by Eric Flint
Liz didn't believe for a minute that it would be that simple. Still, that was a bridge she'd cross when she was forced to. Her first priority as a CECID agent was to keep the Chirus fever—if it was Chirus—off the Corporo Sano.
"Were any of your friends sick before you went downside?"
This time he didn't even bother to glance at her.
"Look," asshole she thought but didn't say, "if you were downside six days, and the fever started showing up the day before the captain called us in, then your crew caught it downside. That means there won't be any Chirus on the Corporo Sano until you and your crew bring it on board. You say you won't go off infecting the galaxy. Why are you insisting on infecting your main ship?"
* * *
The shooter rolled to a stop and Frank turned the key in the ignition. It hadn't been one of his smoothest landings—he'd had too much velocity for that—but he hadn't crashed and nothing in the cockpit was broken. He punched the button to raise the canopy and yanked off his helmet. As soon as he had clearance, he reached behind the seat for the lab kit. It was as awkward to maneuver out as it had been to wedge in. By the time he'd succeeded, the mounting ladder was in place. Three mechanics surrounded the ship and the robotic tractor was already attached to the front landing gear.
At the bottom of the ladder was a Fed. He looked vaguely familiar, but that might be the typical Fed suit he was wearing. Standing nearby at the base of an orbital's ramp were two more. Frank wondered how many Port Agents were already aboard.
"What took you so long, Hutchinson?" the Fed said.
"What, an hour door-to-door isn't good enough for you?" Now that he was down on the ground, the Fed was more than vaguely familiar. "How the hell are you, Sam-sam? I thought you were too senior these days to pull pursuit duty."
"And miss the chance to fly with you and rescue the fair Liz?" Sam grinned. He trotted to keep up as Frank hustled toward the waiting orbital. Sam wasn't much shorter than Frank, but his height was in his torso. The orbital was a big ship, bigger than anything Frank had flown before. Sleek and glossy, it rested on its tail fins, dwarfing the blast pit beneath it.
"I'm flattered. What have I got here?" The ramp vibrated beneath their feet and then they were inside. Frank shoved the lab kit into the arms of the nearest Fed and started up the ladder to the control cabin.
"The Port Authority, G-class orbital cruiser. Two stern and four bow guns."
Frank stopped and looked down between his feet at the top of Sam's head. "Guns?"
Sam neither moved nor spoke and after a moment Frank continued up the ladder to the control cabin tucked into the nose of the rocket. It felt almost roomy in comparison to other orbitals he'd flown. In silence, he slid into the main pilot's chair fronting the control desk and snapped his harness into place. He watched from the corner of his eye while Sam did the same. Then he tuned into the stream.
"Port Authority, here. Am I clear?" he said, using the nano-built throat mike to transmit to Traffic Control.
" Confirm clear," said a voice into his ear. In truth, the transmission bypassed his ear, going straight to the auditory center of his brain. It made identifying voices difficult.
" Opening valves, then. See you later." He tuned out of traffic control and into the ship's intercom system. "Sit down or fall down, fellows, we're on our way. Oh, and if anything happens to that lab kit, I'll let Liz take what she needs from your hides."
* * *
Frustration and space sickness were a vile combination. Liz had explained to the crew of the Mens Sano why they shouldn't dock with the Corporo Sano. Each seemed to accept that as a good idea. Each agreed avoidance didn't constitute intervention. And in five more minutes the pilot would be docking with the main ship. What were the idiots in charge of the Corporo Sano telling these guys?
" Hey, girly-girl, how's it going? I have a lab kit for you." Frank's voice slid into her head. She could tell from the background crackle that it was a private transmission.
" Rotten. Where are you?"
" I'm in range. ETA, oh, maybe ten minutes."
" Not good enough, Frankie."
" You can handle it. Need a distraction?"
" I need solid ground, but a distraction would be nice, yes." Liz unbuckled the harness and shifted her grip on the arm of the chair.
" Hello, everybody. Are we having fun yet? This is the Port Authority. You are to change course eighty degrees with five degrees elevation." Frank's voice boomed through the stream. Liz had never figured out how he did that—volume control of an auditory brain signal should be an aspect of the receiving brain, since there were no sound waves involved.
The Mens Sano's pilot stiffened and jerked around to glare at Liz. She smiled. She already knew what she wanted to do. The open racks of control modules made for easy repairs and just as easy sabotage. As he turned back to the control desk, she pushed out of the chair and down to the deck, sliding under the desk. Sometimes her size was an advantage. The impact was worse than she anticipated, and on the rebound, she cracked her head. She grabbed at the module racks to steady herself. Which one was it now? Liz realized she'd spent far too much time watching Frank shuffle various modules. The one she wanted controlled the docking system. Here we go. She squeezed the handles and pulled. With a click, it disconnected from the ship's systems.
