"The rigid huts are the work areas, and the inflatables are the crew quarters. Cony and his goons threw everybody out of the middle inflatable and moved in. The rest of the crew are having to double up in the other two inflatables and they don't like it very much. They're not really thrilled with Cony, either. It seems that he's been throwing his weight around a lot. There's a lot of grousing about it, but not where he might hear."
Jirik was looking thoughtful. "If we caught them asleep, we could probably depressurize and collapse the inflatables with lasers before anyone could get suited up. That wouldn't work with the duty crews in the rigid huts, though. Any suggestions?"
Bran shrugged. "Except during the 'day', I gather that there isn't much of a duty crew. There's always one on duty in the Command Center, and I think that there's one in the Comm hut monitoring the spy-eyes aboard the Lass. It would take a pretty big explosive charge to depressurize the plascrete huts quickly, though, and we don't have the kinds of explosives it'd take."
Jirik grimaced. "Then we'll just have to bust in and kill them. Valt and I . . . "
"Ahem," Bran interrupted. "Far be it from me to criticize, Captain, but don't forget who we are. We're not the Alliance Marines, we're just spacers. You're the only one of us with combat experience. We're in no position to mount an armed assault. Thinking that way will get one or more of us killed! Besides, have you figured out a way to get at the weapons locker without being spotted?"
"Sorry," Jirik replied, "I guess I got carried away. You're right. You guys aren't killers, though I was worried about Valt for awhile. And, no, I haven't been able to figure a way into the weapons locker. There's a spy-eye right across the passage from the hatch; and the weapons are in plain view inside. As soon as we cracked that hatch, that guy in the Comm hut would be bound to see them and sound an alarm." He frowned. "All right. I'm giving Tomys another forty-eight hours. If he doesn't show up by then, we'll assume that his wild-ass idea didn't work. In the meantime, try to think of a way to take out the men on duty."
"One other thing, Captain," Bran put in, "We have to take out that guy in the Command Center. They've got heavy ground-to-orbit weapons emplaced all over this moon. All he'd have to do is retarget them, and cut the Lass to pieces with a heavy laser, or even toss a missile at us."
"Damn!" Jirik looked stunned. "That means we can't just fort up aboard if anything goes wrong. Well," he decided, "It looks like an all-or-nothing roll of the cubes. Think about it, Bran, think hard!"
The crew went about their daily business the next "day." Jirik and the others made sure to visit the base, and to make friends with the base crew. Mostly, though, Jirik wanted to make sure that the terrorists got used to seeing the spacers wandering about. Jirik found it hard to remain casual. He felt as though he was in a race, and he was wearing a blindfold. Would Tomys and his Marines get here? Would terrorist reinforcements arrive first? Would either of them arrive within his 48-hour deadline? Or would the crew have to go on the attack by themselves?
If Tomys' plan failed, and the terrorists sent a supply and crew shipment before the deadline, they might lose their only hope of getting out any time soon. What if reinforcements showed up after they managed to eliminate the base crew, but before they could refuel the Lass and get away? Jirik clamped grimly down on his imagination. He was not a happy man.
Jirik did succeed in meeting with each of the others to discuss their many problems. Valt, unimaginative as always, had no ideas to offer. It was Tor who finally provided the solution to the problem of getting to the weapons. One of the young men on the base had known Tor on Boondock, during his brief flirtation with Actionism. By recycling the Actionist propaganda he had picked up, Tor had become quite friendly with the terrorist. Tor discovered that his "friend" would be on duty in the Comm hut that "night," and had promptly informed Jirik.
Jirik was delighted. "All right. Tonight, you visit him while he's on watch, and distract him from the monitors long enough for us to get to the weapons locker, grab some stuff and get out. We'll hide the arms in dead zones. I doubt that they'll search us again. If there's no sign of the Navy by tomorrow night, we'll have to do it ourselves. With the weapons available, we'll have no trouble taking care of the men in the inflatables. A couple of lasers can slash those things to ribbons before any of them can reach their suits."
Bran wasn't so happy when Jirik told him. "Yeah," he replied, "But that still leaves the plascrete huts. Lasers are a waste of time against them. I don't suppose you have any explosives in the weapons locker?" he added hopefully.
