Planet Pirates Omnibus

by neetha Napew

  “It’s a ship!” The others stared at her.

  “It can’t be,” Erdra said. “It’s underground.”

  “Silo construction.” From the blank looks, none of diem knew what that meant. “Look,” and Sassinak pointed to her proof, “the stuff on top’s designed to look like real buildings, but it’s just shell. Probably even folds back. Down here, this is a lot more than self-contained habitat for a planet . . . this, and this,” her finger stabbed at the plans. “Framing of a standard midsize personal yacht. My guess would be Bollanger Yards, maybe a hundred-fifty years ago. When was that section of the city built up?”

  Erdra scowled, fiddled on the keyboard she now carried, and said, “Eighty-two years ago, subdivided for light industry. Before that, nothing but a single ware-bouse and ... a derelict shuttle station, from back when private shuttles were legal.”

  “But a ship couldn’t last that long, could it?” asked Gerstan.

  “Easily, protected like that. They’ve maintained it. They’ll have replaced obsolete equipment with new. No problem to them. And nothing wrong with the hull design. The question is, do they keep it fitted to launch?”

  “Launch? From underground?”

  Civilians I Did they not even know that most planetary defenses used some silo-sited missiles, often placed on moons or asteroids in the system, safe from random bombardment by stray rocks?

  “Launch. As in, escape. If things get too hot. Which is precisely what we were planning to make them.”

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  “How could we tell? And what will it do if it does launch? Will it start a fire?”

  “Erdra, do you have a hardcopy of all the connection data?”

  Wide-eyed, the girl handed over a sheaf of them. Sassinak began paging through as she talked.

  “If it’s the hull I think it is, and if it’s got the engines it should have, then it will do more than start a fire if it launches. They won’t have intended that silo to be used more than once. Its lining will combust to produce part of the initial lift and since they would only do it in an emergency, it’s probably set to backblast down any communicating tunnels. Even though that wastes thrust, I doubt they’ll care.”

  Her eyes scanned the sheets, translating into Fleet terms the different civilian notation. Yes. There. Solid chemical fuel, far more efficient than any in the dawn of the human space exploration, but still unstable and requiring replacement at intervals. So the hardened access tunnel for that alone, in case anything went wrong, would have blast hatches at both ends. He could still get away.

  The old rage burned behind her eyes. So close, and he could still get away. She could almost see them getting near, breaking through one defense after another, only to be met by the blazing flare of the engines as the yacht lifted away from trouble to some luxurious hidey-hole in another system.

  « Sassinak!»

  Her heart caught, then went on. A Weft—one of her Wefts—in range. She sent back an urgent query.

  «Ten marines, two of us, Timran piloting the shuttle.»

  The shuttle! Virtually helpless against real fighting craft, even a shuttle could take an unarmed yacht. Sassinak felt a rush of excitement. Now she had them trapped; The Parchandri and whoever his main conspirators were. She could block their escape. She could push them into it, make them commit themselves, show themselves. And then destroy them. She realized the others were looking at her oddly.

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  “Don’t worry,” she said. “That’s not the disaster it seems like. In fact, when you know an enemy’s bolthole, it becomes a trap.”

  “But if the ship goes up, how can we . .

  Sassinak waved for quiet, and the babble died. “My cruiser dropped a shuttle, remember?” Heads nodded. She went on. “So if I get where I can contact them,” and she waved her little comunit, “they can intercept it.” She was not about to tell them she could talk to her Wefts. She’d heard enough racial slurs down here to convince her of that. “But there’s plenty of work for the rest of you.”

  It would take pressure to make them run, pressure in the Grand Council, pressure underground. They must feel threatened every way but that. And she could not use these civilian lives freely. They were not hers to throw away, not even in such a cause.