Hands yanked at her legs. One of her shoes came off. She let go of the module's handles and let herself be pulled. Her shoe sailed off in one direction while Liz and her attackers caromed off in another. Just before she swung away from the pilot, pivoting around a crew member by her ankles, she saw his foot go out to shove the disconnected module back into place. There was a loud crackle and a sharp smell. A single puff of smoke drifted out from beneath the control desk.
"Oh, Lord," the pilot said. Liz couldn't tell whether he was praying or swearing. If he said anything else, she didn't hear it. The Mens Sano banked sharply as its collision-avoidance system reacted to the nearness of the main ship. The occupants of the control cabin, all except the pilot, went tumbling. Liz bounced off two different bodies before she hit the deck again.
* * *
"What the hell are they doing?" Sam leaned forward against his harness to get a better view of the observation screen.
"Looks to me like their collision-avoidance system just kicked in. Shall we ask Liz?" Frank said. He grinned. He'd given Liz her distraction and she'd run with it.
"Thompson wants to unlock the guns."
"And he didn't want me to know he'd asked." Frank kept his eyes on the observation screen. He was still far enough away from the Mens Sano that watching was all he could do. Even if Sam unlocked the guns and his subordinates used them. "Don't do it, Sam-sam. Liz asked for a distraction. I'd bet we're watching the results."
"Hutchinson, what did you do?"
"I let them know we were here, that's all. Ordered them to change course—which they've done, although I grant you, that's not the direction I told them to go."
"Next time, let me in on your little jokes," Sam said, then tuned into the ship's intercom system. "Thompson, the guns stay locked. For now. We're watching the result of Hutchinson's and Harrison's work. And next time, broadcast. Hutchinson is on our side."
Frank grinned again. "I'm touched. Okay, here we go. They're stabilizing. If they head for the Corporo Sano again, it didn't work. If they go into orbit, Liz has done . . . something."
"What did you tell her to do?"
"She's a big girl, Sam-sam. I left it up to her imagination." Frank still hadn't looked away from the screen, but he was very aware of the frown on Sam's face. "Just so you know—if you use those guns, Sam-sam, this ship won't land."
* * *
"What did she do to the ship, Justice?" one of the crew members asked.
"She disconnected the docking module, which wouldn't be so bad except I fried it when I kicked it back in," the pilot said. His self-disgust was obvious in his posture and tone of voice. He'd managed to damp the frenetic motion of
the ship and bring them back to an even keel. Liz admired the way he'd kept his head.
The three crew members who had earlier focused their attention on the Fed and the captain were now watching her as if she were an exhibit in the zoo.
"You can fix it, can't you?"
Liz decided there weren't three crew members, there was one with three bodies, because three mouths moved, but only one voice emerged.
"I could if we had another docking module, but we don't. Ezekiel could jury-rig something from the spare c-a module, but he's sick. I'm not bringing him into the control cabin as long as she's here." No one needed to ask whom he meant. Liz widened her eyes and tried to look innocent.
"Mens Sano, this is the Port Authority. That wasn't quite what I had in mind, but it will do." Frank's broadcast interrupted them. " Stand by to match velocities."
" Um . . . Frank, there's a problem," Liz said. There seemed no point in making it a private transmission, now that the Attestors knew he was there.
" What? Is the pilot dead?"
" No, but the docking module is."
" You killed the docking module." Soft crackles filled the background of the transmission.
" No, I loosened the docking module. The pilot killed it when he kicked it back into place. They don't have a spare." Liz switched to private transmission as well.
" I see."
The following silence was very un-Franklike. Liz suddenly wondered how Frank came to be piloting a Port ship. He was the best pilot on Orial, or so he kept telling her, but he wasn't a Fed.
" If they can't dock, they're going to have to go downside sooner or later."
" Even sooner might be too late, Frank. I need that lab kit. There are plenty of tests I can run without touching a single Attestor."
" I'll get it to you, girly-girl." A certain grimness infused his voice—or was that her imagination?
* * *
"What happened to the docking module?" Sam asked. He'd already asked the question three times, and it showed.
"Liz pulled it loose, and the pilot kicked it back into place without powering it down. It's fried, and we're screwed. They don't have a spare." Frank continued to work the control desk, matching velocity and trajectory with the Mens Sano.
"So they can't dock with the Corporo Sano. They'll have to go downside to get it fixed."
"They have plenty of fuel, Sam-sam. They can circle this ball of dirt for months before they go downside. Assuming the pilot doesn't get Chirus fever and die, in which case getting 'em downside becomes problematical. And you seem to be missing the fact that if they can't dock with the Corporo Sano, we can't dock with them. The c-a system won't let us."
"Can't you override the c-a?"
Frank turned his head to stare at Sam. "You've been studying. Yes, I probably could. But there are two pilots here, Sam-sam, and I don't know how good theirs is."
"Hutchinson, I'll be blunt. If we can't dock and they won't head downside, my orders are to blow them into hyperspace. The agent killed was the son of the director. Feelings are running high."