Jirik shook his head. "No, just individual hand weapons. I sure wish we did, though. We need something like explosives to take out the men in those plascrete huts. Somehow, they have to be decompressed so quickly that those men have no chance to sound a warning or get suited up – and that means almost instantaneously. Lasers and needlers could make large enough holes, but they'd take hours, and there's no chance that they could do it undetected. I'd give a lot for a sonic cannon right now!"
Bran snorted. "Might as well wish for a Battle Cruiser Besides, a sonic cannon would be useless. Sound waves don't travel in a vacuum." He suddenly shot bolt upright in his chair. "Sonics!" he exclaimed, "That could work!"
"What could work?" Jirik asked in a puzzled tone, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I've got an idea!" Bran replied excitedly, "Captain, do most of your weapons collection use military standard power packs?"
Jirik shrugged, but hope gleamed in his eyes. He had come to have great respect for Bran's ideas. "Sure," he replied, "Most of them are military or military-style. Why?"
Bran grinned. "Well, I haven't really had a chance to think this through, but I think that we may be able to make some sonic bombs!"
Jirik's puzzlement was obvious. "Sonic bombs? What the deity are sonic bombs? And what good would they be in vacuum?"
Bran gestured impatiently. "Give me a minute, Captain. I'm thinking out loud. Now, sonics are useless in vacuum unless they're in direct physical contact with an object. Suppose I can rig a gadget that would drain the entire power pack almost instantaneously, and convert the power into a sonic blast on a frequency that would break the molecular bond in the plascrete. In effect," he continued, "the blast would reduce the plascrete to a powder. With sixteen pounds per square inch of air pressure pushing against a wall that suddenly turned to powder, I suspect that the result would be very like explosive decompression!"
Jirik looked thoughtful. "Maybe, If the hole were big enough. It would have to be about a meter in diameter to make the decompression too fast for the men to get to their suits, or to hit an alarm."
Bran shrugged. "If I remember correctly, each power pack contains a kilojoule of energy. I'm not sure that a single pack would make a large enough hole, but if I attach two or even three power packs in series, I imagine that I could guarantee a meter, and maybe even more. How many fully charged packs do we have?"
Jirik grinned. "That's no problem. I have about three dozen, and I keep them all fully charged. Assuming that you can do it, that leaves three problems; how do we place them, how do we keep them from being spotted, and how do we set them off?"
Bran sighed. "Deity, Captain I don't have all the answers; I'm not even sure that we have all the questions. All I'm saying is that I think I can rig some sonic bombs that could take out the plascrete huts and the men inside them. We'll have to work out the other details."
Jirik grinned again. "Relax, Bran. I never require more than one miracle per day from you. We'll figure something out."
That "night," after local midnight, Tor nervously suited up and left the Lass, half expecting the alarm to be raised at any moment. He walked slowly toward the Comm hut, frantically hoping that he appeared casual. Inside, he was damning himself for being the one to make friends at the University. Now, everybody was counting on him, and he was sure that he was going to screw it up. He nearly panicked at the thought that if the crew was detected getting the weapons, they were
all dead. He had to keep Fyk's eyes away from those monitors, no matter what!
He had just decided that if all else failed, he'd physically attack Fyk when he arrived at the Comm hut.
His terrorist "friend" met him at the inner airlock door. Tor fumbled his helmet off. "Hi, Fyk," he said, "I couldn't sleep, and then I remembered that you had duty tonight. I thought I'd come keep you company. That's all right, isn't it?" He prayed to no particular god that his nervousness didn't show.
Fyk shrugged. "Naw, Tor, it's no problem. Oh, we're not supposed to leave the monitors, but nobody told me we couldn't have visitors!" He grinned with the air of a young man putting something over on his seniors. "C'mon," he continued, "I gotta get back to the monitors in case somebody checks."
Fyk's friendliness made Tor feel uncomfortably guilty, but he accompanied the terrorist back to the monitoring room, chattering gaily
When they arrived, Fyk waved toward the bank of monitors occupying most of one wall of the hut. "I saw you suitin' up. I Figured you were bored. Actually, I hoped you'd come over. It doesn't get much more boring than staring at empty compartments and listening to snores!" He glanced quickly at Tor. "Hey . . . uh . . . I'm sorry about spying on you, but it's orders, you know?"
