The Rim Rebels

by Zellmann, William

  "Sounds to me like you're talking about invading and conquering them," Jirik commented dryly.

  Cony waved his hand in dismissal. "Yes, I've heard that before. And technically, I suppose it could be.described that way. But the people of those worlds don't have the benefit of Dr. Atmos' foreknowledge to guide them. We have to help them before they lose their precious heritage We can't waste a lot of time trying to educate them until after we've preserved their civilization. So, yes, you could say that we're planning to invade unwilling planets; and we'll probably have to do so with violence. But, we must help them, despite themselves, if necessary!"

  Jirik chuckled. "And what do you think that the Alliance and the Empire are going to be doing while you're off conquering systems for their own good? Sitting on their hands? The first time that you take a swing at another system, you'll have Battle Cruisers knocking on your your door, and not gently, either!"

  Cony looked irritated. "Pah! We're not planning to just climb onto a bunch of rim tramps and go a-viking, you know! We've planned this very carefully. Every step is carefully calculated with all possible contingencies considered. Within five years, we'll control the governments of every rim world. Then, we'll petition the Alliance council to grant us secession and independence. If they agree, well and good. If not, we'll have to fight for our independence!"

  Jirik chuckled again. "Yeah? And what's to keep the Empire Fleet from coming out here and slapping you down?"

  Cony shrugged. "They may not find that as easy as you might think! Did you think that we hadn't anticipated that possibility? You've seen our rim tramps. Picture one of them, outfitted with heavy lasers and particle beam weapons. Fast, maneuverable, and deadly. Now, multiply that picture by several hundred. Admiral Kedron defeated an entire Empire battle fleet with them and armed mining boats, and there's no reason we can't do the same! Do you still think that they couldn't give even a Navy Battle Group trouble?"

  Jirik's face turned thoughtful. "Maybe. If the attack could be coordinated, and if you could get there before they bombed one of your rim worlds back to the stone age." he shrugged dismissively. "You're damned lucky that I'm not an Alliance agent. You'd find yourself standing trial for treason and sedition before you could blink. Anyway, what's all this got to do with us? We're just traders, and we're not even rimworlders. You want some more stuff smuggled?"

  Cony looked smug, but the gleam of fanaticism was still in his eyes. "You've put your finger on both our problem, and the essence of my proposition. As for the possibility that you might be an agent, we'll be taking precautions; but, to return to the subject, what this has to do with you is what you put your finger on a moment ago. We have the means to arm the rim tramps and the asteroid mining boats, and we have the tramps and boats and the loyal crews. The main remaining problem is communications and coordination; or, in military terms, Command and Control. To support the array of battle comps and the extensive communications equipment required, we need a vessel much larger than a rim tramp. We want to either hire your ship and crew, or buy the ship and hire you to captain her."

  Jirik laughed aloud. "Do we look like mercenaries? Hell, man, the Lass is no combat vessel! Oh, I admit that almost a century ago she was built as a combat hauler, to carry supplies and weapons to ground troops, but, crap, that doesn't mean she's a warship! And, sure, I did my time in the Alliance Navy, but I got tired of that crap and resigned years ago. Besides, none of my crew has combat experience!"

  Cony didn't smile. "Few of our people do have any combat experience, Captain, but that doesn't mean that they won't fight well when the time comes. As for the Lass, we don't want her for a warship. We want her for a Command and Control vessel. Oh, we'll arm her, of course, but a C & C vessel isn't expected to fight. It's too valuable for that. What we do need is a vessel her size, and an experienced captain, and maybe crew, to man her."

  Bran looked apprehensive. "You're talking about treason and sedition, here. I don't know if the crew is ready to handle something like that. Hell, I don't know if I'm ready to handle something like that!" He turned to Jirik. "I dunno, Captain, We could be getting in 'way over our heads, here. As you said, we're not mercenaries."

  "Yeah," Jirik replied. He turned to Cony. "I don't think that we'd be interested; but maybe we could check around for you once we get back to the inner worlds. What were you going to offer?"