"If you blow Liz and one of your own agents up, don't you think more feelings will run high? Two more locals killed because the director of the Port got pissed?"
"Three more locals. The captain's a shuttler. The Attestors' captain stayed aboard the Corporo Sano and they hired this guy to get the orbital down." Sam reached over and grabbed Frank's arm. "If you and Liz can get them downside, great. But I have my orders."
* * *
"Can't you override the c-a, Justice?" One of the crew members left the crowd around Liz to float at the pilot's shoulder. "Dock us anyway? I want to at least see my folks before I die."
"Not with the Port Authority on my tail." The pilot appeared relaxed, leaning back in the command chair with his arms crossed. The Mens Sano had settled into its new orbit. There wasn't a lot for the pilot to do other than stare at the observation screen, watching the bulk of the Corporo Sano shrink as they moved farther away. Liz knew he wasn't as relaxed as he seemed. One toe tapped against the deck in a way that would've had him careening all over the cabin if he hadn't been strapped in.
Liz opened her mouth to point out the advantages of going downside, then hissed with pain as the Fed reached out and shook her leg. She'd hit the deck harder than she'd meant to going after the docking module. As a result, her knees were stiff and bruised.
"Dr. Harrison—the captain's sick."
Every head in the cabin turned to look at the captain and the Fed. The Fed had recovered enough from his space sickness to notice what no one else had. The captain was not holding onto any of the grab bars anymore. He floated flushed and limp. The Fed had two fingers tucked into one of his belt loops to keep him from drifting away. Liz grabbed the nearest crew member and used him to launch herself at the captain. She used the captain himself to damp her momentum. The two of them bumped almost gently into the wall next to the Fed.
The heat of the captain's skin was obvious. Liz steadied herself against the wall and peeled back one of his eyelids and then the other. A few of the red dots signifying petechiae marred the white of the left eye. He was starting to bleed.
"We need to go downside, now," Liz said, even while she continued evaluating the captain's vital signs. Respiration was fast and shallow. His pulse raced beneath her fingers. "Or your captain's going to die."
"He's not our captain," the crewman beside the pilot said.
"He's a shuttler. Based out of South Port, normally." The Fed tightened his grip on the captain's belt loops. "He was up for a reunion of some old shipmates when the Corporo Sano called for assistance. Is he really going to die?"
"Probably. If what he's got is Chirus fever." Liz didn't mind scaring the Fed if she could manage to scare some sense into the Mens Sano's crew at the same time. "There's a lab kit over on the Port Authority that would tell me for sure."
"What else could it be?" The pilot turned the command chair her direction.
"A lot of other nasties—including Ebola. Or it could be Parachirus fever. Which is still nasty, but rarely fatal."
"We're not going to go downside and let your friends shoot us," the pilot said.
"I'm with the CECID, we track down disease. We don't shoot people." Liz resisted the temptation to grit her teeth.
"Then why is that a gunboat out there?"
"What?" Liz stared at the pilot. The last of her space sickness disappeared. Anger cleared the mind even better than fear. " Frank, you son of a bitch, does that ship have guns?" She didn't even try to hide her transmission from the pilot or the occupants of the Port Authority.
" Sure does, girly-girl. Four lovely bow breakers and a couple of stern farters. Sam-sam's got the keys. But don't worry, I've let him know that what goes up doesn't have to come down."
* * *
"Damn you, Hutchinson," Sam said. His lips were folded tight and red stained his cheekbones.
"Don't be an idiot, Montoya. They know this is a gunship. And it's scaring them. We can't dock. If they're too scared to go downside, who wins?"
" Frankie." Liz's voice on the stream interrupted the argument. " The captain's got it now—whatever it is. I need that lab kit ASAP. Justice has agreed to let you in if you can get yourself and the kit to their docking port."
" Justice?"
" The pilot. That's his name, Sword of Justice. He says he can power down the c-a system enough to let you in."
" Liz, I can't leave the Port Authority. I'm the only pilot on board. Aren't I, Sam-sam?"
" I'm afraid so. Liz, find out if it has to be Frank," Sam said. None of his anger showed in the transmission.
"How many choices do we have, Sam? You, me, Thompson—how many agents you got on board this ship?" Frank started working the control desk again. How close could he get to the Mens Sano before the other ship's collision-avoidance system cut in? He'd already powered down the c-a on the Port Authority as far as it would go.
"Eight, including me."
"And
how many are qualified for this maneuver?"
"This maneuver being what?"
"An untethered jet between the ships. With the lab kit. It's not going to be an easy trip. The Mens Sano's c-a, even at low power, is going to try to avoid. After all, that's what it's for."
"You, me. Kohler."
"We already know it won't be me. Who's Kohler?"
"One of the gunners. I don't think he'd be a good choice, Frank. So that leaves me."
Frank glanced at Sam. "You'll take the keys?"
"Have to. I have orders not to let them out of my possession."