Planet Pirates Omnibus

by neetha Napew

  Sassinak peeled Aygar’s fingers off her wrist, one by one. He gave her a worried sideways glance and she

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  shook her head slightly. Lunzie still stood calmly, balanced, apparently untouched by the Diplonian’s verbal assault. Had she expected it? Sassinak thought not.

  The Speaker intervened again. “Did you file a complaint about your alleged abduction?”

  “Naturally, I informed the Prosecutor’s office. They had me in for illegal entry.”

  “Well?” The Speaker was looking at die Prosecutor who shrugged.

  “We took her information, but since she had no particulars to offer and we have no authority to investigate crimes on Diplo, we considered that she was lucky to be alive and took no action.”

  Sassinak might have missed the signal if Aygar had not reacted to it with an indrawn breath.

  “What?” she murmured, turning to look at him.

  ‘Tanegli’s handsign. That guard just gave it and the other one ...”

  “Lying lightweight!” Again the Diplo delegate’s bellow attracted all eyes. Or almost all. Sassinak saw the guard nearest die witness stand shift his weight, the reflections from his chestful of medals suddenly moving. What was he ... Then she recognized the position.

  “Lunziel DOWN!” Her voice carried across the chamber effortlessly.

  Lunzie dropped just as the guard’s massive leg swept across the railing. It could have killed her if he’d connected. Sassinak herself was out of the guest box, with Aygar only an instant behind her. Lunzie popped back up and, with deceptive gentleness, tapped the guard on the side of the neck. He sagged to his knees just as Sassinak met the first bailiffs staff.

  “ORDER!” the Speaker yelled into the microphone, but it was far too late for that.

  The bailiff had not expected Sassinak’s combination of tuck, roll, strike, and pivot, and found his own staff suddenly out of his hands and aimed at his head. Singleminded in his original rage, Aygar had launched himself across the Defense table to grapple with Tanegli. A gaggle of legal clerks flailed at Aygar with papers and

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  briefcases, trying to save their client from summary execution.

  The eight justices had rolled out of their exposed seats, and only the Ryxi’s head peered out as it chittered furiously in its own language. Most of the delegates had shut themselves into their sealed seats, but the heavy-worlders from Diplo and Colrin emerged, clad in space armor which they must have worn under their ceremonial robes.

  Sassinak tossed Lunzie the bailiffs staff just as the guard Lunzie had hit came up again. Lunzie slammed the heavy knob onto his head, then swung the length violently to knock a needier free from a guard who aimed at Sassinak. When one of Sassinak’s Wefts shifted to Weft shape, a Seti delegate stormed out of its seat, screaming Seti curses that needed no translation. Sassinak snatched at the Seti’s neck-chain only to be slammed aside by the powerful tail. She rolled and came up on her feet to face a grinning heavyworlder with a needier who never saw the Weft that landed on his head and broke his neck.

  Sassinak caught the needier and tried again to reach Aygar, but he and the defense lawyers were all rolling around in an untidy heap behind the table. She yelled, but doubted he could hear her. Noise beat at the walls of the chamber as the watching crowd surged up to get a better view, and then discovered its own will.

  “Down with the Pollys!” came a scream from the upper rows as the students from the Library tossed paint balloons that splattered uselessly on the plastic screen.

  “Lightweight scum!” replied a block of heavyworlders, followed by blows, screams, and the high sustained yelp of the emergency alarm system.

  Down below, Sassinak faced worse problems, despite the defensive block she had formed with Lunzie, the Wefts and the two marines. The Speaker lay dead, his skull smashed by the Diplonian delegate who now bellowed commands into the microphone. Aygar crawled out of the ruins of the table and ducked barely in time to avoid a slug through the head.

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  “Over here!” Sassinak yelled. His head moved. He finally saw her. “Stay down” She gestured. He nodded. She hoped he understood.

  In through the door pounded another squad of Insystem Security heavyworlder marines. Three of the Justices tried to break for the door, falling to merciless arms, as Sassinak’s group dived for what cover they could find. It wasn’t much and the three staves and one small-bore needier they’d captured so far weren’t equivalent weaponry.

