Death Ship Quest

by William Zellmann

  Kas sighed. “Yes, sir. In about an hour. They’re starting on the Lu-Jenks business.”

  The Fleet Admiral nodded. “I know. I’m scheduled to testify day after tomorrow. And if you think they are raking you over the coals, wait ‘til they start trying to get me to explain why you weren’t court-martialed and shot!”

  The humdrum round of interrogations continued. Unsurprisingly, the committee refused to consider any of the evidence of Lu-Jenks’ complicity with the pirates in the assault on the asteroid base. Instead, they harped endlessly on every movement of his attack on the man, and continuously prodded him to explain why he wasn’t punished.

  Kas managed to hold onto his temper, barely. But now, in light of the newsie’s revelations, he began to see what was occurring. The carefully edited coverage of the hearings, the character assassination he had been enduring for months, now made sense. Ta-Lank was manipulating public opinion, working to convince the Empire’s billions that he was guilty of something, that he deserved to be kept hanging out here on the edge of known space for as long as possible. The senator was cultivating an “it serves him right” attitude among the populace, to get them to accept an action that would otherwise be seen as an injustice.

  Days dragged into more weeks. Neither Pankin nor the Emperor’s advisors had been able to come up with a way to counter Ta-Lank’s efforts. It seemed that the senator’s plans would succeed.

  Kas fumed and brooded. His people did not deserve this. Moreover, it offended his sense of justice and loyalty that a schnurk like Ta-Lank might end up being able to dictate to the Emperor because of him and his crews. Moreover, his attitudes were communicating themselves to his people. Morale was low, and a simmering resentment was beginning to fester.

  Lady Jane was the bright spot in his world of misery. She knew about the newsie’s call, of course -- she had been in his cabin when he’d received it. However, she seemed unfazed by the threat of long-term imprisonment aboard Vir Rekesh. “You won’t let that happen,” she responded airily when he brought it up. “You’ll do something -- something brilliant and unorthodox. Oh, you might have to leave the Fleet, and maybe the Empire. But you won’t let that happen to your people.”

  Kas grinned despite his low mood. “Your confidence in me is touching, Jane. I hope I can live up to it.”

  She came over and took him into her arms. “Of course you will. Now, come promote my morale!” She led him toward the bed.

  Nevertheless, it was something Ro-Lecton said that finally gave Kas the glimmering of an idea. “At least we’re keeping that bastard out here with us,” the little doctor mentioned. “It’s a delaying action. He can’t start any real mischief until he gets back to Prime!”

  Vir Rekesh and Starhopper had been clamped together since they had arrived, permitting free movement between the two ships without provoking a response from their guards. Kas called Toj Kray and Edro Jans over from Starhopper. As he explained his idea, slow grins began to appear on the big Bulworther and the little tech.

  Several days passed before everything was in readiness. In the quiet of the ship’s “night,” Kas crept from his cabin, through what seemed to be miles of empty corridors in the unoccupied section of the ship. Finally, he arrived at his destination, one of the ship’s waste processing chambers. Toj and Edro awaited him, with an odd-looking spacesuit.

  “Now, remember, sir,” Toj told him. “The suit’s specially shielded, but whatever you do, don’t use the propulsors. They would be detected instantly. The only maneuvering you can do is using this.” “This” turned out to be a large gas cylinder, almost too heavy for even the big engineer to handle in the ship’s gravity. Two smaller cylinders were clamped to its side.

  “Once you’re clear of the ship’s gravity field you should be all right,” the big man added as Kas began donning the suit. “But remember, there’s a big difference between weight and mass. Just because it’s weightless doesn’t mean it’ll be easy to handle! Now, I’ve fitted a nozzle that will give you a bit of steering ability, but most of your maneuvering will involve pointing one of the smaller cylinders opposite the direction you want to go, and venting some gas. Don’t expect to be able to maneuver as though you were using the suit propulsors, though.”

  “What you should do,” he continued, “Is kind of straddle the cylinder, and lay on it. Try to keep your body aligned with its long axis, to keep from tumbling too much, and keep one of the smaller cylinders in your hand. The nitrogen is compressed to five hundred atmospheres, so you should have adequate maneuvering reserve.”

