by Steve White
“He must have nearly killed himself, piling on the gs,” Rachel breathed. “How soon will he be here?”
Andrew did a quick calculation. “About a week. We had hoped for two. Mister Davis, include this new factor in your nav problem and tell me how soon we have to start out.”
“Can we even do it?” Morales wondered aloud.
“No, we can‘t,” said Davis after a moment. “But using your original figure of 1.5 g, it‘s just barely possible—if we head out within two hours.”
“Two hours? But that won’t give time to return Svyatog to Earth!” And, Andrew thought with a sick sense of defeat, it would have been hopeless anyway: 1.5 Terran g was slightly over two Harath-Asor gs.
“My ship, as you may have noted, is a luxury model,” said Svyatog. “It has compensating internal gravity fields to reduce apparent acceleration. I can accommodate Reislon and your mother aboard Korcentyr.”
“You mean you’re going? Personally?”
“There appears to be no other alternative.”
Katy’s grin banished decades from her face. “Just like old times, isn’t it, Svyatog?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Walking carefully under his half-again-normal weight, Andrew went to the nav tank and stood over it, gazing at the three-dimensional plot. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t really expected that it would have.
The relevant portion of Earth’s orbit around Sol showed as a curving string-light along which the icon of the mother planet slid in a counterclockwise direction. Above the plane defined by that orbit, Valdes’s course extended down at a seventy-degree angle from the right to intersect the orbit at the point where Earth would be at the time of the intersection. And farther to the right, off to the side of that course’s scarlet thread, were the two tiny green icons of City of Osaka and Korcentyr, still working their way into position.
Merely reaching Earth’s escape velocity would have sent them outward in the plane of the ecliptic on a parabolic orbit. Instead, they had boosted “upward,” above that plane, and fought to overcome the intrinsic eighteen-plus miles per second that Earth had imparted to them. Soon the untiring exertions of their reactionless drives would send them curving back, and they would be back to normal weight, at least for a time.
He felt rather than heard Rachel join him. She had held up uncomplainingly under the acceleration, with the often surprising resilience of young human females. But her lack of naval experience made her even less able than the rest of them to cope with the gnawing uncertainties of what awaited them.
“Surely he can detect us,” she said nervously.
“Probably. But not necessarily. Remember, that’s a very small ship, with a powerful drive taking up space. We don’t know what he’s got in the way of sensors. In fact, we don’t know anything at all about what he’s got.”
“Including weapons.”
It was, of course, the great imponderable. “We’ve gone over that,” Andrew reminded her. “We have no hard information, but it’s difficult to believe that a ship that small could have even as much as this one, or that its deflection screens could be as strong as ours or Korcentyr’s. In fact, if the ship is supposed to suit Valdes’ official role, you wouldn’t expect it to be armed at all.”
“I hope you’re right, especially considering that Korcentyr definitely isn’t.” Then, as she saw Andrew’s wince of worry and belatedly remembered who Svyatog’s ship was carrying: “Oh, I‘m sorry. I shouldn‘t have—”
“That’s all right.” He took a last look, then sighed and squared his unnaturally heavy shoulders. “We’ll know the answers to all of this soon enough.”
The interception turned out to involve less trouble than Andrew had feared. Their quarry attempted a certain amount of evasive action, but he was severely limited in what he could do if he wanted to stay on course to be captured by Earth. If he simply accelerated on his present course, he would flash past Earth and continue sunward on a flat hyperbola from which he would probably take many weeks to struggle back even with today’s drives . . . which was fine with Andrew, for it would give them the leisure to devise new strategies. And besides, Legislative Assemblyman and front-running president-general candidate Valdes was expected back at a particular time.
“So we’ve got the bugger where we want him!” exulted Gallivan as they observed a nav plot that could now be reduced to the tactical scale as they closed in.
“If I didn’t know it was useless,” said Morales, “I’d tell you not to get cocky. Remember, this is going to involve some extremely delicate coordination. Korcentyr doesn’t have an access key, so Svyatog is going to be dependent on our ability to pierce Valdes’ cloaking field.”
