Wolf Among the Stars-ARC

by Steve White

  “Actually, sir, it’s worse than a long chance. With all due respect, it’s crazy as hell.” She gave an ear-to-ear smile that made her almost unrecognizable. “I think I like it.”

  “You know, Lieutenant, you remind me of stories my mother used to tell me about a friend of hers named Ada Rivera, who was one of those killed in 2030. If the name sounds familiar, there are streets named after her today.” Andrew stood up, not trusting himself to say anything more. “And now, let’s go and talk to this potential Black Wolf defector of yours.”

  Rory Gallivan was a raffishly handsome man in his thirties, a classic Black Irish type with startlingly blue eyes under his dark brows. His appearance was appropriate, for he came from a long line of IRA men. His father had been the last of them, though, for even in his grandfather’s time the organization—and its Orange opposite number—had been growing increasingly irrelevant after the Belfast Accords that had set in motion the process of eventual reintegration of Ulster into the Republic. The remaining hard-liners had tried to sabotage it, but everyone saw them more and more clearly as mad dogs for whom terrorism had become an end in itself—the only way of life they knew. Several years before Rory’s birth, the CNE had seen the peace process to completion. By then his grandfather had died of sheer, festering bitterness and his father had departed for the greener pastures of organized crime—greener than ever, now that they were nourished with the proceeds of interstellar smuggling.

  But by the time Rory Gallivan had been of an age to follow in the paternal footsteps, the industry’s small entrepreneurs were gradually being squeezed out by the Black Wolf Society, which had been born only three years after himself. He had inherited his father’s sense for the direction the wind was blowing and had joined the new umbrella organization, which didn‘t react well to holdouts.

  “Yes,” he explained to Andrew and Morales, sitting across a table from them in an insouciant pose, right ankle on left knee. “If a man doesn’t have a proper regard for his own skin, he can hardly expect anyone else to, now can he?” Andrew wondered if he worked at cultivating his engaging brogue.

  “It appears that you rose fast in the organization,” said Morales. “In fact, you were second in command to Da Silva.”

  “Aye, that I was. Indeed, I was a confidant of Da Silva, as I suppose we must still call him.” Gallivan gave his head a shake of bogus disillusionment. “I always knew there was something just a mite queer about that spalpeen!”

  Andrew leaned forward on his elbows and smiled coldly. “Gallivan, I’m three-quarters Irish myself. So you can save the blarney for the tourists. We’re here to try and work out a way you can help us and thereby earn our help in avoiding the justice you so richly deserve. Now, then. I understand that Da Silva entrusted you with certain emergency communication protocols. Correct?”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Gallivan in something more closely resembling Standard English. “If Da Silva was dead or disabled, I was to bring City of Osaka to a certain region of the outer Sol system and implement those protocols.”

  “Which,” Andrew surmised, “would have triggered an emergency activation of the access key, about which you knew nothing, and sent out a prerecorded message.” His smile grew even colder. “It’s pretty clear what this was all about. I seem to recall reading somewhere that cowardice and miserliness go together. The Kappainu didn’t want to lose their ship even if Da Silva, the only member of their race aboard, was dead. So you would have brought it home to them . . . after which you and all the other human crew members, having seen their space station, would have been killed to maintain security.”

  “So I’ve come to understand, Captain.” Gallivan’s blue eyes grew icy. “That’s why I’m willing to listen to any program you may see fit to propose.”

  “All right. Here’s the plan.” Andrew spoke for several minutes. Gallivan’s jaw sank lower and lower as he listened. When Andrew was done, he swallowed hard.

  “Do you recall what I said earlier about a certain regard for one’s skin, Captain? It appears that you and this lovely Spanish lady have very little for yours—which is regrettable in her case, at least—and even less for mine.”

  “Should that surprise you?”

  “Not at all. But surely you must understand that I’ll require a bit more inducement if I’m to play the role you’re asking of me.”

  “You’re in no position to be bargaining,” said Morales, on whom the charm of the Western Isles was clearly wasted.