  Cony smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps you should have asked that before you refused so precipitously, Captain." He shrugged. "How much we'd offer would depend upon the deal. But, Captains with large-ship experience are rare on the rim, and captains with both large-ship and combat experience are practically nonexistent. Frankly, I would prefer to hire both ship and crew. Alternatively, I'll offer you more than the fair market value of the Lass, and offer you and your crew a premium salary to man her. Failing that, I'll still offer to purchase the ship, and take my chances on finding a crew." He named amounts for each alternative. The sums were impressive

  Jirik and Bran exchanged glances. "Perhaps I was a bit hasty in dismissing your offer, Mr. Cony," Jirik replied, "I suppose that I could be persuaded to consider your offer. But, what's the hurry? I mean, why hire us now? A moment ago, you mentioned that you won't control the rim worlds for almost five years. Why hire us now, for a rebellion that won't take place for five years?"

  Cony smiled with the air of a man with a secret. "Don't worry, Captain, you won't have to wait for five years to see action. In fact, we're going to use you to help accelerate our ascent to power on the rim. We'll be staging raids designed to embarrass the Longtermer governments of the holdout rim worlds, as well as to gather notoriety for our cause. You won't be bored, I promise you!"

  Jirik shifted uneasily in his chair. "Well, you must understand that I own only a forty per cent share of the Lass. Each of the other crewmen owns twenty per cent. It would take a unanimous vote of all of us to sell the old bitch. I'm not saying that it's impossible; your offer is quite good. What I'm saying is that I can't speak for the others. I'd have to consult them." He shrugged. "As for me, it would take more credits than that to get me to commit treason; or to go back into combat, for that matter!"

  Cony smiled knowingly. He recognized haggling when he heard it. They dickered for over an hour before Jirik tentatively accepted Cony's offer for an astronomical number of credits

  "Of course," Jirik added at the close of the session, "I will have to consult the crew. But, with what you're offering, we can buy out the shares of anyone who wants out. I'll let you know how it goes."

  Cony's grim expression was back. "There's a problem, Captain. We're talking about serious matters, here. Security is a primary consideration. I cannot permit you to return to your ship unescorted. In fact, I'm afraid that your entire crew's movements and communication will have to be restricted. Also, depending upon how much you must tell them, any crewman that opts out may have to be dealt with as a security risk."

  Jirik's face clouded. "Are you talking about murder? If you are, and any of my crewmen is hurt or killed because he wanted out, I warn you that I won't be understanding!"

  "No, no, Captain!" Cony protested hastily, if insincerely, "We're not murderers. However, any crewman who opts out will have to be held incommunicado until his knowledge is no longer a threat!"

  Jirik appeared slightly mollified, but protested, "That could be years!"

  Cony shrugged. "It's necessary, Captain. I suggest that you be very persuasive when you talk to your crew!"

  Two of the Boondocker thugs escorted them back to the Guild office, where Jirik withdrew the considerable number of credits. It took a large suitcase to hold it all, even in large-denomination bills. Jirik commented ironically about how fortunate they were to have bodyguards to safeguard the huge amount of cash. Neither of the guards replied, though one of them smiled cheerfully. The only words that either of them spoke as the four travelled to the shuttle port was a warning not to attempt to contact anyone without permission. Departing the
space station in the Lass' boat, Jirik told the men that he would have to call the ship to prevent an alarm being raised. As they approached the limit of the Lass' detector range, Jirik hailed the ship. Tor appeared in the comm screen, though Valt was visible in the background. Neither man was obviously armed, to Jirik's relief.

  Tor's expression was excited-and relieved. "Captain! Are you all right? How about Mr. Fergson . . . er . . . Bran?"

  Jirik grinned. "We're fine, kid. We're coming back in the 'Slingshot'. Be ready to receive us, will you? Oh, yes. We'll be bringing some visitors aboard."

  Tor frowned. "Visitors? Are you sure? I mean . . . uh . . . who are they?"

  Jirik shrugged. "Just some Boondockers that we met on the surface. Don't worry, son. Everything's all right. I'll tell you about it when we get aboard. Open the boat lock for the 'Slingshot'." Tor nodded, and Jirik signed off.

  One of the thugs was frowning. "Your lifeboat has a name? Isn't that kind of unusual, Captain?"

