Now that I was beginning to understand its layout, the thing didn't seem as ugly. Homely, yes, but Hari was right; from an engineering standpoint it was a thing of beauty. Amazing power in a remarkably compact package. There had to be a way to use them. “I noticed the laser,” I said, “You obviously have something in mind for them.”
Hari nodded. “The laser’s mounted on the centerline,” he said. “No fancy targeting system, just some calibrated crosshairs etched into the plas of the cockpit screen. You aim the boat to aim the laser. Actually,” he added, “That’s nothing new. They use laser-equipped boats at the orbital factories to chop the asteroids into chunks for processing. We also thought about a centerline-mounted mass driver. A boat could handle one fifty centimeters in diameter.”
I was beginning to get excited. “These things could be better fighters than strengls! How much acceleration do they have?”
Both Hari and Tindarr grinned. “More than the pilot can take. This model is rated for 12g — with a robot pilot, of course.”
“Aye, I’ll show ‘ee!”
Tindarr reached into the maze of pipes and touched some hidden latch. The cockpit clamshelled open. He reached into the cockpit and retrieved a helmet, which he began to don. “We’uns put tergether a show f’r’ee, Commodore. G’wan up t’ye bridge, ‘n see what m’beauty c’n do!” Somehow, when he was talking about his craft, Tindarr’s face lost some of its ratlike appearance.
Hari led me out of the hold and toward the bridge. “As Toms said,” he told me, “We’ve arranged a demonstration. The Captain is launching Toms’ boat now.”
At the bridge hatch, Hari paused. “You’ll see, Val. Toms is amazing! Don’t prejudge him.” I promised I wouldn’t, and Hari led me onto the bridge and presented me to the Captain, Fors Lentarr.
Captain Lentarr explained that Toms Tindarr’s boat had been jettisoned, and that Tindarr was setting up on an attack vector while we retreated to a safe distance. He also told me that the target hulk had been pressurized with flammable gas at three atmospheres, and all airtight hatches had been dogged. “If we’re lucky,” He said, “We may be able to see some of the hits. If,” he added dryly, “You left any compartments unholed!”
The target hulk, magnified by the bridge screen, appeared stationary. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then a tiny splinter of light appeared in the corner of the screen. At an impossible speed, it shot toward the hulk. As Hari had said earlier, the laser’s beam wasn’t visible. When the captain increased the magnification of the hulk’s image, though, it sometimes became possible to detect a pinpoint of white where the beam hit the hull. Suddenly a white pinpoint slashed across the hull, and there was a flash as it apparently ignited the gases inside the ore carrier.
However, that wasn’t what I was watching. I was watching the boat. It was incredible. The thing flashed across the screen, firing as it came. As it passed the hulk, it seemed to slow at an incredible rate, and the laser again raked the old ore carrier. Its speed and maneuverability were incredible. The thing was actually corkscrewing around the target’s hull — literally running circles around it.
With a flare of fire, hulk's image split in half. The halves began to drift apart.
I stared at Hari, dumbfounded. He was just shaking his head. “I’ve seen it several times, but I still have trouble believing it,” he said.
I began to get angry. “It’s a trick! Hari, if you think . . .”
He gestured impatiently. “Oh, Val, it’s no trick! I grant you that it seems impossible for a vessel under human control to maneuver like that, but it is true!”
“But . . . But how can a ship maneuver like that? And how can a man stand those acceleration stresses?” I demanded, “And don't tell me you found room on that thing for gravity compensators.”
Hari and Captain Lentarr burst into laughter. “No. As far as the maneuvering capability is concerned, I was just as flabbergasted as you are until Toms explained. He uses the tractor and pressor beams. If he flips the tractor on for a fraction of a second as he's passing, he’s whipped around the target. If he uses the pressor for a split second, he’s slowed. Leave it on a fraction longer, and he’s kicked away.”
“And as for his tolerance of high g,” he continued, “It's just a mixture of drugs and a skinsuit-type space suit. Toms can tolerate over 8g without blacking out.”