  Chapter Nineteen

  FSP Escort Brightfang, FedCentral Docking Station

  On the bridge of the escort vessel Brightfang by the courtesy of his old classmate Killin, Fordeliton had a startling view of the Zaid-Dayaris departure as the escort approached the FedCentral Main Station. First he noticed that the Flight Bay was open, then he could see the elevator rising with a shuttle poised on its narrow surface. He wondered briefly if Sassinak were letting Timran run an errand as the shuttle lifted away, the Flight Bay closing in behind it. A few seconds later, the ship itself eased off the docking probe. He felt a great hollow open in his middle. He had counted on reporting to Sassinak the moment he arrived. He was in time for the trial. Why was she leaving? What would he do now?

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  No one answered. Killin looked angry as he spoke into his comset, but Ford could not quite hear what he said. The little ship shivered. Someone’s tractor beam had swept it. He knew better than to ask anything more, and made himself as invisible as he could. Then Killin turned to him.

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  “They won’t let us dock! They’re holding us in position with the tractors and they’re threatening worse.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Your captain According to them, she killed an admiral onplanet and whoever she left in charge of the Zaid-Dayan has gone completely bonkers, ghost-hunting. They think it’s something catching, probably from Ireta.”

  “Arly! It’d be Arly if Sassinak left the ship. And Arly’s not crazy. Patch me over to “em.”

  Killin shook his head. “Can’t. They’ve jammed us just in case. So far as they’re concerned, Fleet personnel are all crazy until proven otherwise. They’re not about to let us spread our damaging lies.”

  “They said that?” With astonishment came the sudden piercing loss. Where was Sassinak? In prison? Surely not dead! He realized that he did not want to deal with a world that had no Sassinak in it, not anywhere.

  “They said it’s worse than that. The Insystem Security officer I spoke to had been thrown off the Zaid-Dayan. By Wefts.”

  “But I’ve got orders. I’ve got to get this information down there in time for Tanegli’s trial.”

  Killin shrugged. “Feel like space-swimming the last kilometer? And then I doubt they’ll let you go down in a shuttle like a nice, harmless civilian.”

  “Why are they scared of you? They don’t know you’ve got a deadly Iretan survivor with you.”

  Killin looked startled. “I forgot. You were there, weren’t you? Snarks, if they figure that out ...”

  “We don’t tell them. We don’t tell them I have any connection to the Zaid-Dayan or Sassinak. I’m just a humble courier, carrying a sealed satchel from Sector HQ to FedCentral’s Justice Center.”

  “I didn’t pick you up at Sector HQ.”

  “And who knows that? Got a good reason for turning me over to these idiots?”

  Killin shrugged. “No. But that still doesn’t get you into the Station. If they relent. . .”He broke off as his comunit blinked at him and he cut the volume onto the cabin speakers.

  “. . . assurances that no member of your crew was at

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  any time on the proscribed planet Ireta, which is believed to be the source of a plague affecting mental capacity, you will be allowed to dock and proceed with normal business.”

  Killin winked at Ford and spoke into the com. “Sir, this ship has never even been in the same sector as Ireta. We’re a scheduled courier run between Sector Eight HQ and the capitol. We have a courier onboard, with urgent sealed messages from Sector to the Justice Center, as I believe your stripsheet will show.”

  A long pause, then another
voice. “Right, Captain. You are on the sheet, listed as courier, with one passenger carrying papers under diplomatic seal. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. The rest of the crew hasn’t changed since the last run.”

  “Do you ... ah ... have any knowledge of the Zaid-Dayan s crew? If any debarked at Sector HQ?” Killin raised his eyebrows at Ford, and Ford shook his head quickly, then scribbled a note to him. Killin began drawling his answer as he read.

  “Well, only what we heard, you know, back at Sector. Whole crew was ordered to appear here as potential witnesses or something, is what I Heard. Certainly didn’t hear of anyone leaving the ship there.”

  Killin’s grin at Ford was wolfish. He didn’t like to lie, but this was not a lie. What Ford had told him in the week they’d been together was entirely separate from what he’d heard at Sector. More interesting, too.

  “Very well. We will proceed with docking.” Killin clicked the com off, and shook his head’at Ford.

