for some late lunch?" Jesus asked the Williamsons. "We'll need to eat on the road. I have to go catch a shuttle pretty quickly. My crew here will take care of you."
* * *
Lee watched the bridge they had been so concerned about slide by on their east side. The pilot chatted briefly with someone on the radio and they turned and descended abruptly to a real airport with a paved runway. They taxied between a couple hangers and the observer got out and scouted around, before they were escorted into a man door on one of the hangers.
They were seated in an office that had a desk messy with piles of bills, invoices and print-outs. The sheets were a jumble of pink and yellow and blue. There were at least a dozen objects on the desk Lee could not even identify. The computer looked like it should be in a museum. There were manuals and clear plastic boxes on the shelves, with black O-rings and electrical connectors. The chair at the desk was beefy oak with a split plastic cushion. The corner held a table with a coffee maker and a sign taped on a coffee can reminded the habitually cheap to pay five dollars. Under the smell of coffee, a trace of rubber and kerosene and something else stronger lingered, sweet and burnt.
They seated themselves in cheap green plastic chairs like you would use on a patio. Lee got a cup of coffee and she had no smaller bills, so she stuck a hundred in the can. The coffee was burnt and old and worth every cent. There was a washroom off the office with a man's shaving things on a shelf and a couple girlie magazines. Lee used the toilet and leafed through a magazine amazed. Why was a woman clearly snarling considered attractive? Gordon was right, a human society was complex beyond her reckoning. She washed her hands and looked at the empty paper towel dispenser and a dingy gray terry towel hanging on a ring. She wiped her hands on her pants.
They could hear muffled comings and goings and the occasional rumble of engines. The observer came back after a couple hours and led them back out. The shadows had gotten longer and sitting where the little plane had been was a sleek jet, engines idling with a soft moan.
The stairway folded up and the hatch folded down with a faint whine and they were seated in much greater luxury than lawn chairs. The fuselage was triangular and narrow, only one seat on each side. A man with receding hair and a pointy nose came back, got in a refrigerator and got two plastic wrapped sandwiches out, which he dropped in their laps.
"Sorry, but we have ham and cheese, or ham and cheese. You want Coke or Lime?"
"Coke and do you perhaps have some whisky?" Lee asked.
The man did a double take and then laughed. "What the hell, I guess they can't lock you away longer than forever." He fumbled around in a cupboard and got a square bottle of bourbon with a black and white label. "Don't drink enough of this to show," he warned. "We'll be flying a couple hours, but I don't want to explain why you can't walk straight. Sometimes you don't know you are to that stage, until you try standing up."
"I just want one for a service," Lee assured him.
"Something religious?" he asked puzzled.
"To fallen comrades and shipmates," Lee explained. "I didn't ask anybody to die for me," she said upset. "I don't even know her name."
"Oh, her name was Wendi," he said, changing tone completely. "Thank you. I'd have one with you but I have to sit the second seat." He gave her a squeeze on the shoulder and went forward.
The jet seemed to climb a long time, then when the sky was a dark, almost indigo, it turned west and the engines picked up power instead of easing off. Lee watched the wings ease back until she could barely see the edge by leaning right against the view port. The plane gave a little shudder and the sound changed subtly. She had no idea where they were going.
>
* * *
The Lunar Ambassador brought someone with him this time. Al Plantus didn't know him, but the strange haircut and the odd lapel pin said out-system to him.
"Mr. Secretary this is Wu Opportunity, special envoy to the USNA from the Republic of Fargone. He arrived in the Lunar Republic," he glanced down at his com, "well, today actually. We expedited coming to see you. He has a communication from his government and a recording he's like to share."
"Certainly, I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Wu. I've often wished a government your size had a permanent envoy in the US instead of just a consulate in London. What would you like to tell me? Would you like refreshments while we speak?"
