The Price of Freedom

by William R. Forstchen

  "What took so long?" Blair asked.

  Maniac smiled, his expression turning feral. "We got lost. Couldn't find our way back." He turned towards Blair. "Colonel, sending us out there like that was a mistake. We got out alive because we were lucky. We should have been toast."

  "All right," Blair said, "finish your debrief and come up to my quarters. Bring Hawk and Panther… we have to talk."

  Maniac nodded. "Are you puttin' them back on flight status?"

  "Yeah," Blair answered. "Those two are rattling around like pebbles in a can. Panther's in charge of a planning section that's got nothing to plan and Hawk's convinced this was all a plot to put you in charge of his wing. I won't buck Wilford by giving it back to him, but I'll put him back in rotation. I hope he doesn't go and get himself killed before he testifies."

  Blair turned away and walked towards the debriefing room and the captured pilot. He chewed the inside of his Up, worried that he was becoming to the Intrepid what Paulson was to the Lexington. He, like Paulson, really didn't have the background needed to command the ship, and couldn't stand the notion of being merely a figurehead. Paulson's folly had almost cost him the Lexington. Had his almost cost Maniac's patrol?

  He entered the interrogation room. The pilot sat, his back turned to Blair. The man seemed old to be a flier. He had short-cropped, grizzled gray hair. Sosa, her makeup scrubbed from her face, and dressed in a shapeless gray coverall, leaned across the brightly lit table. The room had no adornment, except for a small recorder and a pickup pointed at her subject. "I'm asking you again," she said harshly, "what ship did you launch from? How are you jamming us?"

  Blair was startled at the change in her. She looked tough and intimidating as she stood over the shackled prisoner.

  The pilot looked up at her, nonplussed. "Spare me the routine. I've got daughters your age, so I'm not impressed.

  I'm obligated to give you my name and rank. That's all."

  Blair thought tne voice sounded familiar. He stepped around to the side to look at the man Maniac had captured.

  The pilot looked familiar. "I know you!" Sosa looked up at him, her lips pursed with annoyance. He ignored her.

  You're the vet I helped in the bar!"

  The pilot slowly turned his head. He stared at Blair a long moment, then cracked what might have been a smile under other circumstances. "Nearly got you killed, too, helping me out."

  "What'd you do to set him off?" Blair asked, thinking of his first encounter with Seether.

  The vet shrugged. "Some folks're just sensitive about giving a handout." His eyes hooded, hiding his thoughts.

  Blair shook his head. "What the hell are you doing here?'

  "Well, Colonel, I reckon' I owe you." He rattled his shackles. "A favor for a favor?"

  "I can't make any promises," Blair replied. He glanced over at Sosa, who nodded her head with approval. He saw her casually reangle the pickup to catch the vets voice.

  "I'll take what I can get," the pilot said, his face grim. "It ain't like I really got much choice." He shrugged, placing himself at Blairs mercy. "They came right after the fight, Confed recruiters looking for volunteers. You had to have ten years experience, minimum, and be able to relocate with no questions asked. They said it was ta fight rebels an' pirates. I signed up." He shrugged as well as his shackles would allow. "Hell, I didn't have anything better to do."

  "And?" Blair prompted.

  "It wasn't like the old days," the vet continued. "The show's being run by a bunch of dark looking characters. We used to stick together, back in the war, everybody looking out for everybody else. It ain't like that now."

  "Hows that?" Blair asked.

  "Well," the vet said, "they don't have no honor. We been using these unmarked ships, Hellcats mostly, but uprated, to hit Kilrathi, Border Worlders, sometimes even what they said was renegade Confeds. It's all hit and run, you know? I seen them burn down escape pods, blast transports, and surrendering don't mean anything to them. They don't look out for each other, much less us. Somebody gets fragged, that's his own tough luck. It's watch your own ass, or tough shit." He looked at Sosa. "Begging your pardon, ma'am."

  "No problem," she replied. She pursed her lips, looking at Blair. "Who are these 'dark' folks you mentioned?" she asked.

  "Well," he said, "they ain't really 'dark.' Most of them in charge are blonds." He licked his lips. "I guess it's because of the black flight suits they wear, more than anything else." He paused. "Most of them are young looking, too young to have been in the war too long. They're damned hot pilots, though. They fly like naturals."

  Blair thought back to the Lexington, and the black suited pilots he'd seen there. Alarms began to go off in his head. "Do you remember a fellow named Seether?"

  "Yeah," the pilot replied. "I'll never forget him, not after the bar at Nephele. He showed up a couple of days back, with some more of his goons. They've been running the show since."

  "Do you know how the jamming works?" Sosa asked.

  "Yeah," he replied. "You're looltin' for an old cap ship. They reoutflttea it, you'd hardly know it was ever one of ours." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "It moves around a lot. I hear it's all reactors and jammers, and not much else. Supposed to be able to blank comms in an entire system. Frankly, I hope you take the bastard out. I want to fight straight-up for a change. This sneaking around is starting to wear thin."

  "Why weren't you affected by the jamming?" Blair asked.