Tor shrugged. "No offense taken, Fyk. I guess you gotta be careful." With a surge of panic, Tor saw motion on one of the screens. Jirik's broad back appeared and hurried to the hatch of the weapons locker. "Help me out of this damned suit, will you?" he added, to divert his companion's attention
Fyk, facing his visitor, had not seen the motion. He set about helping Tor out of the clumsy suit, while the two talked. Jirik's image disappeared and the hatch closed silently only a moment before the terrorist's eyes scanned the monitors. Tor pulled a chair to near his "friend"s padded seat, forcing Fyk to swivel away from the monitors to face him. They played a few rounds of "Do you remember so-and-so?", and "What happened to so-and-so?" before settling down to comparing notes on mutual female acquaintences. Meanwhile, Tor watched with fascination as Jirik reappeared with his arms full of belts and holsters. Bran and Valt hurried into view, accepted the armloads of weapons and power packs that Jirik shoved into their arms, and hurried off.
Jirik relocked the hatch, turned and winked at the spy-eye, and then hurried out of view. Tor's relief was both visible and audible, by way of a huge sigh.
"Hah!" Fyk crowed, making Tor jump, "I thought you were pretty fond of her!"
"Who?" Tor replied, confused
"Who?" Fyk mimicked, "Rayla, that's who! The one that can make you sigh just by remembering her!"
"Oh, yeah. Rayla." Tor replied, this time concealing his relief that Fyk had misunderstood his sigh. "Yeah," he continued, "She was kinda nice. Cute, too. What happened to her?"
Fyk grinned. "I told you, you idiot She's one of us! She'll probably be here in a few weeks! Man, you've got it bad!"
Tor flushed. He had rather liked Rayla. She'd been a good dancer, had a good sense of humor and, like him, had been struggling against Boondock's terrible gravity. Tor hoped that the terrorist conspiracy would be broken up before she got in too deeply.
The two talked for another half hour before Tor felt it safe to stretch and yawn, commenting that he was getting sleepy, and that he'd better be getting back to the Lass.
Jirik was much more hopeful, now that they had weapons. They'd managed to retrieve lasers, needlers, and vibroblades for each of them. The lasers would effectively take care of the inflatables and, he hoped, their inhabitants. That left the problem of the rigid huts. Reluctantly, Jirik summoned the crew to a predawn meeting in the Engineering dead spot. Bran had done some research, and was able to describe his idea more completely.
"If I rig two packs in series, I'm sure of getting at least a one-meter, and probably a two-meter hole in the plascrete."
"But," Jirik interjected, "We still have to work out a way to place the things, a way to conceal them until we're ready, and a way to trigger them. How big do you figure that they'll be?"
Bran shrugged. "The power packs are each about 15cm long, 10cm wide, and 2cm thick. The circuitry should be about the same length and width, and about 1cm thick. That means a package 15 by 10 by 3, just slightly too large to conceal in one hand."
Tor spoke up. "Can you camouflage them to look like part of a suit's normal gear? That would let us get them to the huts undetected."
Bran nodded. "I think so. The hard part's going to be placing them in physical contact with the hut, and preventing the terrorists from noticing them before we're ready."
"Well," Valt put in doubtfully, "It's pretty dark out there. Maybe nobody will notice them; especially if they look like cast-off equipment.'
Jirik wasn't so sure. "I dunno, Valt. If somebody sees a piece of suit equipment just lying on the ground, I think they'd be more likely to pick it up to see what it was. Valt is right, though," He added more briskly, "It is pretty dark and glarey out there. I don't think anything very sophisticated is necessary. Bran, what do you think of just pieces of dark-colored cloth thrown over them? If we got the color even fairly close, I think the chances of their being found would be small."
Tor was getting excited. "Sure! All we'd have to do is walk up, drop them, and drop the cloth on top of them. That shouldn't be a problem!"
Bran chuckled. "I don't think it'll be quite that easy, Tor They have to be placed in physical contact with the huts, with the circuitry touching the plascrete. I think you're right, though, Captain, about concealing them. Cloth would probably work, especially if we kicked some dust over them. The riskiest part is actually placing them."