Ideas began pouring forth from all of us as our excitement grew. Finally, I drew a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Hari, you’ve done it! You’ve given us a real chance, if we have the time to get set up.”
The next weeks were a blur of activity as we arranged for the manufacture of weapons and turrets, and the modification of rim tramps and mining boats to accommodate them. The final design mounted six turrets, three spaced 120 degrees apart near the bow of the tramp, and three more, also equidistant but offset sixty degrees from the first, just aft of her cargo bays. This meant that the ship had complete coverage with at least two turrets covering any possible target.
Once the design was settled, the next challenge was the tramp captains. Captain Cony had kept them happily negotiating for weeks, but now we had no more time. I asked him to call a meeting of the “Captains’ Council.”
I was received with courtesy, and handed an agenda. I strode to the podium and took a deep breath.
“My fellow Captains,” I began, “I’m here today to tell you that weapons designs have been approved, and are presently being manufactured. We will be ready to begin refit of the first ships within the week.” I paused, and a rumble of conversation broke out. I raised my hand, and the rumble died. “This means,” I continued, “That we no longer have the luxury of time for these negotiations. Captain Cony is now handing out a copy of our only and final offer. The Viceroy will pay for modifications to your vessels and the removal of the modifications later. If any ship is lost or damaged, the Viceroy will pay for repair or replacement. In addition, each ship will be compensated for lost trade based upon an average of the vessel's income over the past year, pro-rated for the amount of time spent in the service of the Viceroy.”
This time the rumble was a roar. A man in the front row stood up, and the babble subsided. “What if a ship had a bad year last year, Commodore?”
I shrugged. “Then she’ll have a bad year this year too. The Viceroy is compensating you for your ships and effort in his behalf, not adopting you.” The roar flared again. I raised a hand and it subsided slightly, but I still had to speak loudly to continue. “I’m a trader, too.” I said. “I know that it’s our natures to try to get the best deal possible. I’m telling you right now that this is it. It’s non-negotiable. Those of you who wish to volunteer your services and those of your ships should give your names to Captain Cony. No,” I added, “You will not get a better deal by dragging your feet; and you'll be risking events catching up with you.”
The man in the front row hadn’t sat down. “And what if we decide that we’re not interested in the Viceroy's take-it-or-leave-it offer?” he asked belligerently.
My temper flared, but I held onto it. “Then you’re free to see if you can get a better offer from Admiral Jonas.” There was a murmur of hushed conversation. “Or you can try to pretend that nothing’s happening. But don’t plan on being very popular. When this dustup is over, be assured that the people of all the rim planets will know who the heroic traders were who fought for them — and which traders didn't.”
“That’s blackmail!” the man shouted.
I grinned. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” I left the podium and the building. Even as I left, I could see the captains clustering around Cony, all wanting to show their heroism by being among the first to sign up. The man who’d spoken up was glowering at me, but he jostled into the throng. I wasn’t concerned. Any captain who wanted to stay on the rim would sign on.
Other problems were more complex. I still didn’t have a Flag Captain to command Valkyrie, or an Astrogator, and her refit was nearly complete. There were the thousands
of details involved in the manufacture and installation of the weapons systems, and the transportation of the mining boats. Since they weren't jump-capable, they had to be brought to Outback aboard tramps for arming and pilot training. Luckily, Toms Tindarr turned out to be an excellent instructor, and since his students knew his ability and weren’t put off by his appearance, they paid attention and learned quickly. Within a couple of weeks, space around Outback was crowded with darting, speeding boats. We’d run out of scrap hulls, and the students were training using ship-sized asteroids as targets.
When the vidphone activated, it took me a moment to recognize the Guild representative I’d contacted when we’d first arrived on Outback.
“Good news, Commodore,” he crowed. “We’ve found an Astrogator on Gamma who paid off a Beta-class freighter a few months ago.”
“Great!” I exclaimed. “Get him here as soon as possible. Send him a round-trip ticket, so he won't have to worry about getting back to Gamma if it doesn't work out.”