“Ah, but thanks to the good Lieutenant Davis’s efforts, we can download our sensor readings directly to Korcentyr, rather than having some poor sod—most likely me, if you had your way!—sit at the communicator and read them off.”
“Which is why this ought to work,” said Andrew, “as long as everyone carries out my orders. All my orders,” he added firmly, with a significant glance at Gallivan. “Don’t forget, the optimal outcome is to take Valdes alive, for questioning and for living evidence.”
“Also,” Rachel opined, “his ship was based on the space station, and they wouldn’t have allowed Black Wolf humans there. So his crew must be all Kappainu.”
“Right,” Andrew nodded. “So we’re going to give him a chance to surrender. Understood?”
They all muttered agreement, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Valdes’s ship proved to be even smaller than they had expected, visibly smaller than Korcentyr. And their theories about it panned out: it was unarmed and mounted only the most minimal civilian-model deflection shields. After a certain amount of seemingly half-hearted evasive maneuvering, it was seized by Korcentyr’s tractor beam. From City of Osaka’s control room, Andrew watched it being reeled in.
This is going too smoothly, he thought.
“Very well,” said Valdes in response to their hail. He seemed oddly calm. “I surrender. I appear to have no choice—especially inasmuch as Broadsword will surely be headed in-system soon, if it isn’t already.”
Andrew half rose, all his resolve to be coolly distant forgotten. ?Broadsword?”
“Yes, that’s right; you wouldn’t know, would you?” Valdes smiled his campaign smile. “While I was en route toward Earth, Broadsword appeared and intervened in the battle. She must have been waiting and observing that region of space, and seen the explosion of our station. At any event, she made it possible for your Rogovon allies to wipe out our mobile forces.”
“I can imagine,” said Andrew. Jamel Taylor’s strike cruiser must have been like a tiger among jackals.
“So,” Valdes continued urbanely, “my only hope was to get to Earth and reentrench myself. But now I see that I have failed and have no more cards to play. So I will give myself up to your Lokaron confederates.” Valdes signed off, seemingly leaving his strangely composed expression on the screen like the smile of the Cheshire Cat.
Svyatog’s face appeared. Katy was visible in the background. “I will bring him aboard as soon as we’ve brought our respective passenger ports together.”
“Right. Signing off.” Andrew turned to the viewscreen and watched Valdes’ ship gradually approach Korcentyr.
“I don’t like this,” Andrew muttered. “He’s giving up too easily.”
“What else can he do?” asked Rachel. “Do you expect him to blow up his ship and Korcentyr with it when they come in contact? Somehow that doesn’t seem consistent with Kappainu psychology.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Andrew admitted. “I don’t expect that.” But he continued to stare, brooding, at the viewscreen.
Abruptly, he stood up. “I’m going over to Korcentyr. X.O., you have the conn. Have them break out the gig.”
“You’ll be wanting me to pilot the gig, Captain,” Gallivan stated rather than asked.
“I’ll come, too,” said Ra
chel.
“No!” Andrew didn’t know the source of his premonition, but he was in no doubt as to its strength. “For once I’m going to put my foot down. Stay here. Please.”
She started to speak, but something she saw in his face stopped her. She simply nodded. Their eyes held each other for a moment. Then, with a gesture to Gallivan to follow him, he was gone.
It wasn’t far, as City of Osaka was holding position within the effective antiship range of her point-defense lasers. But Gallivan took the gig on a curving course, partly to stay well outside those lasers’ field of fire and partly to come around to Korcentyr’s starboard access port, on the opposite side from the one toward which Valdes’s ship was being drawn. Gazing out the gig’s transparent canopy, Andrew watched the two ships gently touch.
Maybe I’m just getting worked up over nothing, he told himself.
They glided around Korcentyr’s stern. As Gallivan began his approach to the starboard side, it occurred to Andrew that Svyatog wasn’t expecting him. “Raise Korcentyr,” he ordered.