  The pilot shrugged. "It's got a frequency agile system that leaves clear spaces for us to transmit. It changes a couple hundred times a second The systems on our 'Cats're synchronized to it, so we can transmit and track in the holes. Our gear's also got special tempesting. I was told that it was something that special ops was workin' on when the war ended. Scuttlebutt said they were getting ready to use it for something else, but I don't know what."

  "What's tempest?" he asked, looking at Sosa.

  "It's an insulating procedure," she replied. "It blocks out spurious signals. It would have to be substantial to block this kind of interference, though."

  Blair looked at the pilot. "Will you give us the coordinates for this jammer?"

  "No," he replied, rattling his chains suggestively. "But I'll take you there."

  "How's that?" Blair asked.

  "I got nothing for them," the vet replied, "and I've seen more of the folks like I served with here than there. This seems more like home to me. I want to lash up."

  Blair looked at Sosa, who shrugged, giving him no help at all. He scowled at her, then looked at the pilot. "All right," he said. "Report to Maj—Lieutenant Colonel Marshall for your flight assignment."

  Sosa, her expression unreadable, stepped over and released the shackles. The pilot stood, his face split by a broad grin. "Thank you, Colonel!" he said, rubbing his wrists.

  "What's your name, anyway?" Blair asked.

  "Bean, Colonel, Evan Bean."

  "Well, Bean," Blair said, extending his hand, "welcome aboard."

  Four hours later Blair sat in his command chair, worrying a thumbnail and wondering if he had made a grave mistake in trusting Bean. Maniac had launched, backed by a full magnum launch. Only a few light fighters, mostly obsolete Ferrets were left to guard the ship. Maniac and the strike force had vanished into space, following Bean to god only knew where. Had they been duped by the old man?

  Sosa stepped onto the CIC, her face still and sober. Blair looked at her, his eyes searching her face. She dipped her head fractionally, indicating she had received no word.

  He had nearly given up when the ship's systems suddenly came up, lights winking on control boards as startled techs were jogged from their dozing. He watched as the holo-tank and external displays lit up and the tactical plot began to fill in details of the Peleus system. Sosa sprang to the communications station, nearly running over a startled tech carrying a clipboard. Garibaldi, a napkin around his neck and mustard on the corner of his mouth, came through the connecting door to the briefin
g room.

  "What's up?" he asked.

  "Maniacs taken out the jammer," Blair replied.

  Maniac's voice sounded over the CIC's speakers. "Strike Alpha to Mother."

  "Go ahead, Alpha," Sosa replied in her warm and honeyed voice.

  "We got target designated Green," Maniac said. "We are 'feet wet' on inbound track two."

  Blair nodded. "Feet wet" meant they were away from the target zone.

  "The target was defended," Marshall continued, "by four Hellcat type fighters, painted black. No markings." Blair could hear the acid humor in Maniacs voice. 'They weren't ready for a full deck strike."

  "Roger, Alpha," Sosa said. "Losses?"

  "Three," Maniac replied, "the new pilot, Bean, and two from Hawk's squadron… Gremlin and Scarab. One ejected. Gremlin—I think. One of the bastards nailed him before we could tractor him home." Maniacs voice was flat and expressionless, as though discussing crop reports.

  Blair closed his eyes, thinking of the pilot who'd been killed in a lifepod. Fighting an enemy was one thing, but going after helpless lifepods was something else entirely.

  "Give me an active scan," he said grimly, opening his eyes and setting his jaw. A scan might give him a retaliatory target for Maniac to hit on the way nome. He wouldn't stoop to lashing out at the defenseless, but any valid military targets were soon going to be junk.

  Sosa looked at him, worried. Garibaldi was more direct. "Sir, an active scan will show them where we are!"

  "Good. Maybe that'll bring them to us." Blair looked at him, his temper on edge. "No, don't worry. If they were going to come after us, they would have followed Marshall's strike."

  Garibaldi looked at the sensor officer and twitched one finger. She ran her hands over her controls. Details began to fill into the screen as the ship's powerful radar and trans-light targeting and scanning beams played over the system. A single triangular graphic appeared, the words confed research station flashing beneath.

  A smaller pip appeared alongside and began to move away. The tech tweaked her controls. The pip grew into a computer enhanced view of a standard high-priority, jump-capable shuttle moving out of the system.

  "Damn it all," Blair cursed. "Can Maniac intercept?"

  "Negative," Sosa replied, "he's too far, and his ships' fuel reserves are too low for sustained afterburner."

  Blair drummed his fingers on his arm of his command chair. "Garibaldi," he snapped, "take the con."

  The lieutenant commander, quietly removing the napkin from around his neck, looked at Blair. "What?" He looked startled as Blair sprang up out of the seat and started for the CIC's blast door. 'Where are you going, sir?"

  Blair looked back at the shuttles image in the holo-tank. "After that ship," he snapped, "before it gets away."

  The junior officer met his eye and after a long pause, said "Yes, sir, what shall we do?"

  "Follow me," Blair said. "I want that ship/' He turned and stomped off the bridge.

  Pliers was waiting for him on the launch deck, having apparently been warned by Garibaldi or Sosa. "What's in the 'chute? I want something with a tractor beam."

