The Rim Rebels

by Zellmann, William

  Finally, they gathered in the Engineering dead zone. Jirik passed out the weapons and last minute instructions

  "Bran, you're first out the lock. As soon as the lock cracks enough to clear the radio, trigger the bombs. If they don't work we may just be able to avoid being caught. Once the bombs are triggered, we have to get out the lock as quickly as possible. They won't hear or see the bombs go off, but they'll sure as hell feel the vibration.

  "Valt, you and Tor take the inflatables. Laser them from one end to the other. It won't quite be explosive decompression, but they'll be too busy to raise an alarm. Bran and I will cover you, and try to take out anybody quick enough to get out. Whatever happens, though, don't stop lasering those inflatables; that's where most of their men are, and we can't afford to miss many of them."

  They suited up, buckling weapon belts over their suits Finally, they were ready. They crowded clumsily into the lock, and cycled it.

  As soon as a thread of blackness showed around the hatch, Bran triggered the bombs.

  As the lock hatch continued to cycle open, they felt a sudden strong vibration, and the opening hatch revealed clouds of vapor and ice spewing from each of the rigid huts.

  Bran dropped the radio trigger and jumped from the opening lock, clawing at his suit holster as he drifted gently to the ground in the 0.2G gravity. The others followed as quickly as their clumsy suits allowed.

  Valt and Tor each targeted one of the end huts, and lasers' beams drew instant response in the form of billowing vapor and collapsing plas. As they watched the lumps in the plas that were frantically struggling men, both stood tranfixed, picturing their agony; the gasping for breath, their skins stretching, mouths blackening, eyeballs protruding. Tor retched, and nearly threw up in his suit.

  Sudden movement at the surviving hut galvanized them to action, and both lasers' beams chopped into the last hut; but it was too late. Three suited figures had emerged from the hut, firing their needlers as they came. Needlers were not very effective weapons against a suited opponent. It would take most of a magazine to penetrate the suit and kill the man inside. On the other hand, even a single needle could puncture the suit and release the air inside, producing the same effect in vacuum. The Command center erupted in a soundless explosion as Tor and Valt returned their attackers' fire. In its flare, Valt saw a silvery line of needles hit Tor's suit, followed by puffs of vapor that instantly froze. Valt dropped his laser at Tor's strangled cry, and slapped emergency patches over as many of the holes as he could. He dragged the stumbling Tor, blinded by vapor clouding his helmet, back to the Lass and up the ladder. Jirik and Bran provided covering laser fire for Valt and Tor. Suddenly, another figure appeared, staggering out of the ruined Comm hut, firing blindly in all directions, and endangering the terrorists as much as the crew.

  Above them the personnel lock opened, its light flooding the barren plain until Valt switched it off.

  Chapter 18

  Jirik and Bran retreated up the boarding ladder, firing as they went. The Comm hut survivor had apparently recovered his senses. His fire was now directed at the crewmen, along with that of the others. Jirik climbed into the lock, and nearly lifted Bran bodily after him. Jirik's last view as the lock cycled shut was of the four terrorists hurrying clumsily toward the ship. Valt was waiting inside the inner door of the lock, still suited, but helmetless.

  "How's the kid?" Jirik demanded as he removed his helmet.

  Valt motioned reassuringly. "I think he'll be all right, Captain. Short of breath is all. He wouldn't have had much more time." he added.

  "Good!" Jirik replied. "That was quick thinking, Valt. You saved Tor's life!" He clapped the tall man on the shoulder, without much effect through the heavy spacesuit.

  Bran also looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear it, too. But we still have a problem. What do we do about those four out there?"

  Jirik frowned. "I don't know. It looks like a standoff. They can't get in, but we can't take off without fuel."

  "We can't wait them out," Bran replied. "Given time, they'll be able to seal off an undamaged part of one of the plascrete huts, or maybe even the supply cave. And I suspect that they have all the air and supplies they'll need in the supply cave.

  Jirik shook his head. "You're right; we can't wait. A supply and reinforcement ship could break out of supralight at any moment. Besides, they could get one of the base lasers or missile launchers working. The trouble is, they're sure to be watching all the locks now. As soon as one begins to cycle open, they'll gather and ambush us. Gentlemen, we have a problem!"