Gallivan activated the communicator. No sound came, and the small screen remained black. He tried it again, frowning. “Odd. They’re not responding.”
Suddenly, with a burst of static, the gig’s interior was filled with a confused cacophony of panicky sounds: scuffling, and several voices trying to talk at once, among which Andrew could make out his mother’s. Then Valdes’s shout rose above all of them, silencing them.
“I said shut up! And everyone keep your hands where I can see them—especially you, with your weapon implant! I won’t hesitate to use this flamer again.”
Andrew, his mind trapped in nightmare, leaned forward against his straps. “Get the video!”
Gallivan raised a cautioning finger. “Valdes clearly doesn’t know the audio is on. Somebody—Reislon, I’ll wager—contrived to turn it on, in send-only mode, so we can listen. Let’s not give that advantage away.”
Andrew nodded slowly, forcing a semblance of calm on himself. It was hard—very hard. Especially when Katy’s was the next identifiable voice.
“What do you expect to gain by this?” she asked. “Your ship—and this one, for that matter—are still covered by City of Osaka’s weapons.”
“Which they’ll hardly use with you and the executive director of Hov-Korth aboard. I couldn’t have asked for more valuable hostages.”
“To what end?” asked Svyatog, as Andrew’s translator rendered the Lokaron sounds coming from the communicator grille. “To force them to let you resume your course for Earth? At this short range, they can undoubtedly disable the drives of both ships without killing us. Then you will find yourself in a deadlock—and City of Osaka can afford to simply wait you out.”
“You’re wrong!” The triumph in Valdes’s voice rose to almost manic intensity. “Did you really think we had all our mobile assets in the outer system? We keep two cloaked ships on permanent station near Earth. I summoned them while en route. They have had to overcome unfavorable orbital elements, but they should be arriving at any time now. They will dispose of City of Osaka.” A trace of mockery entered the flawlessly human voice. “Don’t worry: they won’t destroy this ship as long as I am aboard. And now, I suggest we all settle in to await their arrival.” The communicator subsided into silence.
“Captain,” Gallivan half whispered and half rasped, “I think I can bring us up against Korcentyr’s starboard access port and attach us magnetically without him noticing. I don’t think that’s exactly where his attention is focused at present.”
“But what good will that do us? We can’t get in unless he opens the port for us.”
Gallivan grinned fiercely. “Captain, the press of events has perhaps prevented me from being entirely forthcoming with you—as was always my intention!—about the capabilities of City of Osaka. The truth of the matter is, in the course of her . . . former occupation, it was sometimes necessary to enter another ship from the outside without help from the inside. That is especially true of this gig, which of course has no air lock but merely a port that can fasten to that of a larger vessel.”
“Get to the point, damn you!”
“Ah . . . well . . .” Gallivan fumbled under the instrument console and brought forth an object roughly the size and shape of a deep pie plate. “Shaped charge,” he explained with uncharacteristic succinctness. “With magnetic clamps to attach it to the inside of our hatch.”
“But if we blow their hatch inward, how do we know what the effect in there will be?”
“We don’t, Captain. I can’t guarantee the safety of any of them . . . including your mother. But what choice have we?”
“None.” Andrew drew a deep breath. “Do it. And be prepared to rush in there the instant it blows. Surprise is the only thing that’s going to give us a chance.” He drew his M-3 and charged it . . . and then remembered something. “But you’re unarmed.”
“Valdes doesn’t know that.” Gallivan grinned and then sobered with the speed of a leprechaun. “It’s as I said, Captain: What choice have we? Your mother’s in there.”
Andrew said nothing. He lacked the words. “I’ll go first,” was all he could finally manage.
As the gig moved slowly toward its goal, the silence from the communicator was broken by a rapid-fire spate of Kappainu words in Valdes’s voice. He must, Andrew thought, be talking into a hand communicator to the crew of his ship. Then Valdes spoke in English, for the benefit of his prisoners.
