Starship: Mercenary (Starship, Book 3)

by Resnick, Mike

  “They did once,” noted Val.

  “Yes, but languages change and evolve. Even if they comprehend Terran, it might be a very archaic form of it. Or they might not understand it at all. After all, there hasn’t been a colonist there in four centuries.”

  “What about David’s fence?”

  “He’s not human,” said Copperfield. “Humanoid, yes, but human, no. He’s a Thrale: the right number of arms and legs and such.”

  “Is that what you are?” asked Briggs.

  David Copperfield drew himself up to his full, if unimpressive, height. “I, sir, am a British gentleman,” he said haughtily.

  “What David is or isn’t is not at issue here,” said Cole. “What we need to know, first of all, is where the particular Black Hole we’re looking for is located. I don’t suppose the Platinum Duke supplied that little tidbit of information.” He turned to Copperfield. “Did your friend give you any hint whatsoever?”

  “I never spoke to him directly,” answered Copperfield. “You know that.”

  “Well, we’re sure as hell not going to invade five warring nations looking blindly for him,” said Cole. “In case it’s slipped anyone’s notice, we still don’t have a goddamned doctor on board.”

  “I thought we had a number of candidates, sir,” said Briggs.

  “Four,” answered Cole. “But none of them were knowledgeable in all three of the main races we have on board, and we can’t carry three medics.” He turned to Copperfield. “What kind of weaponry would your friend have been trading or selling?”

  “I don’t know,” said Copperfield. “As I keep reminding you, I never spoke to him.”

  “Can you find out?”

  “Whatever it is, it probably can’t harm us,” offered Forrice. “Not if he didn’t need half a dozen ships to deliver the components.”

  “We’re not worried about being shot down,” answered Cole. “We’re worried about finding David’s friend. And since no one’s going to tell us where he is, we’re going to try to buy a little help. Now, since they never leave their planet and they don’t belong to any federation of like-minded worlds, they obviously mint their own currency, always assuming they use currency at all, and it’s pretty clear that neither credits, Maria Theresa dollars, Far London pounds, or any of the other common currencies will interest them. Since the only reason they let traders touch down on Calcutta is to buy or trade for weapons, we need to offer some weapons in exchange for information—and we don’t want to offer anything more powerful than what they’re already got.”

  “That could still be some mighty powerful firepower,” said Briggs.

  “We’ll rig them to go bad in a week’s time,” replied Cole. “They could be decades getting spare parts, once they find out what’s wrong.” He turned to Copperfield. “David, can you contact anyone who works for your friend and find out what kind of weaponry he was selling?”

  “Yes, Steerforth,” said Copperfield. “I shall do so immediately.” He walked over to the subspace radio and began sending a message.

  “Mr. Briggs, Lieutenant Domak, do either of you know which of the five nations is the most dominant at this moment?”

  “Punjab,” said Domak promptly, pointing to the continent on a holographic map.

  “Why the hell do they name themselves and their countries after a race they won’t allow on the planet?” mused Val.

  “That’s a question for an alien sociologist,” said Cole. “We’re mercenaries. Our question is: Which of the other four nations is holding David’s friend?”

  “Why not Punjab?” asked Val.

  “Which side do you think would pay more for your weapons—a nation that needs them to become dominant, or a nation that would merely like to have them?”

  “You’d better be right,” said Val dubiously.

  “If I’m not, then Four Eyes can mount a rescue party to save me and David’s pal.”

  Sharon’s image popped into view. “You’re not going anywhere!” she said.

  “Another party heard from,” said Cole. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m going down with the rescue party, which will consist of me, Val, Lieutenants Sokolov and Mueller, and crewmen Nichols, Moyer, Braxite, and Bujandi.”

  “This is enemy territory,” persisted Sharon. “The Captain doesn’t leave his ship in enemy territory.”

  “Besides, you’ve already chosen your landing party,” noted Forrice.

  “I selected them to come with me, not to go for me,” responded Cole.

  “Almost every member of the Teddy R willingly gave up his career and made a commitment to spend his life as a hunted criminal on the Inner Frontier in order to continue serving with you,” said Forrice. “You have no right to endanger yourself over some fence we know next to nothing about.”

  “I’d like to volunteer to go in your place, sir,” said Rachel Marcos.

  “Ensign Marcos, are you twenty years old yet?” demanded Cole.

  “I’m twenty-two, sir.”

  “And have you ever seen any action?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Other than on the bridge?”

  She paused.

  “The truth,” said Cole.

  “No, sir.”

  He turned to Sharon’s image. “You see?”

  “I have the records of every member of the crew,” said Sharon. “Would you like to know how many of them have seen action against the enemy?”

  “You know she’s right, Wilson,” said Forrice. “We’re in the mercenary business, not the hero business. Your place is aboard the Teddy R, overseeing the operation, not risking your neck like some foot soldier.”

  “Val’s got her own ship too,” said Cole irritably. “I notice you’re not demanding that she stay aboard it.”

  “Tell me that you can’t see any difference between your physical abilities and hers, and I’ll insist that she stay behind too,” said the Molarian.