The man smiled broadly. “She’s here on Outback, Commodore. I felt sure you’d guarantee her passage. Shall I send her over? I think you’ll find her quite . . . er . . . striking!”
“She, eh?” I replied. “Yes, by all means send her over immediately. As for whether she's striking, she could be a purple-furred quadruped for all I care.”
The smile didn’t fade. "Of course, Commodore. She says she can be there within the hour." After abbreviated courtesies, we signed off.
I keyed the intercom to Jax’s office. “Jax, a woman will be coming within the next hour or so to see me. Bring her right in; she may be a replacement for Con.”
Chapter V
The intercom rang. Vice Admiral Micah Jonas keyed it, and Captain Jamin Van-Lyn’s voice emerged. “Admiral, I think you’d better get up to the bridge. I think we have a problem.” The old man's voice sounded urgent.
Micah sighed. “What is it, Jamin? I’m very busy.”
“We just received a report that Predator drove from the repair dock at maximum emergency boost. She took out one of the orbiting missile batteries as she passed.”
“What? Stop her! Shoot her down! If she gets to Cord, we’re in big trouble!”
Micah could almost hear the shrug in Van-Lyn's voice. “Bendo evidently waited until Nemesis was on the opposite side of the planet. It’ll be almost an hour before our weapons bear, and by then she’ll be out of range.” The added, “You fool!” was unspoken, but clear.
By the time Van-Lyn finished speaking; Micah was at the cabin door, on his way to the bridge.
“Who is in range?” he demanded as he stormed onto the bridge.
“Relentless has weapons that still bear,” Van Lyn replied, “But her drives are shut down. By the time she powers up, Predator will have jumped. It’s barely possible that Eagle could catch her before she jumps.”
Micah whirled to the Comm Officer. “Get me Captain Rhysman aboard Eagle!” he demanded. “Rhysman,” he rapped out when the connection was made, “Predator is deserting to join Cord. I want you to overtake and destroy her. Is that clear?”
“Yes Sir!” the youthful skipper replied. Even before the connection was severed, Rhysman was streaming orders to his bridge crew.
“Now,” Micah rapped to the Comm Officer, “Get me Bon-Lor aboard Relentless.” He ordered the battle cruiser to open fire on the fleeing Destroyer. Captain Bon-Lor was obviously unhappy with the orders, but Micah knew he’d obey.
Then, all Micah could do was hover over the screens displaying images routed from Relentless and Eagle via the satellites.
Relentless got off three missiles and four laser blasts before Predator was out of range. Two of the laser blasts indicated hits, but Predator's shields were up and her acceleration was unaffected. Predator destroyed two of the missiles, and Bon-Lor was forced to destroy the third, as it became as much a threat to Eagle as to Predator.
Predator continued to blast at maximum acceleration for the jump point. Eagle pursued on a converging course.
Micah cursed. “Will he catch Predator?” he demanded.
The Tactical Officer raised his head from his display. “Unknown, sir,” He replied crisply. “Tactical comp indicates that time to jump and time to intercept is identical to the limit of accuracy. Eagle may have time to deploy some weapons, however. Even one hit may slow Predator enough to let Eagle catch her.”
Micah grunted. He knew when an officer was trying to make up good news to soften bad news. Yes, Eagle might have time to deploy some weapons; but Predator would also have time to deploy weapons and countermeasures. Obviously, the Tactical Officer doubted that Eagle would stop Predator.
There was silence on the bridge as time slowed and the tiny blips crept across the screens. Hours dragged. Van-Lyn had food and drink brought for himself and the transfixed Micah.
Finally, after more than sixteen hours, the long range screens indicated a flurry of weapons activity and countermeasures, but then the blip that was Predator reached the jump point and disappeared, leaving Eagle to destroy three missiles that were barely too late.
Micah cursed. Predator was surely headed to Haven and Cord. That meant Cord would be warned of Micah’s plan.
Micah spun on his heel and headed back to his cabin. He had a lot of thinking to do and plans to change. He sighed. It looked like another long night.