“All right. My two warships are approaching. You—go very slowly to this ship’s communicator and raise your other ship. I’m going to tell them that if they value the lives of my hostages, they’ll allow my private vessel to depart.”
“Quick,” Andrew hissed. “Disconnect! We can’t let him know we’ve been listening all along.” But Gallivan had thought of it himself; his hand was already slapping the switch.
The down side, of course, was that they no longer knew what was happening aboard Korcentyr. But Valdes must have done as he had intended, for on the far side of Korcentyr they could see his ship break free and begin to drift away.
Then Gallivan brought the gig up against the starboard access port with a precise delicacy Andrew would never have thought possible without the assistance of a tractor beam. He activated the magnetic seal. Then he hefted the limpet charge and met Andrew’s eyes. Andrew nodded, and Gallivan affixed it to the hatch of the gig, which of course had no air lock. Then he unceremoniously pushed Andrew down behind their acceleration couches.
“It is, as I say, a shaped charge,” he said with an apologetic look. “Still—”
Inside the restricted interior space of the gig, the blast was ear-shattering, and the concussion shook them with teeth-rattling force. Coughing his lungs clear of the acrid smoke that filled the gig, Andrew launched himself at the shattered hatch, with Gallivan close behind. They shoved aside the wreckage, and were inside Korcentyr.
Andrew was prepared for the abrupt transition from zero g into Korcentyr’s internal artificial-gravity field. At least it was only one Harath-Asor g. He hit the deck as weight descended on him, rolled, and sprang upright.
With senses seemingly speeded up to such a pitch that the rest of the universe was stationary, he took in the chaotic scene.
His drop-and-roll had taken him through the small entry port into the central saloon. Several Lokaron, including Svyatog and Reislon, were still flinching away from the blast that had ripped Korcentyr open. So was Katy. So was Valdes, who held in both hands a plasma flamer pistol, the smallest weapon of its type that could be engineered, and only by sacrificing almost everything to miniaturization, leaving it practically useless as a battlefield weapon. I’d wondered how he managed to sneak something like that aboard, thought Andrew in his state of suspended time. Still, Svyatog’s security sucks. But at the moment, the point was that the pistol was devastating in a confined space like this . . . and that Valdes had somehow kept it trained on his hostages.
Andrew leveled his M-
3. “Drop it, Valdes.”
“No!” Valdes was wild-eyed. “I’ll kill them all. You don’t dare try a shot!”
For a couple of eternal heartbeats, the motionless tableau held.
Andrew let his eyes stray toward the hostages. They met his mother’s. She smiled.
All at once, she launched herself at Valdes.
Her rush naturally had little speed and less force. But its sheer unexpectedness, combined with the Kappainu’s physical weakness, allowed her to throw Valdes off balance as she clutched feebly at his gun arm. As they grappled, Andrew still couldn’t risk firing.
With a convulsion of desperate strength, Valdes flung her off him. She spun away, and her head struck a bulkhead. She dropped to the deck.
At the same instant, Gallivan sprang. Valdes, still trying to restore his balance, fired wildly.
The blinding gush of superheated plasma stabbed out, brushing against Gallivan’s left arm. He fell, screaming and beating frantically at his burning sleeve. The plasma beam went on to incinerate the head of one of Svyatog’s crewmen.
But Valdes was now in the clear. Andrew fired on full automatic, bringing the stream of hypervelocity bullets from crotch up to mid-breast. Valdes collapsed with a shriek that had very little that was human about it, his tissues trying in vain to reconfigure themselves around the massive simultaneous trauma to so many vital organs.
He began to change.
Andrew became a robot with no purpose save to rush to the communicator and raise City of Osaka. He spoke emotionlessly. “Lieutenant Morales, this is the Captain. The situation is under control here. Destroy Valdes’s ship immediately. You have two incoming stealthed ships.” He had intended to use Valdes as a hostage when the Kappainu warships arrived, but that hope, like so much else, was gone. Receiving Morales’s acknowledgment, he permitted himself to turn around and see . . . but not to feel. Not yet.