  Valt stirred. "What if we opened one lock, and then, when they gather around it, we sneak out another lock?"

  Bran shook his head. "No, I doubt that would work. All of them won't gather. They'll leave one watching the other locks.'

  Jirik nodded. "Right. I wish Cony was that stupid, but I know that he isn't." He slammed a fist into his palm. "Damn! I wish we had fuel!"

  Valt shrugged. "Wishing won't help, Captain."

  Bran was looking thoughtful. Suddenly, excitement appeared in his mournful features. "Maybe it will!"

  Jirik jerked around. "You've got an idea!" he accused excitedly.

  Bran's face regained its customary seriousness. "Maybe, Captain. When they drained our fuel, all they did was pump out the tanks. But, any Engineer can tell you that it's hard to get all the fuel out of a tank. I'd guess there's at least a small amount in each tank."

  "How much?" Jirik's tone was excited.

  Bran shook his head. "Not enough for lift-off, Captain." He smiled as Jirik's face fell, and continued. "But, I'd bet that, together with what's in the lines, pumps, and so on, we've got enough to fire the inertial drive and toast those bastards!"

  Excitement flared in Jirik's face. "Yeah I like it! Bran, you get to Engineering and get ready to light off the drive. Valt, you and I will each take a lock. You take the service lock we used before. I'll take the personnel lock. If Tor's recovered enough, he can take the cargo lock. As soon as the drive fires, we crack the outer hatches. If the drive flare doesn't get them, they'll be easy targets running away!"

  Tor was pale and shaken, but was rapidly regaining his composure. The others quickly briefed him on their plans, and he pronounced himself capable of assisting.

  They needn't have worried. The terrorists were apparently planning to use the Lass' own bulk to shield them from fire from the locks, and had clustered almost directly under the drive tubes. They died in the first glaring flare of rocket exhaust. In moments, the drives coughed out the last of the fuel, and subsided. Jirik warily descended from the personnel lock, laser in hand. One glance under the tubes of the Lass was enough to.tell him that no more enemies survived. He radioed his news to the others.

  Their cheers rang over his suit radio, and he grinned.

  "All right," He shouted over the din, "We don't have time to celebrate. Let's get the old bitch fueled up and get the hell off this mudball. When we're safely supralight, then we can celebrate!"

  The others tumbled from the lock, chattering excitedly. Even the dour Bran was grinning broadly. Jirik sent Bran to the Comm hut, to see if any of the equipment was still serviceable, and Tor to man the detectors and comms if they were. "If a terrorist ship breaks out, I'd like to know about it before they start blasting us!" he announced. He and Valt went about running hoses to the Lass, and refilling her now-dry tanks. After half an hour, Bran returned, reporting that the equipment was nearly undamaged by the decompression, and that he had jury-rigged connections to patch into Tor's suit comm.

  The Lass' tanks were only starting to fill when Tor reported that a ship had broken out of supralight at the edge of the system. A few minutes later, he reported in a panicked tone that the ship had hailed the base, and his suspicion that they were aware that all was not well on the base. "I think I was supposed to respond to a code phrase with another that would tell them 'all clear'." he said. "But I didn't know the code, and now they won't acknowledge my transmissions!" There was
an edge of panic in his voice.

  Jirik snapped orders. Valt was to continue the refueling, as it might barely be possible to get spaceborne and evade the terrorists. Tor was to keep track of the incoming ship. Bran and Jirik hurried, clumsy in their suits, to the Command Center, in hopes that they could make some of the ground armament surrounding the base operational in time.

  By the time the ship approached attack range, the Lass was still not fueled sufficiently for liftoff. The intruder was still not responding to Tor's transmissions, and was closing on what was obviously an attack vector. Bran had managed to get only one ground-based heavy laser operational. He slaved the laser's tracking system to Tor's detectors. Jirik watched the laser swivel to center on the still-invisible attacker, and cursed at his own impotence. Tor suddenly shouted "Missile!" as the base's laser drilled a blinding beam into the darkness. Jirik shouted "Down!", and obeyed his own command. He cursed as his helmet made it impossible to watch what was happening. A rumbling vibration through the hut's floor told him that the missile had impacted, and he cautiously rose to his knees to see where. His heart sank. The Lass was tilted awkwardly, one side spewing vapor from released air. Their escape was blocked.