  “Shut up,” said Cole. He looked over the bridge personnel. “All right, Rachel,” he said. “Go get blooded.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied.

  “We still need to know where to land, sir,” Briggs pointed out.

  “We’ll start by contacting the party that’s most likely to help us.”

  “Who would that be?” asked Briggs.

  “Some higher-up on Punjab,” said Cole. “It’s the least likely nation for David’s friend to have traded with—or at any rate the least likely to pay the highest price, since they’re already the dominant power here—and once they find out he’s trading weapons to their enemies, they should be willing to tell us where he is.”

  “They’re going to want weapons, too,” said Forrice. “I can have Mr. Odom begin rigging some to go bad in a week.”

  Cole nodded his approval. “Okay, but first we’ll try it without offering anything. We have to leave ourselves a little negotiating room.”

  “Just a minute,” said Sharon. “Why the hell will Punjab care if the fence is in jail on some other continent? Isn’t that better than setting him free so he can trade with them again?”

  “They won’t,” said Cole. “Until we sweeten the pot.”

  “Just by offering weapons?”

  Cole smiled. “That’s just the first step, to get them listening.”

  “And what’s your ace in the hole?” asked Sharon.

  “Once we pinpoint the jail where he’s incarcerated and break into it, we don’t just set the fence free,” explained Cole. “We empty out the whole damned prison, give them arms, and point them toward their keepers. That should cause enough havoc for Punjab to jump at the deal.”

  “What if they don’t think Val and the others can pull it off?” asked Forrice.

  “Then it’ll mean that they’ve picked up some weapons for nothing, and the guy who was arming their enemy is still in jail,” answered Cole. “From their point of view, it’s a no-lose situation.”

  “You see?” said Forrice, emitting a hoot of laughter. “Tha
t’s why we need you on the ship! No one else has such a fiendishly devious mind.”

  “I may be the one to think of the plan,” said Cole, “but Val and her team are going to have to carry it out in an enemy city with almost no help from us. This rescue isn’t accomplished yet, not by a long shot.”

  “Don’t you worry about us,” said Val firmly. “Save your sympathy for anyone who tries to stop us. And you, Blondie”—she gestured toward Rachel—“just make sure you stay close by me when the fighting starts.”

  David Copperfield returned from the subspace radio desk. “I’ve got the information you need, Steerforth,” he announced. “Quinta was selling them Level 3 thumpers.”

  “All right,” said Cole. “No Level 3 pulse cannon is going to get through the Teddy R’s defenses, so the ship’s in no danger. Four Eyes, have Mr. Odom rig a couple of Level 4 burners to permanently lose power a week from when we activate the batteries. Tell him not to just drain the batteries, but to make sure no one can charge them again.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are there any other questions before Christine and I start contacting the Thuggees?”

  Silence.

  “All right,” said Cole. “Before you return to your duties, I want to say that I’m not unmoved by your desire to protect your Captain from harm. I will overlook the fact that my First Officer and my Security Chief publicly disagreed with a command decision.” He paused and stared at each of them in turn. “But if anyone ever argues with or disobeys an order once a military action has begun, that person is history.”

  It was common knowledge that Cole was closer to Forrice and Sharon than to anyone else on the ship, probably to anyone else in his life—yet only Val and David Copperfield, who had joined the Teddy R after it had reached the Inner Frontier, seemed at all surprised by his statement. And Val, for her part, strongly approved of it.

  18

  “David, you do the talking.”

  “Me?” said Copperfield, surprised.

  “You’ve got a reputation as being one of the biggest fences on the Frontier,” said Cole, “and given that Calcutta doesn’t welcome visitors, they probably haven’t heard that you’ve taken on a new profession as business agent for the Teddy R. They’re more likely to listen to you than to a warship’s captain.”

  “All right, Steerforth,” said Copperfield. “I want you to know I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

  “No one else on the ship would ask you,” said Cole. “Christine will tell you when to start. If you’re nervous, I’ll have everyone else leave the bridge.”

  “I’m not nervous,” replied Copperfield. “You’ve already convinced me that they can’t harm the ship. I just don’t know if they’ll believe me.”

  “And if you don’t contact them now, we still won’t know an hour from now,” said Cole.

  Copperfield shrugged an alien shrug that began at his waist and simultaneously worked its way up to his shoulders and down to his ankles. “All right, I’m ready,” he announced. Suddenly he held up a hand. “Everyone else can stay, but Olivia Twist must leave the bridge.”

  “I keep telling you—that’s not my name,” said Val. “And I’m staying.”

  “My dear lady,” said Copperfield, “they probably don’t know the name of Wilson Cole and they may not have heard of the Theodore Roosevelt, but everyone on the Inner Frontier knows of the beautiful redheaded pirate, no matter which name you’re using on any given day. I don’t know the extent of their communication technology, but if they can scan the bridge, I think it would be detrimental to our cause if they see you.”

  “He’s got a point,” agreed Cole. “Go on down to the mess hall.”

  Val gave Copperfield a furious glare and stalked off to the airlift.

  “Are there any other conditions, David,” asked Cole, “or do you think we can get this show on the road?”