"No thanks. The London office is run by an Earthie. We couldn't get anyone to live here no matter how much money we threw at it. They tried to make it a punishment for capital crimes, to be sentenced as Earth Ambassador, but the Court ruled it cruel. I dragged the Lunnie along to kick me in the shins when I get too rude. Fargone folks are kind of outspoken by Earth standards." He pulled out an envelope.
"This is all written up as flowery and sweet as can be, but the gist of it is this: Your warships are not welcome in our system. The three survivors of their last unfortunate visit are on the way home at our urging. They seemed to understand that six cruisers and four destroyers meant it was a very strong request. I took a fast courier so I beat them here. Don't send any more without asking our leave and don't expect us to say yes if you ask? Understand?"
The Lunar Ambassador gave him a playful kick. "The 'understand' was uncalled for Opportunity. There should have been at least three vague sentences using 'concern' and misunderstanding, but unfortunate was a very diplomatic word. Points for that."
The levity did not amuse Plantus. "I assume you are speaking of Admiral Benson's task force. It is the only one operating in your direction. I find it hard to believe you reduced a fleet of a Deep Space Battle Platform, two cruisers and three destroyers to three survivors. You are aware he was sending escorts off as scouts to examine other systems? You may have seen his fleet in reduced strength."
"We sure did, after they got blown to hell," he got kicked pretty solid and gave Eric Lannis a dirty look. "What I mean is, look at the system plot yourself. There is a chip in the envelope too. We don't know about any Admiral Benson. Never got to talk to him. If he was in that big assed Battle Platform, he ate a missile from the Red Tree Heavy Cruiser Retribution less than a second after emerging in our system."
"A bunch of Derf, slugged it out with a Battle Platform and won?" Al looked skeptical.
"No slugging. More a sucker punch. Platform never got a shot off. The Retribution had been fired on by your destroyer the Phoenix. What possessed them to fire on a Heavy Cruiser in near beam range don't ask me – but they did. Got about forty meters vaporized off the ass end of their ship for their trouble. The Retribution changed course and jumped out – way late in their run to be doing that. Brass balls like – he made a generously large sphere with his hands – and politely informed Traffic Control of his change in itinerary under fire, like he did this every day before lunch." He leaned forward getting into the story.
"But the Phoenix got off a drone before she got hit. Back into the Paradise system. So they are sitting over there waiting to clobber this Derf when he pops through. And he doesn't. They have to wonder. Did he get hit too bad to jump? Maybe blown to plasma if the Phoenix got lucky? He knows they are going to have to come see. Who could resist? So he shoots a spread at the emergence point blind before he jumps. Now that is some shooting! Lay your missiles where you think they are going to be emerging and jump out!" His enthusiasm was however misplaced to his audience.
"And the others?" the Undersecretary asked, literally sick to his stomach.
"Oh, what the Derf didn't bag the stupid…" he jerked his leg away from a nasty kick. "What the Derf didn't shoot up was lost to blue on blue. Your cruiser and what was left of the Phoenix blew each other to hell. We didn't shoot any. Don't think that means we won't," he said waving an angry finger. "You can't just drag your stupid little war into our system and start blazing away. We're not going to put up with it!"
"So the surviving force coming home is?"
"A cruiser and two destroyers. Be happy you are getting that back. Half the angry captains in our navy were begging to finish them off on open mic. We could have done it, but odds were way too high, about twenty- percent, that at least one of our boys would have eaten a missile. They were hot to risk it, but you know what a cruiser costs now?" he asked.
"Yes, yes I'm keenly aware what a cruiser costs," he answered. He pulled the letter out of the envelope. There was a data chip clipper crimped on the corner of the letter. He turned it over and started scribbling and suddenly thought of something.
"Your story is short the fate of a destroyer. Was another destroyer lost in this action? Is it on the chip?" he asked.
"Nope. It doesn't show on the plot and we did not see it taken. I suggest you ask the Derf about that," he said slyly. The plot chip didn't go back far enough to show the Twelve Palms being carried in grappled to the Retribution. Something told him they wouldn't be reasonable about that if they found out.
"What are you writing on the back of my letter?" Opportunity asked.