  “You’re going to have to be lucky to get away with this. And that captain of yours shouldn’t be so trigger-happy. Admirals! I’ve known a few I’d like to blow away, but actually doing it gives such a bad impression to the Promotion Board.”

  Ford maintained the cool reserve expected of a courier all the way through Customs, an ordeal usually reserved for civilians, but in this instance imposed in its full rigor on every Fleet member. He gave his name,

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  his rank, his number, and his current posting: special orders to Fleet Headquarters, FedCentral.

  “Last ship posting?” This was almost a snarl.

  Ford allowed himself a faint, sad smile. “I’m sorry to say, the Zaid-Dayan. I understand it’s been a problem to you?”

  He dared not try to conceal this, any more than his real identity. But the Zaid-Dayan had arrived in port without him, with someone else listed as Sassinak’s second-in-command. He had a slight chance.

  If the Insystem Security officer had had movable ears, they’d have pricked. He could feel the interest.

  “Ah. And you served with Commander Sassinak?”

  “Some time back, yes.”

  His tone indicated that the further back in time that association slipped, the happier he would be. The Security officer did not relax, but his eyelids flicked.

  “And have you had contact with Commander Sassinak since?”

  “No. I had no reason to contact the Commander once I left her . . . command.” Nothing so blatant as open hostility, just a chill. He had been glad to leave her command, and no backward glances.

  “I see.” The officer looked down at a datascreen Ford could not see. “This was before the Ireta incident?”

  Ford nodded, tight-lipped, and muttered, “Yes.”

  They would have his files, but were unlikely to have the personnel history of the Zaid-Dayan.

  “We show no ship assignments after that.”

  “I had special duty.” It had indeed been special. “Plainclothes work; I’m afraid I cannot comment on it.”

  “Ah. Duration?”

  “Nor that, I’m sorry.” Ford’s regret was genuine. He’d have liked to tell someone else about Madame Flaubert and her lapdog. “Some months, I can say.”

  “And you’ve had no contact with I re tans since that assignment?”

  Really it was too easy, the way the man asked all the wrong questions. He didn’t even have to lie.

  “No. I reported directly, got my orders and boarded the next courier.”

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  “Very well, then. We’ll escort you to the next shuttle and to the Fleet offices. There’s been some unrest because of the . . . unfortunate incidents.”

  Ford gathered the details of the unfortunate incidents, at least as they were known to the press, on his way downside. His escort, nervous at first but increasingly relaxed as Ford showed no inclination to leap up and act crazy, filled in what the news reports left out without adding any real information.

  Sassinak had been onplanet and had killed someone. They were now fairly sure it was not Admiral Coromell. Ford let his eyebrows rise. She and the native Iretan had then disappeared, and nothing had been seen of them since,

  “Dear me,” he said, stifling a yawn. “How tiresome.”

  His escort delivered him safely to the front door of Fleet offices. Ford noticed that civilians did veer away from him, as if he might be contagious. The marines on guard at the door saluted briskly and let him inside. So far, so good, although he had no real idea what to do next. Still playing innocent courier, he reported to the officer on duty and mentioned that he had important evidence for the Iretan matter.

  “You! You’re from her ship! How in Hades did you get through?” The duty officer, a Tenant, had spoken loud enough to turn heads. Ford noticed the quick glances.

  “Easy, there,” he said quietly, smiling. “I broke no laws and created no ruckus. Shall we keep it that way? And how about announcing me to the Admiral?”

  “Admiral Coromell?”

  “That’s right.” He glanced around and saw the eyes fall before his like wheat whipped by wind. Something wrong in this office, too. “I believe Commander Sassinak would have told him I was coming.”

  “N-no, sir. The Admiral’s been oflplanet, hunting over on Six. That’s why we thought at first . . . why what they said . . . but the dead man wasn’t Coromell . . .”

  This made little sense. Ford tried to hack his way through the verbiage.

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  “Is the Admiral aboard now?”

  “Well, no, sir, he’s not. He’s en route, I’ve been told. No ETA yet. He was out hunting at the time of the—of whatever happened. That’s why no one could reach him, you see, and ...”