  Edro stepped forward and handed Toj what appeared to be a collar for a very large animal, with a large stalk projecting from it. “Now, sir,” the engineer said, “This is the passive sensor Edro designed. It will detect almost any kind of radiation, but it doesn’t emit anything. It fits around your neck, and the stalk sticks up in front of your helmet, to give you a display that will let you home in on Atropos.

  “Oh yes,” he continued as Kas donned his helmet. “Your heads-up display has been programmed with the layout of Atropos. That should help you find a vent or a small lock near your landing site.”

  Kas nodded. He was beginning to wonder if he was crazy to try this. He was risking the lives of every man and woman aboard both his ships. He sighed. Crazy or not, it was necessary. It was obvious that no ideas would be coming from Prime, and Pankin’s advisors had come up empty, as well.

  Still, it was a big risk. Reluctant or not, Kas had no doubt that the guard ships would open fire at the first sign of a boat or launch leaving either of his ships. Moreover, he had no doubt that the surrounding ships kept a close watch.

  However, he had noticed that the guard ships ignored routine waste dumps. It was a normal procedure for ships to jettison wastes into a system’s sun. The guard ships never considered that such dumps might come under the heading of “nothing leaves those ships.”

  In a few minutes, they were going to dump waste again. This time, Kas would be in the middle of it and the load would not be aimed directly for the sun. Once clear of Vir Rekesh, Kas would orient himself toward the huge bulk of Atropos, and use the gas cylinder to boost himself in the direction of the dreadnought.

  Kas had not cleared his plan with Pankin. It was better that the Fleet Admiral be able to deny knowledge, even under probing.

  Finally, the moment arrived. Kas clumped over to the waste lock. Toj handed him the gas cylinder, and showed him the controls and the handles he had affixed to it. Then Toj closed the lock’s inner door. Kas felt his suit stiffen as the air pressure fell. Finally, the outer door opened, and the last of the air in the lock swept the waste, and Kas, into space.

  Kas was slowly spinning and tumbling. He hugged the gas cylinder and began scanning for Atropos. There! Nothing could be confused with her massive bulk. A few short, well-timed bursts of nitrogen, and the huge circular image steadied in his detector’s ring-shaped display. Taking a deep breath, Kas triggered a long, hard burst of gas from the large tank. He turned slightly, and could see the bulk of Vir Rekesh receding into the blackness of space. He gulped. He was committed, now. The fate of every man and woman on his two ships were in his hands. When Ta-Lank learned he had left Rekesh he was sure to order both ships destroyed. And that could be the end of the Empire. Unless his wild plan succeeded.

  Time dragged. Minutes became hours, but Kas didn’t dare accelerate too much -- it wouldn’t be wise to trigger Atropos’ meteor defenses!

  Nearly six hours had passed, and Kas was beginning to become concerned about his air supply when he realized he could see the dreadnought’s bulk even without Edro’s detector. He also realized that he was approaching it much too fast. Frantically, he threw his weight around, finally coaxing the tank’s mass into a slow tumble.

  Steering was more complicated this time. Space suits are not designed to provide wide-range vision. In particular, they are not designed to let the wearer see his feet.

  Kas gulped and then began carefully slewing his
body around, trying to rotate on the tank and face its nozzle without losing contact with it. He finally succeeded, and with a relieved sigh began venting gas to slow himself.

  With a huge sigh of relief, he brought himself to a stop relative to Atropos’ hull. The pitted antirad coating was almost within touching distance -- a few meters at most. Kas simply hung there for a few moments, panting with relief and released tension.

  Then he called up the image of Atropos on his heads-up display. He was . . . there! Yes, there was that particle beam projector, and over there, that sensor array.

  There should be a maintenance lock nearby that array. After a few moments, he located the circle that indicated the opening. He nosed the tank as close as he dared, then pushed off it in the direction of the lock.

  Judging by the micrometeorite pitting of the lock controls and the hatch itself, this lock had not been used in a generation. He nodded with satisfaction. If he was lucky the lock would still work, but the bridge indicators would be either out of order or simply ignored. Of course, there might also be an indicator in Engineering . . .