  “Such as?” Andrew queried, shushing her.

  “Over the years, I’ve been a very saving man, Captain. I’ve even saved certain sums my right to which the Black Wolf Society might question.”

  “I’ll say this for you,” said Andrew, smiling in spite of himself. “You’re a very bold embezzler, if nothing else.”

  Gallivan gave a wince of misunderstood innocence before resuming. “I’ve found it prudent to place my savings in certain numbered Swiss bank accounts. Now, I realize that’s not the assurance it was a hundred years ago. But if you can promise me that I’ll have a full pardon for my prior activities, and that my assets will be untouched . . .”

  “Gallivan, you know perfectly well that I’m not empowered to commit the CNE to any amnesties. But for some unaccountable reason, I like you. And the smuggling you’ve been doing is probably the least repulsive facet of the Black Wolf’s business. So you have my word that if you cooperate with us, and we get back to Earth alive, I’ll be the strongest advocate you could wish for. That’s all I can promise.”

  “You’re an honest man, Captain. I’m somewhat lacking in experience of dealing with honest men. All right. I’m with you.” He extended a hand. After only the barest hesitation, Andrew took it.

  “Very well. We’ll get you moved into relatively comfortable quarters and shortly commence some detailed pre-mission briefing.”

  As they stood up to leave, Alana Morales turned back to Gallivan and spoke, as though it were an afterthought. “Oh, by the way, one other thing. This is going to involve the two of us working together on the same ship for a time. If you step out of line just once, I’ll personally crush your balls with pliers. Understood?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.” The brogue was barely perceptible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They emerged into normal space in the effectively sunless realm just inside the orbit of Neptune, fairly close to the region where computer simulations indicated the Kappainu station’s orbit could by now have taken it, but not so close that even multiple transitions could be detected by grav scan.

  The Rogovon task force didn’t really qualify as such, but Andrew couldn’t complain about the percentage of their combat strength the rebels had been willing to commit. There were none of the strike cruisers and even larger battlecruisers that were the capital ships of space, but there were five cruisers of smaller classes, and a number of frigates of the transition engine-bearing classes, some of which had originally been designed as scouts but were now modified with additional weaponry. All had been fitted with Zhygon’s improvised access keys. Borthru commanded them all from the cruiser Krondython. But the whole array was backup for one frigate-sized converted merchantman.

  Borthru was clearly not a happy camper, hanging well back out of probable sensor range. “Why don’t we follow you more closely, so we can provide support when necessary?” he grumbled from City of Osaka’s comm screen. “After all, we’re concealed by the maximum countermeasures our technology can manage.”

  “We’ve been through this before,” Reislon reminded him. “The Kappainu are the masters of stealth technology, so we don’t dare assume they’re any less advanced in penetrating other people’s stealth.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Andrew. “Just wait for us to reappear and signal you, and then move in quickly to give us covering fire while we’re on our way back to you.”

  “If you are,” Borthru corrected with no good grace. But he subsided with only a little more pessimistic grumbling, and City of
Osaka surged ahead, seeking out the Kappainu’s hiding place.

  Andrew examined the access key. Zhygon had, as promised, set up a crude but human-usable control panel for the thing, complete with readouts. As an additional flourish, he had discovered that use of the protocols Gallivan had been given would not only activate the device but also link its communication function into the ship’s ordinary electronics. An ingenious arrangement . . . and a very useful one for their present purposes.

  Andrew turned to Gallivan. “Now remember, you’re not supposed to know anything except what Da Silva told you. You’re just bringing this ship to the region of space he specified and following instructions.”

  “Rest assured, Captain, acting’s in my blood. I’ll act surprised in all the right places.”

  “See that you do,” said Morales darkly, letting her hand rest on her M-3.

  Gallivan winced and began to key in the coded signal.

  The lights of the access key’s original Kappainu controls at once winked to life, to Andrew’s relief. Using Zhygon’s auxiliary controls, he activated the device’s detection function. Presently, a telltale awoke on Zhygon’s board, showing the station’s heading and distance.