  “I see.” Ford would gladly have choked this blath-erer, but he still had to find someone to share his information with. “Who’s in charge, then?”

  “Lieutenant Commander Dallish, but he’s not available right now, sir. He was up all night, and he ...”

  Ford thought sourly that Dallish was probably a passed-over goofoff, lounging in bed in midafternoon just because he’d been up all night. Coromell had a good reputation, but if this office was any indication, he had quit earning that reputation some time back. He realized that the day’s fatigues and surprises might have something to do with his attitude, but the planetside stinks had given him a headache. He wanted to hand over his highly important information, enjoy a decent fresh-cooked meal, and sleep. Now he could foresee that he was going to have to wait around for a lazy brother officer who would want to sit up and gossip about Sassinak. No. He would not play that game.

  “Could you tell me where the Prosecutor’s office is, then? I’ve got a hand delivery there, too.”

  The Tenant’s ability to give clear directions met Ford’s expectations, which were low. He accepted the offer of a marine guide and escort, and refused the suggestion that he would be less conspicuous in civilian clothes. He would take his evidence to the Prosecutor, he would find his own way back, by way of a decent restaurant. Surely the Prosecutor’s staff would know of some.

  By then, surely this Dallish would be awake, and if not . . . There was always a bunk in the Transient Officers Quarters. He had the uneasy feeling of being watched as he and his escort stepped onto the slideway, but shrugged it off. Of course he was being watched. The news had everyone paranoid about Fleet officers. But if he acted like a big, calm, bored errand-boy, nothing should happen to him.

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  Lunzie recognized his retreating back, but couldn’t get Coromell’s attention until Ford was out of sight.

  “Who?” Coromell said, peering at the crowded slideway.

  “Ford!” Lunzie was ready to cry with sheer frustration. It was impossible that everything could go so wrong. “Sassinak’s Exec, from the Zaid-Dayan. He was

  herel”

  “Omigod!” Dallish slammed his hand onto the window-frame “It’s my fault. You’d told us he was coming, but I was still thinking he’d report t
o his ship first. He must’ve gotten to the Station after ...”

  “We’ll find him. Just call down and ask the duty officer where he went.”

  But although he told Dallish where Ford was going, they could not find him again. All communications to the Prosecutor’s office were blocked.

  “Lines engaged. Please call again later” in muted synthetic speech so sweet Lunzie wanted to gag.

  “There’s got to be a way,” she said. “Can’t you break

  into the line?”

  “I’m trying. We don’t want anyone to know the Admiral’s here yet,” Dallish said, “so I can’t use his special code.”

  By die time they did get through, it was after hours as die computer’s secretarial function insisted. When they worked their way through the multiple layers of authority and back down through the same layers trying to find die person to whom Ford would have reported tf he’d been there, he’d already left. Without an escort. No, nobody knew where he’d gone. He’d been asking around for good places to eat, and the speaker thought he’d talked most to someone who had left even earlier. Sorry.

  “He’ll come back here,” said Coromell, without much conviction. “It’s standard procedure.”

  “Nothing in this entire situation is standard procedure,” Lunzie said. “Why should he follow it?”

  It came out sharper than she intended, and she realized all at once that she was hungry again and very, very tired.

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  Despite his confident insistence that he could cer-| tainly get something to eat and find his own way back to the Fleet offices, Ford was not entirely sure just where he was. After a long wrangle about what he considered minor matters, he had left the Prosecutor’s office. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his captain’s exactly when and where he’d left the Zaid-Dayan to visit his great-aunt. They’d had his original taped deposition; he hadn’t wanted to repeat it.

  The Prosecutor’s staff gave him the distinct impression that Sassinak’s disappearance with Aygar and Lunzie’s non-appearance were somehow his fault. At least he was there to be griped at. He had pointed out that since the first report that die dead man was an admiral had been wrong, die report that Sassinak had |. anything to do widi die murder might be wrong, too.