  Jirik shrugged. "A bit, I guess. My astrogator's from Ander's World. Hell, they name everything there. He started calling the boat by name, and I guess we just sort of picked it up. Why, is anything wrong?" The thug shook his head doubtfully. Jirik made a mental note to mention his lie to Valt at the first opportunity, and another to remind himself that there might be more to these thugs than slabs of muscle.

  To Jirik's obvious relief, there were no weapons in sight when the group boarded the Lass. Tor met them at the port.

  "Where's Valt?" Jirik asked. One of the thugs was hovering over him

  Tor glanced at the big Boondocker before replying, "He's on the bridge, Captain. It seems that he's having trouble with the nav comp."

  Jirik sighed. "You'd better check it out, Bran."

  Bran's answer was lost in one of the Boondockers' bellow. "Hold it!" He stared at Tor suspiciously. "What's the problem, kid?"

  Tor looked to Jirik, who nodded. "I-I don't know, sir. Valt j-just said that the comp was acting funny on the last jump. N-Now he says that it won't work right at all. He's been messing with it all afternoon."

  The thug frowned. "I know a little about astrogation. I think that I'll go help him." He threw a significant glance at his companion. "Why don't you stay here with the Captain? C'mon, Fergson!" The big man stamped off toward the bridge, Bran trailing in his wake. His companion moved back a step, to where he could better cover both Jirik and Tor.

  Tor looked at the Boondocker nervously. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

  Jirik clapped the youngster on the back, making him stumble. "Naw, kid, nothing to worry about. I just made us a deal, and as part of it, this guy," he gestured with this thumb. "and his friend will be staying aboard for a while. We may even receive other visitors." The Boondocker responded to Jirik's inquiring look with a noncommital grunt. An intense look from Jirik contained a warning for Tor. Just because the other guy did all the talking for the pair, they couldn't assume that the silent one was stupid. They set off for the bridge.

  "What is it, Bran?" Jirik asked as the entered the bridge, "Anything serious?" Bran had the nav comp's access panel removed. The other Boondocker was hanging over his shoulder, his eyes moving unceasingly between the Engineer and Valt, who was standing casually to one side.

  Bran glanced up. "I don't think so. Valt said that he noticed a glitch on the last jump computations, and I'm getting some funny readings from my diagnostics. It shouldn't take more than half an hour or so."

  Jirik nodded. "When you get done, come on down to the mess deck. We'll be having a little meeting down there." He turned to the Boondockers. "Would you gentlemen care to join us?"

  The silent Boondocker nodded, but the other said, "No, thanks. I think I'll stay here and watch Bran work." His friendly smile belied the hardness of his eyes

  Jirik nodded. He, Valt, and Tor, accompanied by their silent escort, adjourned to the mess deck.

  Jirik launched into a presentation of the offer that they had received. Though the others had of course been expecting it, they played their parts well: Valt, reluctant; Tor, excited and eager.

  By the time that Bran and his guard arrived, the others been "convinced". Valt continued to voice complaints, but it was obvious that he had been "sold" on the terrorist's plan

  Jirik turned to Bran. "What about the nav comp, Bran? Is it all right? I wouldn't want any repairmen to have to come out here. It'd cost us a fortune."

  "No problem," Bran replied. "It was just an oscillator out of phase. It should be fine, now." A miniscule nod told Jirik that Tomys' transmitter was in place

  Jirik nodded. "All right. Now, how soon can we be ready to leave?"

  "Fuel is no problem," Bran replied, "We refueled before we left the station, while they were offloading. We didn't reprovision, though."

  Jirik glanced at the Boondockers. "That shouldn't be a problem, unless we're jumping to the Empire, or unless our friends, here, eat enough for four." His grin took the sting from his words, and the talkative Boondocker smiled back. "Then," Jirik continued, "I guess we can lift out of orbit any time we get clearance from the station and from Cony." He turned to the Boondocker. "Any idea how long that might be?"

  The big man grinned. "Nope. But I wouldn't start any long novels. Mr. Cony's been working on this for a long time, and he's anxious to get started."

  "Well," Jirik replied, "I guess you can call him and tell him that we're all ready. At least, we will be, as soon as I can get this," he hefted the suitcase full of credits, "into the ship's safe. I wish that there were an easier way to transport large sums."

  "I wondered about that," the talkative thug replied. "Why not just leave it there, or get a letter of credit?"