"My resignation," the Undersecretary told him. "If you come back here tomorrow Mr. Swenson will be in charge. Assistant Undersecretary for Interstellar Affairs Mel Swenson, is almost as outspoken as you." He refrained from saying vulgar. "You may enjoy each other's company. I told the President the orders he gave Benson could stir up trouble where there wasn't any. I, like you, have had quite enough." He signed the note with a flourish. "I shall be with my family in Florida tomorrow. I'm going to buy a fishing pole and retire," he vowed.
"Isn't that rather irregular?" the envoy asked, of the defaced document.
"A Fargoer, worried about irregularities?" He asked amused. "Two hundred years from now some idiot historian will argue my resignation was really not a direct consequence of our war with the Derf. I think this links them closely enough to make my feelings clear," he said, rapping the document with a forefinger.
* * *
After she ate her sandwich and drank most of her coke, Lee told the story of her visit to a dockside bar and service for her parents to Clare. She looked in the cupboard but there was nothing but a paper cup. It would have to do. She poured a scant shot and said, "To lost mates. To Wendi, I'm sorry I didn't know you better," and downed it at a gulp. She took a swallow of her Coke to wash the harsh taste away.
She offered the cup to Clare with a questioning eyebrow. "I've never had any," Clare admitted, but she took the cup and poured a tiny bit, perhaps a teaspoon.
"To lost friends," Clare said. "I don't think I could ever be so brave." She took it at a gulp and made a face. "It's horrible," she said. She picked up her can but it was empty.
"It's much better in a Coke with some ice," Lee allowed. She offered her can that still had a few swallows. "I'm going to go forward and see what is going on."
The door to the cockpit had a little handle, but she stopped and rapped on the door with her knuckles. It sounded and felt pretty flimsy. Must not be a pressure hatch she decided, surprised. Instead of it opening or a shouted 'come in' a speaker she hadn't seen above came alive with an electronic crackle and a very bad imitation of a French accent said, "Hallo? Who iz thes? Do you 'ave an appointment? Thes is a very bad time. My lady friend and I are just, uh, sitting to, uhm, dinner, yes, dinner. Can you come back?"
"I'm sorry I bothered you. I'll go back and see if I can put the fire out myself."
The door popped open. The pointy nosed guy was smiling. "Ah visitors are always a pleasure. What can we do for you? Some aerobatics to entertain? A turn at the controls?"
"I sort of wondered where we are going. Off world I know, but do you have any idea how? I have my spacer's papers on me. But I grabbed Clare at the last minute. I didn't think until just now, about how we are going to ge
t her past the gate without papers. Any ideas?"
"Nobody told me you have papers. That would have been handy. However we did not include them in our plans. We don't have to worry about passing a gate because we are never going anywhere outside a port. Our landing in the little low security field where we picked you up never happened. We show as leaving Massachusetts from a very high security field and flying directly to Vancouver. We will fuel up there, never leaving the plane and go to a somewhat less sensitive port in Alaska. Follow that?"
"Yes, it's a security weakness. Once you are inside you have relative freedom of movement. I'll remember that."
"In Alaska we will board a freight shuttle. They still load crew off the tarmac. No boarding security like public transport uses, with screening at the loading ramp. You can walk on for a courtesy lift with your papers, but Clare I'm afraid will go like we had planned for you."
"How's that?"
"She will be hot expedited freight, marked perishable, pressure hold only," he smiled.
"Straight to Luna or through a station?"
"The station would be under Earth authority. If not USNA, likely someplace with treaties and extradition. So we are going for the expensive fast shuttle, straight to the Lunar Republic. The shuttle crew is Blackwater," they informed her. "The Company," and she could hear the capital in how he said it, "has considerable assets in air and space transportation."
"Oh good. I can just unload my pistol and be legal. The mayor gave my dad a pistol and just cautioned him not to load it in public pressure so I know it's OK."
"You have a pistol?" The copilot asked, warily.
"You know old man Lewis?" the pilot asked over his shoulder.
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