"What about triggering them?" Jirik asked, "Have you come up with anything on that?"
Bran shrugged. "No problem. I'm using radio triggers. They'll be triggered by a suit radio with a modified frequency. I'll touch them off just before we start carving up the inflatables.
Valt grunted. "Yeah. If they work!"
Jirik grimaced. "Shut up, Valt. If-they don't work, we don't laser the inflatables. We try to come up with a Plan B."
Bran looked grim. "I doubt it, Captain. I think that we're only going to get one try. There're spy-eyes in every lock. Unless he's asleep, no sentry could miss the four of us suiting up and cycling the lock; and there's no plausible explanation that we could give for all of us leaving the ship in the middle of the 'night'. If we don't trigger the bombs the moment the lock cycles, he's going to hit the alarm immediately."
Jirik grimaced. "Yeah. And then we'll be up to our eyeballs in pissed off terrorists! Okay, Bran, how much time do you need to make the bombs?"
Bran shrugged. "Not long. I've already made a prototype; all of the parts are standard stock. We need two per hut to be completely sure. That means six of them. I'd say about three hours. I'm glad the biggest dead spot is here in Engineering."
Jirik was startled. "Only three hours? Are you sure?"
Bran shrugged again. "Pretty sure. They can be ready by tonight, anyway."
Jirik nodded, and dismissed the crew. One by one they crept back to their cabins to nap for what was left of the "night".
The entire crew was edgy the next 'day'. Tor was nervous and unhappy about attacking his friend Fyk. Secretly, he was not at all sure that he would be able to kill, and was terrified that he might fail his shipmates. Valt had somehow convinced himself that this was his chance to revenge himself for the beating on Boondock. He was eager to do battle. Jirik was beginning to feel the pre-battle jitters that had afflicted him throughout his Navy career. Even the imperturbable Bran was tense and irritable. Jirik insisted that they follow their routine of visiting the base. He, himself, went to see Cony.
The burly Boondocker looked up cheerfully as Jirik removed his helmet. "Welcome, Captain!" He said with evident pleasure, "I'm glad you came. I've been bored almost to tears!"
Jirik grinned. "Yeah, me too. I thought I'd just come by and see what's going on, if you don't mind telling me."
Cony spread his hands. "I don't mind
telling you, but I'm afraid that there's nothing to tell. Until our supplies and crews get here, about all we can do is sit around and twiddle our thumbs
"Yeah," Jirik replied, "I'm having a hell of a time keeping my crew busy. By the way, thanks for letting them visit around, They're going nuts on the ship. Any idea how long before your crews get here?"
Cony shrugged. "I'm afraid not. It may be only a few more days, but it may well be several weeks. I wouldn't start getting anxious for a few more 'days'."
"I wish they'd hurry," Jirik lied, "we're getting tired of sitting on our butts."
They chatted for over an hour before Jirik could plausibly escape. Cony was pleasant and displayed no obvious suspicion. But then, he wouldn't, Jirik reminded himself. The terrorist was too good for that.
Leaving Cony, Jirik wandered casually toward the Comm hut to deliver his two camouflaged bombs. He cursed at the difficulty of looking nonchalant while wearing a space suit as he carefully checked to make sure that he was unobserved. He unhooked the bomb from his equipment belt, and "accidently" dropped it at his feet. He nudged it with his feet until the circuit portion of the bomb rested firmly against the plascrete of the hut, then dropped the drab-colored cloth over it, and walked away, kicking dust over the cloth. At the corner of the hut he paused, then turned and glanced back. Good. The bomb was effectively invisible in the dim light of the distant red star. He repeated his performance on the other side of the hut before returning to the Lass.
As each of the others returned from their visits to the base, they nodded to Jirik to confirm that the bombs were in place.
The 'day', and then the 'evening', dragged on. Bran "accidently" brushed the spy-eye covering the Engineering service corridor.
The crew froze, waiting for what they were sure would be an immediate alarm. It was several minutes before they accepted the fact that no alarm would be raised. They estimated that Bran had succeeded in-moving it enough that its field no longer covered the lock, but only part of the passage.
The Rim Rebels Page 30