  He swallowed noisily and ignoring the normal lock control, began to crank the manual mechanism. After what seemed hours but must be less than a minute, a red light indicated that the lock’s atmosphere had been evacuated. More pumping, now accompanied by panting, and the outer door reluctantly slid aside. For a heart-stopping moment, it ground to a stop after about fifteen centimeters, and Kas strained at the crank. Finally, the door gave with a jerk, and slid easily the rest of the way open.

  Kas carefully climbed into the lock and hurried to the inner door, half convinced he would see an armed squad on the other side. However, what little he could see of the passageway through the tiny window of the inner door was empty. He turned and began pumping the interior manual control. The outer door slid smoothly home. Kas whooshed in relief and turned the control that flooded the lock with air.

  He skinned out of the spacesuit as quickly as possible. Then he checked his watch. 0450. Good. He had time. Beneath the spacesuit he wore an oversized enlisted man’s shipsuit, and beneath that the undress khaki uniform of a Commodore. No sense attracting attention until he was ready.

  When he opened the inner door, he was relieved to note that there was still no indication that his entrance had been detected. Good. He had been counting on the fact that, until this mission, Atropos had been nothing more than an orbital fort for half a century. He had been hoping her crew had become sloppy -- and apparently, he had been right.

  It seemed this whole area of the ship was unused. Dust lay thick in the passages, and he saw no one. He moved carefully. It was important that he wasn’t detected before he was ready to reveal himself.

  He had spent much of his five-hour “flight” studying the layout of the dreadnought that Edro had programmed into his suit’s comp. Even so he wandered for almost half an hour before encountering a location he recognized. He checked his ring watch again. A little after 0500. A little early, but well within the margin of error he had established.

  He surveyed his surroundings. The entire area was still mostly unoccupied. A dreadnought’s battle complement was more than eight thousand people. However, he knew that the standard crew allowance was “only” twenty-five hundred.

  That meant that most of the huge ship was usually empty. He wandered a few passageways until he found a door labeled “Second-Level Port Aft Gunnery Officer.” He opened the door and slipped into a large, comfortable stateroom. A thick film of dust covered the furniture and bunk, but Kas did not care. He just needed somewhere to hide out until reveille in just under an hour. He stripped the bunk, and used the lower sheet to wipe the dust from the lone chair and the comp terminal. Praying to any god that happened by that no one would notice, he activated the terminal and began gathering information he needed.

  All right, Admiral’s country was there, here were the senior officers’ quarters. Ah! There were the VIP quarters, just down from the Admiral’s stateroom, on the same deck. And yes, Ta-Lank was occupying the stateroom nearest the Admiral’s, with the rest of that blasted committee lining the passage. Excellent. Just as he had hoped. Ta-Lank would have no way of weaseling out of it! He was reviewing the Grand Admiral’s published schedule when a horn blaring over the ships PA system announced reveille.

  Kas stood and stretched, then snapped off the terminal. Time to go. This might be his last day as a Fleet officer. Sheol! It might be the last free day of his life! He stripped off the shipsuit and, wearing his work uniform, headed for Pankin’s quarters.

  Until he approached Admiral’s Country, he saw few crewmembers. Aside from salutes, he attracted little attention from them, though one petty officer frowned as though something was wrong.

  Kas had long ago learned that a hurried, self-important manner could get you unquestioned access to most military places, and it seemed that Atropos was no exception. He strode up to the marine on guard outside the Grand Admiral’s door. “Would you please tell the Fleet Admiral that Commodore Preslin would like to see him?” He asked politely.

  The marine snapped to attention, his spotless blaster at his side. “Sir!” the man replied with a marine’s exaggerated crispness. “The Grand Admiral is at breakfast, sir!”

  Kas smiled. “I’m sure he’ll see me, Private. Please announce me.”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” The marine spun smartly and rapped on the door then, blaster at trail, marched into the stateroom. He did not close the door completely, so Kas was able to hear Pankin yell “Preslin! Impossible!” Then, in a softer tone, “Well, show him in, Private. Show him in!”

