Starship: Mercenary (Starship, Book 3)

by Resnick, Mike

  “We know they reply with some degree of haste, so be ready. I want the location of these transmissions pinpointed, and we’re only going to receive two or three more.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Briggs. “May I ask a question, sir?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why do we care where the transmissions are coming from?” asked Briggs. “I thought we were going on the assumption that Quinta is being held prisoner not by the citizens of Punjab, but on another continent.”

  “Because if they lie and try to set us up, we’re going to leave one hell of a big hole in the ground where they used to be,” answered Cole.

  He nodded to Christine’s image, and she ended the transmission.

  “They’re not going to set us up,” said Val. “Not if they think the two cannons are just a down payment and that there’s more coming.”

  “Probably not,” agreed Cole. “But they’re aliens, and they think like aliens, which is to say that if they’re not Molarians I have no idea how they think. They might think that two Level 4 burners will keep them dominant for a decade or more, and not want to be bothered by any more visitors.”

  “Ain’t going to happen,” replied Val.

  “I agree,” said Cole. “But I still have to consider the possibility.”

  “Forrice is right,” said Val. “You are a devious son of a bitch. That’s why I decided to stay with the Teddy R. I’ve got to learn to start thinking like that!”

  “Take it easy in the beginning,” said Cole dryly. “It’ll make your head hurt.”

  “Thanks,” she said angrily. “I compliment you and you insult me.”

  “It wasn’t an insult,” explained Cole. “I meant it. I joined the service to beat the Bad Guys. It’s been a few years now since I even knew who the Bad Guys were. And now I’ve got the crews of six ships living or dying based on my decisions. You don’t think all of that can give you a headache?”

  “I don’t know why it should,” said Val. “I never gave a damn what happened to my crew.”

  “That’s probably why they sold you out and joined the Hammerhead Shark.”

  “All right, all right!” she said in exasperation. “You win!”

  “I don’t care about winning with you,” said Cole, getting to his feet. “My job right now is to win against the Thuggees. And since I need to be at my sharpest to do so, I’m going to take a nap.”

  When he got to his cabin he went right to his bunk, lay down, and was asleep within a minute. It was Sharon’s voice that woke him an hour later.

  “Yeah?” he said, swinging his feet to the floor. “What is it?”

  “There’s a transmission coming in from the planet,” she said. “I figured you’d want to be wide awake when Domak patches it through to you.”

  “Domak? What happened to Christine?”

  “White shift is over. We’re been on blue shift for forty minutes.”

  “Right,” said Cole. “Don’t worry—my brain’ll be functioning in another few seconds.”

  “I still don’t know how you can sleep or eat at times like this.”

  “I learned a long time ago that you don’t get much chance to do either once the shooting starts, so you grab your meals and your sleep when you can.”

  “Here it comes,” said Sharon. “Talk to you later.”

  Her image vanished, to be replaced by Domak’s.

  “Are you awake, sir?” said the Polonoi officer.

  “Yeah, patch it through.”

  The alien Rashid’s image appeared in front of him. “We have the information you want, and we find your offer to be of some minimal interest. How can we ascertain that it is legitimate, and that the laser cannons are functional?”

  The image vanished.

  “That’s the whole thing?” asked Cole.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Has Mr. Briggs pinpointed the source of the transmission?”

  “Mr. Briggs’s shift is over,” replied Domak, “but Ensign Jacillios is working that station now and tells me that he has the exact coordinates should you require them.”

  “Not yet, but log them and have Four Eyes program them into one of the Level 4 burners, just in case. And tell David his job is done. I’ll take over talking to them now.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Domak, signing off.

  “No sense bothering you now,” said Sharon, her holograph appearing again. “You’re off to the bridge.”

  “The hell I am.”

  “I just heard you say—”

  “I don’t have to be on the bridge to transmit a message,” said Cole. “Besides, just because they appear eager doesn’t mean we have to. Let ’em wait four or five hours.”

  “Well, as long as you’re already on your bed, you want a little female company?”

  “Sure,” answered Cole. “Send Rachel Marcos over.”

  “Seven thousand, three hundred and six,” said Sharon.

  “What’s that?”

  “The number of nights you’re going to be sleeping alone for that remark.”

  “Belay that request,” said Cole, “and send me a woman of the older-but-wiser persuasion instead.” He paused. “What does that do to the seven thousand days?”

  “You’ve still got ’em,” said Sharon.

  “I do?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But they don’t have to start for another century. I’ll be there in five minutes. Fall asleep before then and you’re a dead man.”

  19

  It was three hours later that Cole got out of his bed and put on his uniform. Sharon was sleeping, but the rustling of his clothing woke her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I’m off to talk to the King of the Thuggees, or whatever the hell he is,” replied Cole. “I’ve decided it’ll look more official from the bridge.”

  “Have fun,” she said, rolling over and starting to go back to sleep.

  “I just had fun,” he said. “Now I’ve got important things to do.”

  “Gee, you really know how to flatter a girl.”

  Then he was out the door and walking to the airlift. A moment later he reached the bridge.

  “Think we’ve made ’em sweat long enough?” he asked as he approached Forrice.