  This would be a good time for help to arrive, Sassinak

  thought.

  “Yield, hopeless ones!” screamed the Diplonian. “Your fool’s reign is over! Now begins the glorious . . .”

  “FLEET!”

  Something sailed through the air and landed with an uncompromising clunk about three meters from Sassinak’s nose; it cracked and leaked a bluish haze. I’m not sure I beUeve this, she thought, reaching for her gas kit, holding her breath, remembering how to count, checking on Lunzie and Aygar. This is where I came in but that shout had to be Ford’s.

  The heavyworlder troops would have gas kits, too, of course. How fast could they move? She was already in motion, but again Aygar was faster, die blinding speed of youth and perfect condition. They hit the first heavyworlders before they had their weapons in hand, yanking them away and reversing without slackening speed. Sassinak leaped for the higher ground, the Justices’ dais, and rolled behind its protective rail just as something splintered it behind her. She crawled rapidly toward the far seat, ignoring the unconscious Justices, and picked off the first trooper who came after her. Where was Lunzie? Which way had Aygar run? And did he even know what to do with that weapon?

  A stuttering burst of fire, squeals and crashes, and high pitched screams suggested that he’d found out what to push, but she didn’t trust his aim. She saw stealthy movement coming over the rail and fired a short burst: no yell, but no more movement.

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  “Sassinak!” Ford again, this time nearer. “Pattern six!”

  Pattern six was a simple trick, something all cadets learned in the first months of maneuvers. Sassinak moved to her ‘right, flattening to one side of the Federation Seal and wondered what he was planning to use for the reinforcements that pattern six sent down the center. The few marines he was supposed to have from the Zaid-Dayan wouldn’t be enough. Something coughed, and she grinned. How had Ford managed to get a Gertrud into the Grand Council? The stubby, squat weapon, designed for riot control on space stations, coughed again, and settled to its normal steady growl. Sassinak put her fingers in her ears and kept her head well down. Behind that growl, Ford and whoever he had conscripted could edge forward, letting the sonic patterns ahead disorient the enemy.

  But their enemies were not giving up that easily. One of them, must have worn protective headgear, for he put his weapon on full automatic and poured an entire magazine into the Gertrud. Its growl skewed upward, ending in an explosion of bright sound. Sassinak shook her head violently to clear her ears and tried to figure out what next.

  She could see through the paint-splashed protective screen from this height. The neat rows of public seating were the scene of a full-bore riot. No help there, even if her former accomplices were winning, and she wasn’t at all sure they were. Higher up, she could see struggling figures behind the lights and lenses of the media deck. Down below, she saw the Diplonian delegate begin to twitch, waking up from the gas. Him she could handle and she let off a burst that flung him away from the podium, dead before he waked.

  The witness box was empty. She did not see Ford, but she assumed he was still in the row below. But the guest box . . . from here, she could see its occupants, some dead or wounded, some frozen- in horror and shock, and some all too clearly enjoying the spectacle. These had personal shields, translucent but offering safety from such hazards as the riot gas and small arms

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  fire. Sassinak edged carefully along the upper level of the dais. No one else had come
up here after her. Perhaps they’d assume she’d slipped off the far side to join her supporters. She wished she knew how many supporters, and with what arms.

  In a momentary lull, one of the shielded guests glanced up and locked eyes with her. Sassinak felt her bones melting with rage. Age and indulgence had left their mark on Randy Paraden, but she knew him. And he, it was clear, knew her. She felt her lips draw back in a snarl. His curled in the same arrogant sneer, gloating in his safety, in her danger. Slowly, arrogantly, he stood, letting his shield push aside those near him and left the guest box. Still watching her, he came nearer, nearer, with that mocking smile, knowing her weapon could not penetrate his personal shield. Raised a hand to signal, no doubt to guide one of the heavyworlders to her.

  And then fell, with infinite surprise, that expression she’d seen so often before on others who found reality intruding on dreams. It had happened so quickly the Weft was untangling itself from Paraden’s body before she realized it. It had shifted across the shield and broken his neck.

  «Back to work.» And it was gone, back into the fray.

  She caught a glimpse of two other shielded guests departing, in considerable rush, and the Weft message echoed in her head.