  Jirik grinned. "You obviously aren't a spacer. Jumping from system to system, you learn not to trust banks; and over long distances, banks don't trust each other. For instance, If I tried to deposit a letter of credit from a rim bank on an Empire planet, they'd hold up the funds until the letter of credit cleared, which could take months, given the limited travel contact. Of course, if the rim bank had assets on that Empire planet, it might be a bit quicker; but as a spacer, I wouldn't want to count on that."

  The big man looked puzzled and outraged. "But, the rim worlds are prosperous. A letter of credit on the Bank of Wayoff is as solid as iridium!"

  Jirik shook his head. "It doesn't matter. The only reason that the bank on Alpha accepted the letter of credit for the book deal was that the Bank of Wayoff happened to have that much on deposit with them, and the fact that we were going to be on Alpha for several months before they'd have to risk much of it. I'd bet that during those months, they hustled that letter out here and the cash back; or maybe they just covered the withdrawals out of Wayoff's deposits. Innerworld banks know that planetary governments have a tendency to change without notice; and they've been stuck before when a new government refused to honor the old one's commitments. After all, isn't that what you're trying to do, change some governments without notice?"

  The thug grinned. "Don't you mean 'we're'? You're part of this too, now!"

  Jirik shook his head soberly. "No. Understand this. We're in this for money; lots of it." He shrugged. "I guess you could say that we're mercenaries. I told a guy on Boondock that spacers make lousy missionaries. Well, we make even worse revolutionaries!"

  The big man's grin faded. "That's straight enough. At least you're honest."

  Jirik shrugged again. "No use trying to pretend otherwise. Do you really think that Cony would believe that we just suddenly became devoted Actionists? He knows that he's bought our services, but he also knows that if it all goes to hell, we'll be looking for a way to bail out with our asses intact. We're not fanatics; we're businessmen."

  The man's expression had turned sour. "Hell of a C and C skipper you'll be! Maybe Mr. Cony wasn't as smart as he thought, hiring you!"

  Jirik shook his head. "No, he was smart. He knows that a mercenary with no political orientation can be objective. If we win, that's great. But, if we los
e, he doesn't want a fanatic who'll fight to the last man; he wants someone who'll try to salvage what he can so that he can fight again."

  "Someone who'll run away, you mean!"

  Jirik grinned. "If the situation demands it, you bet your ass I'll run. Cony promised us big credits for this; but the obvious clause in the contract was 'if we win'. He knows that I'll want to make sure that if we lose the first battle, there'll be a second, and a third, if necessary. Don't accuse us of cowardice until you've seen us in action!"

  The man obviously remained unconvinced, but he accompanied Jirik to his cabin to lock the credits in the ship's safe without another word. Then, dropping Jirik off back on the mess deck where his partner could watch the crew, the talkative man stamped off to the bridge, presumably to report on their readiness for space.

  When he returned, he was once again his cheerful self. "Mr. Cony's on the space station. He's coming out by boat; he'll be here in about two hours. Meanwhile, we'll just all relax here." He turned to Tor. "He'll be jumping over from the boat by suit. You, kid, are going to cycle him through the personnel airlock. Right?"

  Tor flicked a glance toward Jirik, then nodded. "Y-Yessir!" he replied

  While they waited, Tor drew the big man out, talking about the student Actionists that he'd met at the University on Boondock, and recycling some of the Actionist propaganda that he'd been given. Jirik nodded to himself. The kid was sharp. The two thugs had relaxed, and as the discussion went on, Bran joined in, pretending ignorance and asking questions. By the time Cony arrived, the thugs were quite at ease, seeming to have adopted Tor as at least a budding Actionist, if not a terrorist. They were almost as comfortable with Bran, whose earnest questions and seeming acceptance of the answers convinced the thugs that he might be converted to their "cause."

  Valt seemed oblivious to the byplay, sitting surlily in the corner. All right, Jirik decided, That leaves me to play the hardcase mercenary. Valt just isn't up to it. Besides, the terrorists would be expecting Valt to dislike them, after what he'd been through. But once the terrorists categorized each member of the crew, they'd be easier to deal with. Once people put you into preconceived categories, they tend to make unjustified assumptions about you, which could give the crew an advantage.