  “I don’t know. We could play a quick game of bilsang first.”

  “There’s no such thing as a quick game of bilsang,” answered Cole. “How long has it been since we received their last message?”

  “Just over three Standard hours,” said the Molarian.

  “Yeah, I guess it’s time,” said Cole. He looked to see who was operating the communications console. “Mr. Briggs?”

  Briggs looked up from his various computers. “Sir?”

  “I want to send a communication to our friend Rashid,” said Cole.

  “Canned or live, sir?”

  “Live, this time.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, sir.”

  “Now’s as good a time as any,” answered Cole. He waited an extra few seconds until Jaxtaboxl nodded his massive head. “Rashid, this is Wilson Cole, Captain of the Theodore Roosevelt. We are ready to deliver your two laser cannons. This is a live transmission, so please respond. I have to know where to send them.”

  The Thuggee’s image suddenly appeared a few feet away from Cole and Forrice.

  “So you are through speaking to me through underlings,” said Rashid.

  “Spare me your petulance,” said Cole. “Calcutta is a very minor planet, and the planetary wars that occur there are of no interest to me. I want my friend, but I’m not going to waste a lot of time bargaining for him. You have the information I want. I have the weapons you want. Now, are we trading, or do I go to Plan B?”

  The Thuggee blinked his eyes rapidly, as if trying to comprehend. “What is Plan B?”

  “Trust me: you won’t like it at all,” said Cole. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes, we have a deal,” said the Thuggee after a moment’s hesitation.

  �
��I will send a shuttlecraft down to the planet to deliver your laser cannons. You will feed the landing coordinates into my ship’s computer. I will give you four Standard hours to check them out and make sure they are functional, at which time you will tell us exactly where the Thrale named Quinta is being incarcerated.” He paused. “I would consider any abrogation of our agreement an act of war. I am ending the transmission from this end; give our computer the coordinates and then break the connection.”

  Briggs signaled to Cole that he was no longer sending words and images.

  “Well, so much for playing the bully,” said Cole. “Mr. Sokolov, as soon as we know where they want the cannons, put them on a shuttle and take them down to the surface. Take Lieutenant Domak with you; she’s probably the most formidable-looking member of the crew.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Vladimir?”

  “Sir?” said Sokolov.

  “Under no circumstance are you or Domak to set foot on the planet.”

  “That means the Thuggees will see the inside of the shuttle when they pick up the cannons,” said Sokolov. “We’ve got a lot of advanced equipment in there—advanced as far as the Thuggees are concerned, anyway. Are you sure you want them to see it?”

  “If things go as planned, they’ll never see it again,” said Cole. “But the one club I’ve got to hold over their heads to make them reveal Quinta’s location to us is the fact that we can annihilate them from orbit. I lose that threat if they have you and Domak as hostages.”

  “That wouldn’t stop a lot of commanders, sir.”

  “It wouldn’t stop me either, if it was a matter of saving the ship and the crew, but it’s not and they know it’s not. Just make sure you stay on the shuttle. I want you to attach a micro-holocam to your shoulder. Once they approach the shuttle, start transmitting back to the ship. Don’t mention that you’re doing it; their holo transmitters probably don’t look at all like ours, and there’s no reason for them to know they’re being monitored. Oh, and one more thing—don’t stand within fifteen feet of each other. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sokolov.

  “Sir?” said Jaxtaboxl. “We’ve got the coordinates.”

  “Okay, Mr. Sokolov,” said Cole. “Get to work. And before you leave, have Mr. Odom check them over and make sure you’ve loaded the right cannons.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sokolov saluted and walked briskly to the airlift.

  “Jack-in-the-Box,” said Cole, “just how far is the landing site from their transmitting site?”

  “About eighty miles,” answered Jaxtaboxl.

  Cole smiled a satisfied smile. “I guess I made an impression.”

  “Sir?”

  “Tell him, Four Eyes.”

  “They don’t know we’ve pinpointed their sending station,” explained Forrice. “They also don’t know that we’re not about to demolish an entire city if they decide not to tell us where Quinta is being held. So they want the one location we do know—the spot where we deliver the cannons—to be a safe distance from where they’re sending their transmissions to us.”

  “Ah!” said Jaxtaboxl happily. “I see now.”

  “How did you know it, sir?” asked Braxite.

  “Fifteen years with the Captain will corrupt anyone,” answered the Molarian.

  “You’re just mad because I took you away from your whorehouse,” said Cole.

  Forrice shrugged. “The last of them was going out of season anyway.”

  Sokolov’s image popped into being. “They’re loaded, sir, and Mr. Odom has confirmed they’re the right ones.”

  “Okay,” said Cole. He turned to Jaxtaboxl. “Is Domak with you?”

  “She’s already inside the shuttle.”

  “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The image vanished. “Jack, track them down to the planet. Four Eyes, let’s go grab some coffee.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Fine. You watch me drink, and I’ll try not to watch you drink that foul stuff you’re so fond of.”

  “Sir?” said Jaxtaboxl.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s still blue shift, and we still have no Third Officer. If there is a problem, who do I report it to?”