  "Well," Jirik announced dully, "It'll take him several hours to set up another attack vector. He can't just turn around and make another run. He knows, now, that we have at least one operational laser with ground-to-orbit capability. He won't take any more chances with that!"

  Bran looked him glumly. "I'll get back to work on these weapons systems. Maybe I can get us more lasers, or even some missiles."

  Jirik was about to reply when Tor shouted, "Breakout One . . . two . . . many ships! Large Blips! I think it's the Navy!"

  "Hail them!" Jirik shouted. "Tell them that we're under attack from an armed ship, and need help!"

  "Yessir!" came the reply. A few seconds of silence indicated that Tor had switched frequencies to hail the fleet. Minutes dragged by as they waited out the lightspeed lag for a reply. Jirik watched as the detector screens showed the attacker suddenly break out of his attack vector and dive for the gas giant "below" them, evidently in hopes of using its gravity well for an acceleration boost in a forlorn attempt to escape the pursuing Alliance Navy Destroyers. Jirik found himself perversely pulling for the terrorist captain to make it.

  "That Captain's good," he commented

  Bran nodded. "Yeah, but he hasn't got a hope in the cosmos of making it. Destroyers have too much acceleration. He'll never have time to compute a jump." He sounded vaguely regretful.

  Jirik merely nodded in reply, turning from the detector screen. He didn't care to see the inevitable conclusion of the pursuit. It was too hard to watch a ship die.

  Over ten minutes passed before Tor's excited shout blasted Jirik's ears. "It's them, Captain! The other ship's hauling off. Destroyers in pursuit. Mr. Tomys wants to know if we're all right. Shall I patch you through?"

  "Damned right!" Jirik replied. When a muted click confirmed that the comm patch was completed, Jirik exploded. "It's about time, you sonovabitch! Where the hell have you been?"

  Several minutes passed before Tomys' chuckle echoed in his earphones. "Calm down, Captain! You know that we're lucky that we got here at all! None of our scientists would give me better than one in ten odds that my scheme would work. Are you all OK? Do you need medical assistance? I have a surgeon on board my Courier, if you need him. We can ground in . . . an hour and a half."

  "We're all right," Jirik admitted grudgingly. "But it's pure luck that we are. The Lass has been hit by a missile. I don't know how badly. Damn it, I sure wish you'd arrived a few minutes earlier!"

  The communications lag was growing shorter as Tomys' courier boosted for the moon at max acceleration. Only a few minutes passed before Tomys' voice replied, "So do 1, Captain. So do I."

  With the Navy on the scene, the danger was past. The crew gathered to examine the damage to the Lass. It was obvious that the old bitch would never lift again, Jirik decided. The terrorist missile had cracked her hull down one side. Bran had reported that her frames were warped; as he said, "Her back's broken." It was an epitaph.

  ***

  Jirik had mixed emotions about being on Trimec Base. A rosy nostalgia engendered by the base's neat, disciplined environment was mixed with uncomfortable memories of his reasons for resigning, and the reasons for his current presence. Overlaying it all was a desperate yearning for Via Telson, and despair when he thought that every moment took her farther from him Unfortunately, it seemed that they might be here for awhile. There seemed to be miles of red tape to be unsnarled.

  His crew wasn't reacting as expected, either. Tor was still in a blue funk, haunted by thoughts of having actually killed other human beings. He was sleeping poorly, and had become solitary and sullen. Valt, on the other hand, had positively blossomed. The change in Valt's personality since the beating was remarkable. There had been the bloodthirsty period while they were delivering their cargo around the rim. Then there had been the period between that and their fight on the terrorist moon.

  That battle seemed to have opened a new vista for Valt. Two days ago, he had notified Jirik that he wanted the other crewmen to buy him out, so that he could enlist in the Navy. It seemed that all the excitement had whetted Valt's appetite. He had confided to Jirik that, for the first time, he really had something that he wanted desperately to do with himself.