  Andrew addressed Gallivan again. “Remember—”

  “I don’t know it’s there.” There was faint film of sweat on the ex-Black Wolf man’s brow as his signal continued to go out.

  With startling abruptness, the comm screen lit up. The face it revealed was, to all appearances, human . . . and seemed puzzled.

  Gallivan acted appropriately thunderstruck. “Who the Devil are you? And where are you?”

  “Never mind! Who are you?”

  “Why, this is City of Osaka, and it’s First Officer Gallivan you’re addressing. I’m reporting in as instructed, using the emergency protocols I was given, so a bit more civility might be in order.”

  “City of Osaka?” The face goggled. “Stand by while I . . . Just stand by!” The screen went blank.

  Gallivan looked pleased with himself. “It seems we’ve set a cat among the pigeons.”

  “Quiet!” Morales hissed.

  The screen reawakened, and Gallivan did a quite creditable simulation of astonishment. “Why, saints preserve us! It’s you! Where are you broadcasting from?”

  “That can wait,” snapped Zoltan da Silva. “How did you get here? City of Osaka was captured, and it left the solar system.”

  “Ah, well, that’s a rather long story. Yes, we could tell the ship was departing in some haste—there seemed to be a fine set-to in progress, although they told us prisoners nothing. But when the ship reached its destination, which we later learned was the Kogurche system, we were able to turn on the prize crew and overpower them, at the cost of some losses. Barely had we taken the ship back when an array of ships appeared and began hailing us—Rogovon they were, of all things! As soon as they realized who was in control of City of Osaka, they demanded our surrender. We were hardly in a position to refuse. Then they assigned one of their ships to escort us to some kind of base.”

  Andrew imagined what was going on behind Da Silva’s expression of intense concentration. He would know about the Rogovon flotilla from the report of the two Kappainu ships that had pursued City of Osaka to Kogurche and then fled at the approach of that flotilla. He must assume that the prisoners’ successful rebellion had come just after that.

  “This still doesn’t explain what you’re doing back here in the Solar system,” he pointed out.

  “Ah, well, perhaps you’ve heard the old adage about the luck of the Irish. Another Black Wolf ship showed up.”

  “Another Black Wolf ship?”

  “Aye—and rather better armed than ours, which was fortunate. She disposed of the Rogovon ship that was shepherding us, but was fatally damaged herself. We were able to rescue some of her survivors, including the captain. She wanted to come to Sol anyway, and we were more than happy to provide transportation. And so here I am, as you instructed me.”

  “Hmm . . . good work, Rory. I’d be very interested in talking to this captain. But first, a question. When you took the ship back, did you take Captain Roark and his Lokaron friend Reislon’Sygnath alive?”

  “Alas, we did not. If the truth be known, we decided that the taking of prisoners was a luxury we could not afford.”

  “That’s unfortunate, Rory! I had a great deal I wanted to ask them, as did my superiors.” Da Silva gave a sideways glance. Andrew guessed he was making eye contact with Valdes, standing outside the pickup where his well-known face couldn’t be seen by Gallivan, who, like all the Kappainu’s unwitting human minions, wasn’t supposed to know of his involvement. Valdes must have said something, for Da Silva’s expression changed. Andrew guessed that Valdes had reminded him that he and Reislon could have warned Gallivan of what lay in store for him when he returned City of Osaka to the Sol system. “Well, perhaps it’s for the best after all. But you were about to introduce me to your guest . . .”

  “At once!” With a flourish, Gallivan motioned Morales into the pickup, where she faced Da Silva.

  This was the crucial moment. Their hopes were based on several assumptions. First, that Da Silva and Valdes wouldn’t know all the members of their race currently masquerading as humans, or be au courant with all their activities. Second, that the Kappainu didn’t have some kind of covert recognition signal to give each other in situations like this, when the presence of Black Wolf humans required them to speak circumspectly and in English. And third, that under these circumstances Morales’s appearance, aided by judicious hints, would suffice to convince them that she was one of their own.