  “I told you: I’m ready.”

  “Christine,” said Cole, “you might as well put this on the broadest wavelength possible, since we don’t know quite who we’re going to be dealing with. Mr. Briggs, is there a way to make sure the other four continents can’t read or receive it?”

  “Probably, sir,” said Briggs, uttering orders to his computer in what seemed to Cole to be an incomprehensible coded language that sounded vaguely like Atrian. A moment later Briggs nodded, and Christine signaled Copperfield to speak.

  “My name is David Copperfield,” he began, “and I have information that a good friend of mine, a Thrale named Quinta, is being held prisoner somewhere on Calcutta. I want to know where he is, and I am prepared to pay or trade very handsomely for that information.”

  Cole ran his finger across his throat, signaling Christine to break the transmission.

  “That’s all they need for now,” he said. “Send it every two minutes until we get a response.”

  “Should I put the response through to you or to David?” asked Christine.

  “Pinpoint the source, capture the message, break the connection, and play it for the whole ship,” answered Cole. “We’ll decide who answers it and what do to once we hear what they’ve got to say.” He turned and headed to an airlift.

  “Where are you going, sir?” asked Briggs.

  “I’m off to grab a bite of lunch,” said Cole. “I’m hungry, and they figure to spend a few hours fashioning a response. If I’m wrong and they reply immediately, just patch it through to the mess hall as well as the rest of the ship.”

  Val was sitting alone at a table when he arrived, and he joined her, quickly ordering a sandwich and a beer.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll keep your little blonde girlfriend alive.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” replied Cole.

  “She wants to be.”

  Cole grimaced. “I don’t know what to say to twenty-two-year olds.”

  “It’s not talk she’s after.”

  “She’s doomed to be disappointed,” said Cole. “Now drop the subject and start thinking about which shuttle you’re going to take down to the planet. When the time comes, assemble the rescue party down in the shuttle bay.”

  “Right,” she said. “And I want to take Bull Pampas, too.”

  “I’ve already chosen the landing party.”

  “Come on, Wilson,” she continued. “After me he’s the best freehand fighter we’ve got and you know it.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “What the hell’s the problem?”

  “He’s also one of our two best weapons experts,” replied Cole. “I hope your party comes away clean, but if anything goes wrong I can replace a good freehand fighter a hell of a lot easier than I can replace a man who’s spent the past four years working on the Teddy R’s weapons systems.”

  “First of all, nothing’s going to go wrong if I’m in charge of the landing party,” she said firmly. “Or do I look like cannon fodder to you?”

  “No, you don’t,” said Cole. “But it’s my job to consider every possibility.”

  “Second,” she went on, “he’s not a member of the Teddy R anymore. He’s the Second Officer of the Red Sphinx, in case it’s escaped your notice.”

  “And you’re both aboard the Teddy R,” said Cole. “You don’t own him, Val. Any time I need him back for a week or a month, he’ll come back.”

  “Damn it, Wilson!” she said furiously. “I trust him to protect my back!”

  Cole stared at her for another long moment, then sighed. “All right. You can have him.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”

  “I already regret it.”

  Christine’s image suddenly appeared above the table. “Sir,” she said, “I’ve just captured their response.”

  “That’s very fast,” noted Cole. “They must really be worried about what Quinta has been supplying the other Thuggee nations. Well, one other nation, anyway. Patch it through, Christine.”

  The holograph of a tall, incredibly slender a
lien, covered with glistening brown scales, suddenly appeared. He was humanoid in form, with two arms, two legs, and a bulbous head with wide-set oval eyes, two slits for nostrils, no discernible ears, and a broad mouth. He had three fingers and a pair of opposing thumbs on each hand, and was naked except for a sash around one shoulder that displayed an array of symbols that might or might not be military medals.

  “My name is Rashid,” he said in thickly accented Terran, “and I am authorized to speak on behalf of the Punjab. We know that the alien Quinta has been supplying weapons to our enemies, and we know where he is currently incarcerated in durance vile. What we do not yet know is why we should have any dealings with you.” He flashed them an alien smile of anticipation. “Perhaps you will enlighten us.”

  “That’s it, sir,” said Christine as the alien vanished. “There isn’t any more.”

  “‘In durance vile?” repeated Cole. “They must be reading the same books that David reads.” He paused. “All right. Christine, transmit my image to the bridge.” He waited until she had done so. “David, I want you to reply to them. Tell them we know that Quinta’s been supplying their enemies with Level 2 thumpers—make that pulse guns; they may not know the slang for them—and Level 3 laser cannons, and that we’re prepared to trade two Level 4 laser cannons for the information we want.”

  “What if they want more than two cannons, Steerforth?” asked Copperfield.

  “We’ll explain that these are a gesture of goodwill, and that if their information proves accurate, we’re prepared to trade them a lot more.”

  “And if he asks—?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” interrupted Cole. “We’re going to capture this and send it, just the way we sent the first one. He won’t be getting it in real time, and you won’t be having a live dialogue with him.” He paused. “Mr. Briggs?”

  “Yes, sir?”