  < < Parchandri. > >

  “You’re sure?”

  «Parchandri.»

  If they were going, she was sure she knew where. She fished the comunit out of her pocket and thumbed it on. She had a message to send, and then a fight to finish.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  i • Timran had ignored the commotion around the shuttle’s shields the morning after the landing. Nothing civilians could do would damage them or give access. He could tune in civilian broadcasts and spent the day watching newscasters ask each other questions on the main news channel. He’d rather have watched a back-to-back rerun of Carin Coldae classics, but felt he should exercise self-discipline. His second night alone in the shuttle he spent in catnaps and sudden, dry-mouthed awakenings. Keeping the video channels on did not help. He kept thinking someone had sneaked in to take control. Morning brought the itchy-eyed state of fatigue. He turned the com volume up high and dared a fast shower in the shuttle’s tiny head. A caffeine tab and breakfast. The news blared on about the trial which would start in a few hours. He had heard nothing from Ford since that brief contact giving him the coordinates to watch, the details of the ship he might encounter. That had been around dawn of the day before. He felt so helpless, and so miserably alone. How could he help the captain, stuck ‘way out here? The memory of the last time he hadn’t obeyed orders smacked him on the mental nose. But those had been the captain’s orders and these were

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  only the Exec’s. He had a sudden memory of Sassinak and Ford coming out of her quarters when he’d been on an errand. On second thought, he had better not antagonize Ford.

  He settled down to watch the news coverage of the trial. Another interview with another civilian bureaucrat concerning the Iretan plague. Tim snorted, squirming in his seat. They asked the stupidest questions and the experts gave the stupidest answers. He wished he could be interviewed. He’d do a lot better. None of them would ever say “I don’t know” and stick to it. Of course, they’d probably quit asking the ones who did know.

  When the coverage of the Grand Council finally began, with the Speaker formally greeting each delegate, Tim sat up straight. He had stowed all the litter of his solitary occupation, prepped the shuttle for emergency liftoff, and made sure that every system was working perfectly. What he didn’t have was any kind of effective weapon, unless the ship he expected to meet had neither shields nor guns. He was trying not to think about that. He had his helmet beside him, just in case. Outside the shuttle’s shields, a thin line of police kept the curious away. They would be safe at that distance when he lifted.

  The view on screen flicked from one location in the chamber to another. He saw Lunzie and an admiral sitting together in the seats reserved for witnesses, then Ford coming in. The view shifted and he saw Sassinak on the other side of the chamber. Why over there? he wondered. Aygar, beside her, looked unhappy. Tim wanted to be there worse than he’d ever wanted anything. He liked the big Iretan and hoped he’d decide to join Fleet in some capacity. And everything was happening there Not here.

  When the trouble began, he sat forward, hardly breathing. He’d often said he wished he’d been there to see other fights, other adventures, but he found that watching was far worse. He couldn’t see what he wanted, only what the camera showed, and it was all a lot messier than the stories. Then the screen blanked, streaked, and finally returned as an exterior view of the

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  Grand Council hall with a rioting crowd outside. Again the views shifted; first one streetful of people screaming, then another of people marching in step, waving flags, then of orange uniformed police firing into the crowd.

  He glanced outside. The police there shifted about, looking edgy. No doubt they had communication with die inner city, and wondered what to do about him. Suddenly one of them whirled, and fired point-blank at the shield. His companions pulled him away, yanked die weapon from him, and moved back. Tim did nothing. He was trembling, he found, far worse than he had been that time on Ireta, but he managed to keep his fingers off the controls. His mind clung to the thought that Sassinak would call for him, would need him: he must be ready.

  Yet when the call came, he hardly believed it.

  “Zaid-Dayan shuttle!” came the second time before he got his fingers and his voice working and thumbed the control.

  “Shuttle here!” His voice sounded like his kid brother’s. He swallowed and hoped it would steady the next time.

  “Fugitives en route. As planned, launch and intercept.”

  Did that mean the others weren’t coming? Was he really supposed to take off without them?

  “Are you?”

  “Now!”