  “Alana Morales,” she announced without preamble. “I was sent to Kogurche to investigate the . . . matters with which we’re concerned there. I obtained important information, which I was about to bring to your superiors here, when I happened to encounter City of Osaka and her escort.”

  “It’s unfortunate about your ship,” Da Silva commiserated.

  “Yes. But at least I’m bringing this one back to you, with . . . that which it contains.” She looked Da Silva in the eyes, wordlessly reminding him of the access key.

  “Yes . . . yes, that is very important. But as to this information you bring?”

  “Obviously, I’m not in a position to speak freely about it here.” Morales glanced significantly in Gallivan’s direction, then back to Da Silva.

  “No, of course you’re not. Well, come ahead. You know what to do . . . But no.” He must, Andrew thought, have suddenly recalled that the access key can’t be used in the presence of the human crew. “No,” Da Silva repeated. “We’ll simply continue to use the emergency protocols. I’ll download navigational directions to your ship’s computer. They’ll bring you to . . . where you need to come. Gallivan, implement the instructions and don’t bother asking questions. Don’t be surprised by what you see. And stand by to be taken in tow by a tractor beam. Don’t worry—everything will be made clear.” He bestowed a grim smile on Morales and signed off.

  Morales leaned on a console, limp with the release of accumulated tension.

  “Well done, Alana,” said Andrew, releasing his breath. The Kappainu might have intended to simply flood the ship’s interior with lethal gas, or otherwise summarily dispose of the inconvenient human Black Wolf crew, but now Morales’ presence would preclude that.

  “Aye—a bravura performance indeed,” said Gallivan with a grin. “Are you sure you’re not part Irish?”

  Morales smiled, before remembering who was speaking. “Absolutely sure,” she said with a glare that didn’t quite come off.

  They followed the navigational instructions they had been given, decelerating to almost nothing and going into free fall at the designated instant, while Andrew resumed worrying. The success of their initial deception had only brought them face-to-face with a whole new set of problems. One was the awkward absence of City of Osaka’s original Black Wolf crew, all of whom except Gallivan had been left in the Kogurche system. T
he prize crew could be explained as Morales’s fellow survivors. But they would have to act before Da Silva had time to notice the absence of any familiar faces.

  Andrew was still thinking about it when they entered the Kappainu space station’s region of invisibility. He was prepared for the unnatural sensations of passage, and for the sudden appearance of the Brobdingnagian structure dead ahead. His companions weren’t.

  “Holy Mary, mother of God!” gasped Gallivan. Morales murmured something in Spanish.

  Andrew shook Gallivan out of his stunned immobility. “Start frantically signaling! It’s what they’ll expect you to do, although they probably won’t bother to acknowledge.”

  His prediction proved accurate as the communicator remained silent. They felt the characteristic jar as the tractor beam took hold and began to haul them in.

  Andrew considered ordering a futile effort to break free and escape, simply to keep Gallivan in character, but decided against it—the weapons the station was training on them would have been obvious to anyone. So he watched with renewed tension as the station grew closer. The last time he had been here, the Kappainu had deposited the gig he had ridden on a hangar deck. But there might not be room for the near frigate-sized City of Osaka, in which case they would park the ship alongside the station . . . and all bets would be off.

  But the maw of the docking bay gradually surrounded them and they slid through the atmosphere screen into the hangar. Andrew ordered himself not to go weak with relief and studied the vast interior space. It seemed even larger than it had before, when it had held a number of the Kappainu warships. Now it was nearly empty. He had no idea what the warships’ absence portended; it might or might not be good news from the standpoint of Borthru’s force, but it left ample room for City of Osaka, and for that at least he was profoundly grateful.

  The gravitic hands holding their ship lowered it to the deck with scarcely a bump. At once, two files of Kappainu guards hurried out to cover the egress ports with their carbine-sized handheld laser weapons. There was still no attempt at communication.