  The marine marched back out of the stateroom. “The Grand Admiral will see you, sir. Please go in.”

  Kas suppressed a grin of triumph as he entered Pankin’s stateroom and saluted.

  Pankin merely stared for a long moment after the door closed behind the marine. Then, “It is you.” He paused, and then continued, “Can you give me one good reason not to have you summarily shot?” A sumptuous breakfast sat ignored on Pankin’s desk.

  “Yes, sir,” Kas answered crisply. “It’s too late. It wouldn’t do any good to have me shot. If Vir Rekesh is a plague ship, then Atropos is now contaminated as well.”

  Pankin stared for a moment longer, the barked a snort of laughter. “All right, all right. Sit down, and let’s see how we can best use this turn of affairs. You know, of course, that you’ve deliberately disobeyed a direct order.”

  Kas sat in the chair Pankin indicated. “No, sir. I have reviewed the tapes of your instructions to me. They specifically said that Starhopper and Rekesh would be destroyed if a boat or launch tried to leave either. None did. I came over here in a suit.”

  “A suit!” Pankin grinned. “Preslin, you’re a pain in the ass, but you’ve got guts. All right, you have obviously thought this out. What now?”

  “Well, sir,” Kas began, “I really planned to leave that to you. I just felt that putting Ta-Lank and company into the same quarantine as Rekesh and Starhopper might give you or the Emperor a means of getting us released.”

  Pankin grinned sourly. “I’m touched by your confidence in me. If you knew the lengths I’ve gone to avoid having to deal with that . . . that treetha . . .

  “Oh, well,” he continued. “In this case it’ll be worth it just to see the expression on his face when he sees you here.

  “All right. When we finish talking, I’m going to have him come here. When he arrives, he will meet you on your way out under marine guard.”

  He glared at Kas. “And you’ll keep your damned mouth shut! Do you understand? If I hear anything but ‘Good morning, Senator’ come out of your mouth, I will have the marines shoot you on the spot! Is that clear?”

  Kas was sitting at a rigid attention. “Aye, Aye, sir.”

  “Good.”

  They compared notes. Despite his manner, Pankin was obviously pleased with Kas for breaking the stalemate -- however unconventionally.

  When the clock showed
0700, Pankin called Ta-lank. “Could you come to my stateroom as soon as possible, Senator? No, no, it is really very important. There have been . . . developments. Yes, yes of course, Senator. In a few minutes, then.” He disconnected, and then turned to Kas, not even trying to suppress a wide grin.

  “This is going to be the most fun I’ve had in years, Kas. But I’ve got to get you out of the line of fire.” He keyed his intercom. “Mor? Would you send a couple of marines to my stateroom, please? Have them stand by in the passage until I call for them. Yes. And I’ll need quarters prepared for a flag officer. Immediately. Yes. Thank you.”

  Ta-Lank appeared in less than ten minutes. Pankin had the marines sent in first, then had him admitted. When the tall man entered the stateroom, he was confronted with Kas and two marines just inside the door. Kas saluted and said, “Good morning, Senator.”

  Ta-lank frowned. “Good Morn . . . You!” He whirled to Pankin. “What are you doing, Admiral? Are you insane?”

  Pankin merely looked at him impassively. “I had nothing to do with it, Senator. Commodore Preslin sneaked aboard last night. As you can see, he is under arrest.” He turned to the marines. “Please escort the Commodore to quarters, and mount a guard on the door.”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” The marines whirled and marched out, Kas between them.

  The stateroom they gave him was larger and more luxurious than even the flag quarters aboard Rekesh. As soon as the marines backed out and took up station on the stateroom door Kas moved to the terminal and called To-Ling. He briefed her on what he had done and why, and let her know that she was in command until he returned. “And, Captain, please let Lieutenant Commander Kray and Lieutenant Jans know that I made it. They’re probably pretty nervous by now.”

  Then he called Lady Jane. She took it well. “I told you you’d come up with something,” she said in a satisfied tone.

  Then there was nothing to do but wait. He knew that there must be a flurry of frantic activity going on all around him as people struggled to deal with the fact of his presence. But here, confined to this stateroom, was nothing but worry and boredom. It was torture.