  Even Bran seemed to have been affected by the events of the recent past. Now, he was as likely to be found at the base weapons range as the library. Jirik had the uncomfortable feeling that his crew was changing before his eyes, and that nothing would ever be the same as before the eventful trip to the rim.

  Jirik was not in the best of moods, therefore, when he answered a knock on the door of his quarters to find Tomys standing there.

  The agent grinned at Jirik's sour expression."Relax, Captain. For once, my visiting doesn't mean trouble for you or your crew."

  Jirik's face cleared only somewhat. "So you say," He growled, but he stepped aside to let the small man into his quarters, and, motioned him to a seat.

  "Actually, Captain," Tomys continued blandly, "I've come to update you, and to say goodbye. The Council doesn't approve of Class I's loafing about on Navy bases, babysitting spacers. I've got another assignment."

  Jirik's anger had flared at Tomys' remark about "babysitting," but had instantly subsided into suspicion as he mentioned another mission.

  "This one had better not involve me or my crew, or you're liable to see a real rebellion!" he replied,

  Tomys' grin was back. "Don't worry. You're going to be otherwise occupied, for the next few months, anyway

  Jirik sat straight up. "You've got news about a ship!" He concluded with growing excitement. "Tell me!"

  Tomys nodded, his grin fading to seriousness. "The authorization just arrived. The FSS Doncaster, a DIN Class Combat Hauler, is now undergoing refit in the yards here. She's yours, if you want her."

  Jirik's suspicion of the agent was returning with full force. "All right," he replied,"Now drop the other shoe. What's the catch?"

  Tomys stared at him with mock distress. "Why, Captain! Whatever makes you think that there's a catch? Didn't I promise you that I'd replace the Lass if she was damaged beyond repair?"

  Jirik scowled. "Simple. I don't trust you a millimeter!"

  Tomys grin was back. "Well, this time there's no catch. The Council is honoring my commitment. They've ordered the Admiral to complete the refit to Navy standards, including space trials and shakedown, then turn her over to you and your crew. All you have to do is tell them what name you want painted on her hull

  Jirik's scowl didn't budge. "She's some rust bucket that they were going to decommission, right?"

  Tomys' grin had finally faded completely. "Captain, your suspicion is getting boring. I've been as forthright and honest with you as the circumstances permitted. Now, the mission is complete. Cony's dead, and the terrorist faction of the Actionists is to
tally discredited. Newsfaxes all over the rim and the neighboring worlds are full of the terrorist plot to sieze power on the rim by force, and to subvert the governments of neighboring systems. All nine rim worlds are falling over themselves disassociating themselves from the plot, and the Actionist's plans have been set back many years. I have no reason to lie at this point. I simply wanted to deliver the good news myself. As for the Doncaster, she's twenty local years old. She was already in the yard undergoing refit before the Lass was destroyed."

  Jirik flushed. "I'm sorry. Since we lost the Lass, I guess I've been in a nonstop bad mood. I know that they could have just got her spaceworthy, and turned her over without completing the overhaul. I really do appreciate the extra effort. I'm sorry I sounded so ungrateful."

  Tomys shrugged and grinned. "No problem. A crew that gets into as much trouble as yours needs a ship that can keep up!" He leaned closer. "I stretched my authority a bit, and put some pressure on the Admiral. When you take her over, you're going to find that she's a lot better ship than the Lass. Oh, they have to remove some of the really highly classified stuff, but you're going to find yourself in possession of completely new, state-of-the-art sensor arrays, detectors, and comps, including your nav comp. Your crew's going to have to study some manuals before you lift, just to use the stuff. Consider it a going-away present from me."

  Jirik nodded. "Thanks. Is there any chance that we can hang around while they're doing the refit? You know, get used to her quirks and ways?"

  Tomys shrugged. "I don't know. The Admiral's nose is already a bit out of joint about turning a perfectly good military vessel over to civilians. I imagine that I can at least get you aboard for the space trials and the shakedown. For the rest, all I can say is that I'll try." He paused, then continued, "Now, is there anything else that I can do for you? Since you wouldn't take the honors that the Council wanted to heap on you, they've told me to extend you "All Cooperation". That's political for "Anything you need, you've got it."