  That was definitely Sassinak, no doubt about it. This is not like 1 imagined it would be, he thought. His memory reminded him tiiat so far it never had been. Helmet on, connections made. He looked at the fat red button and pushed it, then got his hands on the other controls just as the shuttle surged up, sucking a good bit of the landfill’s carefully planted grass in its wake.

  He was high over the city in moments, balancing on a delicate combination of atmospheric and insystem drives. He had time to enjoy the knowledge that he had made a perfect liftoff and was doing a superb job now in precisely the right position.

  The coordinates he’d been given, entered into the

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  shuttle’s nav computer, now showed a red circle on a displayed map that matched what he could see below. Hard to believe that beneath that vast warehouse a silo poked into the ground ready to launch a fast yacht. But the displays were changing color. The IR scan showed the change first as the warehouse roof sections lifted away. Then the targeting lasers picked up the vibrations, translated as seismic activity.

  The inner barriers lifted and the yacht’s nose poked out, rising slowly, slowly. As if on an elevator lift, then faster, then . . . Tim remembered he was supposed to give one official warning and poked the button to turn on the pre-recorded tape. Sassinak had not wanted to trust his impromptu style.

  “FSP Shuttlecraft Seeker to ship in liftoff. You are under arrest. Proceed directly to shuttleport. You have been warned.”

  Sassinak had said they could divert to the shuttleport, even immediately after liftoff. But she didn’t think they would.

  “Don’t even try it, Tiny!” came the reply from the yacht. “You haven’t got a chance.”

  He hoped that wasn’t true. Supposedly, the constraints of taking off from a silo meant that the most common weapons systems couldn’t be mounted until after the yacht was out of the atmosphere in steady flight. And his shields should deflect all but heavy assaults. The problem was how to stop the yacht. Shuttles were just that—shuttles—not fighter craft. He had a tractor beam which was not nearly
powerful enough to slow the yacht and a midrange beamer designed to clear brush when landing in uncleared terrain. Could he disable the yacht’s instrument cone? That’s what Ford had suggested.

  He got the targeting lasers fixed on the yacht’s bow as he kept the shuttle in alignment, and pressed the firing stud. A line of light appeared, splashed harmlessly along the yacht’s shields. It wasn’t supposed to have shields. They were high in the atmosphere now. His displays told him the yacht should be planning to release its massive solid-fuel engine. This didn’t worry

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  him because the more massive yacht, with its limited drive system, could not possibly outmaneuver a Fleet shuttle as long as it stayed below lightspeed. But he still could not figure out how to stop it- If it made the transition to FTL, he could not follow.

  Of course he could ram it. No shields on a ship that size could withstand the strain if he intercepted at high velocity. But what if he missed? How could he keep track of it, keep it from going into FTL, if he couldn’t stop it cold? The yacht’s booster separated and it surged higher. Tim sent the shuttle after it. What if it had more power then they’d thought? What if it could distance the shuttle? Then it would be free to go into FTL and disappear forever and he ... he would get to explain his failure to Commander Sassinak.

  Who had not explained, this time, exactly what to do. Who was not in her cruiser, this time, ready to come to his rescue. He found he was sweating, his breath short. He had to do something and, except by a land of blind instinct, he had never been good at picking alternatives. The yacht opened a margin on him. Tim uttered a silent prayer to gods he couldn’t name and redlined the shuttle to catch back up to it. If he was right... if he could remember how to do this ... if nothing went wrong, there was a way to keep that yacht from making a jump. If things did go wrong, he wouldn’t know it.

  Sassinak picked herself out of the tangle of bodies with a groan. A dull ache in her leg promised to develop into real pain as soon as she paid attention to it. Tim should be on his way. Arly was out there somewhere doing something with the invasion fleet. And here . . - here was death and pain and carnage. One Lethi delegate smashed into amber splinters and dust that stank of suHur compounds. A Ryxi whimpering as its broken leg twitched repeatedly. The singed feathers on its back added another noxious reek to the chamber. Aygar? Aygar lay sprawled, motionless, but Lunzie knelt beside him and nodded encouragingly as she looked up. Ford, gray around the mouth, held out his blistered hands for the medics as they sprayed a pale-green foam on diem.