Micah swept a glare around the conference table at his assembled captains. Their expressions varied, but Micah could detect widespread doubt, suspicion, and resentment. His control was wobbly. There were still far too many unreliables in key positions. The situation was intolerable. They were military people and he was their commander. Who did they think they were, questioning his orders? The Fleet was getting as decadent as the Empire itself!
“All right,” he said finally, “we can assume that Predator has defected to Cord. That means that our preparations must be speeded up. Cord will know that we’re coming, but he can only guess when. We’ll still be able to punish the traitors!”
There was a tense silence until finally Captain Rence Vidsen of Fearless took a deep breath and said, “There seems to be some doubt as to exactly who the traitors are, sir.”
Micah frowned and controlled his temper with an effort. He detested Vidsen, whom he always considered an unimaginative but fanatical Fleet loyalist. “I won’t pretend I don’t know what that means, Captain. I’ve seen evidence in all of you of a growing lack of respect and trust in me, your commanding officer. I find that appalling.
“I am not in the habit of explaining my orders and my decisions. However, it is obvious that I can no longer simply rely on your sense of duty or oaths of loyalty. I have been trying to minimize emotional and organizational trauma, but I find that my efforts have been misinterpreted and even subverted by my subordinates. Since my efforts have been in vain, I find myself with no alternative but to divulge information I felt, and still feel, would be better concealed. Please call up 128E-65d on your pocket comps.”
There was shuffling about as the officers retrieved the document. “This is a copy of a message I obtained from an agent on Prime. Please note the authentication codes; there is no way they could have been faked.”
“You will have noted,” Micah continued, “that the message is a personal one from the Emperor to Sander Cord, and deals with their plan for the secession of the rim sector from the Empire. The Emperor, our ruler, is conspiring to betray the very Empire he is charged with ruling and protecting!
“You will also have noted the Emperor’s comment that he has secret assurances from nearly enough influential Senators to push the ‘release’ through the Senate. I . . .”
“The Emperor is the Empire, Admiral.” Micah glowered at Vidsen’s growled interruption. “An Emperor cannot betray the Empire, and I will not betray the Emperor!”
Micah slammed a hamlike fist on the table. “Nonsense! We have sworn oaths to protect and serve the Empire. An Emperor is merely a man charged with serving the Empire. The Emp
eror has a responsibility to rule and protect the Empire, not destroy it!
“Yes,” he continued, “we swore to serve the Empire and the Emperor. However, our duty to the Empire comes first. Emperors come and go, but the Empire is eternal. That’s why we don’t have to renew our oaths every time an Emperor dies. Eron is betraying his duty to the Empire.”
Micah shrugged. “Now you can see why I tried to ignore the Emperor’s role in this treason and to assign the blame to Cord alone. I was trying to spare you and all the Fleet people in this sector the stress and trauma this information is certain to entail.
“Now that you’ve forced me to reveal the truth, I hope you will support me more willingly, and will not make it necessary to confuse our people. If we do this right, the people of the Empire will never learn that the Emperor tried to betray them.”
It wasn’t that easy, of course. The discussion went on for hours, becoming quite acrid at times. Sometimes Micah was on the defensive, at others mounting increasingly violent verbal assaults. When the meeting finally wound down and the dozen participants trooped out arguing and gesticulating, Micah signaled to Van-Lyn to stay behind.
He glared across the table at the slumped figure. Van-Lyn was turning into a real liability. He wandered around like a zombie, with a defeated, resigned air. The old man seemed to have aged another twenty years in the last months. Oh, Van-Lyn knew that his fate was linked with Micah’s for good or ill. He’d apparently decided it was ill. For the hundredth time, Micah wished he could afford to get rid of the old bastard.
“What do you think, Jamin? Did we convince them?”
The old man shrugged. “Some of them. That message is pretty damning. But they’ve been conditioned since childhood to revere the Emperor. And the older the man, the more ingrained that reverence and loyalty.”
The Emperor's Conspiracy Page 7