  “Val’s the Third Officer as long as she’s on board the ship,” said Cole. “Once she’s joined the landing party, report to me, and if I’m not handy, report to Mr. Briggs.”

  Cole and Forrice went down to the mess hall and sat at Cole’s regular table.

  “Well,” said Cole. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a far cry from fighting the Teroni Federation,” replied the Molarian.

  “You’re just being moody because you’re oversexed,” said Cole. “What do you think of our chances of pulling David’s friend out of durance vile?”

  “We’ll get him,” said the Molarian. “After all, the Frontier desperately needs another fence.”

  “What’s bothering you, Four Eyes?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Am I smiling?”

  “We’re too good for this, Wilson,” said Forrice. “I know, I know, it’s better than piracy, but we shouldn’t be cleaning up the Frontier one villain at a time. And this time we’re not even doing that; we’re rescuing a fence so he can sell more illegal weapons to more outlaws that we’ll eventually have to face. Doesn’t that strike you as just a bit idiotic?”

  “No more so than life,” answered Cole. “The Navy demoted you because you refused an order to kill a helpless prisoner you knew to be a double agent. They incarcerated me for saving five million lives. Was life really more meaningful in the Republic than it is out here?”

  “Not when you put it that way,” admitted the Molarian. “But when we were in the Navy, we at least had the illusion that we were doing something meaningful, something that made a difference.”

  “Take a minute and consider our situation,” said Cole. “The Teroni Federation tried to kill us. The Republic tried to humiliate and jail us. Out here Captain Windsail’s pirate crew tried to kill us. The Hammerhead Shark tried to annihilate us. Genghis Khan would have killed us if he’d been able to. As far as I’m concerned, our primary responsibility is to the crew that gave up their homes and their families and their careers for us.”

  “I tell myself that every day,” said Forrice. “And sometimes I even believe it. But never for long. You and I were the best the Navy had, Wilson. What are we doing out here fighting petty little warlords for money?”

  “Do you really want to be part of a Navy that treats the best they have the way it treated you and me?” asked Cole.

  “No,” said Forrice.

  “Well, then?”

  “I want to be part of a better Navy!”

  “And I want to be twenty-three years old with my whole future ahead of me and someone like Rachel waiting for me in my cabin,” said Cole. “I think we’re both doomed to be disappointed, so we’ll make the best of what we’ve got.”

  “Do you expect to be doing this five years from now?”

  Cole shrugged. “Who the hell knows anymore? Two years ago I didn’t expect to be a pirate. Last year I didn’t expect to be a mercenary. I’ve given up guessing what the future holds. I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

  “I know,” said Forrice. “I just get depressed sometimes.”

  “That’s because there’s not two cents’ difference between Men and Molarians,” said Cole. “At least, not in the things that count. You’re the only other race with a sense of humor. Maybe you’re the only other one that gets depressed, too.”

  “Probably,” agreed Forrice.

  “You’ve been my closest friend for a dozen years,” said Cole. “I want you to feel free to talk to me any time you’re feeling this way.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “There’s a corollary.”

  “I know,” said the Molarian, his mouth twisted into an alien smile. “Don’t talk to the
crew about it.”

  “You got it.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Do we have any business to discuss?”

  “Nothing we didn’t have on our plates yesterday,” said Forrice. “We still need a permanent Third Officer now that Val’s got her own ship.”

  “When the right candidate comes along, we’ll know it,” said Cole. “Too bad she’s keeping Perez with her. The man has qualities.”

  “You just like anyone who’s on the run from the Navy,” said Forrice.

  “Can you think of a better qualification?” replied Cole wryly.

  Forrice was about to answer when Jaxtaboxl’s image appeared.

  “Everything went smoothly, sir. The shuttle landed, the cannons have been offloaded, and Lieutenants Sokolov and Domak are on their way back to the ship.”

  “Good,” said Cole. “Let me know when we have the location we need. It’ll be coming sometime in the next four hours.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “It will,” said Cole with absolute certainty.

  He was right. It took the Thuggees just over three Standard hours to field test the laser cannons. Then, satisfied, Rashid fed the location of the prison that was holding Quinta into the Teddy R’s computer.

  “It’s on a continent called Jaipur,” announced Jaxtaboxl. “I’ve shown all the data to Val, who has selected the Edith to carry the landing party.”

  “Okay. See if you can piggyback some local computer and find out whatever you can about Jaipur. Four Eyes, make sure every member of the landing party stops by the armory and draws a burner, a screecher, and a pulse gun. Is it day or night where they’re landing?”

  “Twilight, sir,” said Jaxtaboxl.

  “Night-vision contacts for everyone,” ordered Cole.

  “We don’t have any for Pepons,” said Forrice.

  “All right. Bujandi will just have to make do. Where’s David?”

  “In the officers’ lounge.”

  “Patch me through.” Cole raised his voice. “David, get over to the shuttle bay.”

  “Why?” asked David, seated on a chair in the tiny room.

  “Because we don’t know what Quinta looks like and you do.”

  “He’s a Thrale.”

  “What if they have three Thrales in the damned prison?” said Cole.