  "Well," Pliers said, scratching his head, "your T-bolt ain't ready yet."

  Blair held onto his temper. "I didn't ask you for the Thunderbolt. I asked you what you had."

  Pliers looked at him, then turned towards the deck. 'The only thing I've got is an old Broadsword. We've stripped it down, and made it into a light patrol bomber. It's only got one torpedo, two guns, no side turrets, and half armor."

  "That'll do."

  He strapped into the ship, clapped his helmet on his head, and launched, setting his course for the shuttle and adjusting as he received updated telemetry from the Intrepid. He stabbed the throttles forward, kicking in the afterburners.

  "Heave to," Blair snapped, "or be hulled."

  The shuttle ignored him and began evasive maneuvers. Blair dogged it with contemptuous ease, finally ducking out to one side to turn towards the shuttle and fire across its bows. The second shot nearly snipped off the shuttle's bows. It did a quick endover, almost reversing course as it attempted escape. Blair snagged it as it came out of its loop, then cued his tractor. The beam caught the shuttle. It thrashed like a fish caught on a hook, then shut down as its engines overheated. Blair dragged it back to the Intrepid, which had followed at the best speed it could manage on two engines.

  He pulled it behind him onto the carrier's flight deck. Dekker appeared from behind a Ferret, leading a heavily armed half squad while he scrambled out of his fighter and sprinted for the shuttles side hatch. Grunts hit on either side of the hatch, their weapons pointed toward the portal.

  Blair drew his sidearm. "Stay back," he snarled at the Marines. He cued the access, wondering if his folly was about to get him killed.

  No one shot him when the hatch opened, revealing a darkened interior. The smells of old blood, detergent and something else wafted out of the open airlock. The Marine on his left, a blonde corporal with pair of wound stripes, twitched her nostrils. "Did something die in there?"

  The lock cycled, allowing Blair to step inside. She put her hand on his arm as he started to step inside. "Here," she said, handing him a handlight. "You've got ten minutes. Then we come in." By the way she hefted her evil-looking machine pistol, he knew she was serious.

  He stepped inside, letting the airlock cycle behind him. The inner door opened, revealing a darkened interior, lit only by the cockpit's telltales glowing through the open door forward. Blair raised his pistol to his shoulder. "You might as well come out. I've got a light, and a gun."

  A single reading lamp came on, revealing a white-haired figure sitting in one of the rearward facing seats. He puffed a cigar, the red embers lighting his brows in a red glow.

  "Admiral Tolwyn," Blair said. Somehow, he had expected this.

  "Hello, Chris," Tolwyn replied, his expression cool. He tapped the cigar against a dish. "How's the treason business?"

  "I'm not in the mood for small talk," Blair replied harshly, "What are you doing here?"

  Tolwyn smiled, his lips twitching upward. "The same thing you are. I'm trying to figure out what the hell's going on."

  "I don't follow," Blair said, playing for time while he determined his best approach.

  Tolwyn gestured outward. 'The whole situation out here is fluid, chaotic. The reports we're getting back on Earth are as disturbing as they are incomplete. I came out personally to investigate." He laughed without humor. "I just didn't expect to get caught in that damned jammer, It took my comms, navigation, everything. I was lucky to find that research station." He frowned. "It's been abandoned, incidentally."

  "Why did you decide to do this personally?" Blair asked.

  Tolwyn tapped his cigar. "The Confederation is about to launch a full-scale war. From our side, it looks like your people are harassing our legitimate space operations, killing innocent people and destroying defenseless ships."

  Blair replied, "I've been in this long enough to see it's not the Outer Worlds that's driving this."

  "Yes," Tolwyn said, looking sad, "you have been in it, haven't you. You torpedoed the Lexington, Chris. Eighty people, all of them your shipmates, were killed or injured. There is also the little matter of the Achilles. Three hundred people died on that ship. We will have to retaliate, you know."

  Blair collapsed in the chair across from Tolwyn. His voice sounded bleak in his own ears. "Can we head this off?"

  "I hope so," Tolwyn replied.

  Blair looked at him, a little surprised. "Somebody's trying to trigger an all-out war."

  Tolwyn dusted the cigar against the dish. "Yes, I believe you're right." He smiled. "Don't look so stunned, Chris. I think your perception of things is, for the most part, on target."

  Tolwyn puffed again, sending up another noxious cloud. "Paladin agreed that I should come out here and take a look, to try and get to the bottom of this. Someone is hellbent on war. I'm here to find out who, and if it's Confed, to sh
ut them down."

  "Thank you, Admiral," Blair said, "for giving it a shot."

  Tolwyn looked at him. "Chris, I have to know. Why did you betray us?"

  Blair shook his head. "It wasn't a planned thing. Captain Paulson ordered a mission, where some of the ships got out of hand. They were attacking defenseless refugees. I shot the leader down. After that I couldn't go back."

  "Because of Paulson ?" Tolwyn asked.

  "Yeah," Blair said simply. "And his goons."

  Tolwyn shook his head. "Day-to-day personnel movement is not my domain. I've asked for a full report on Paulson's assignment. I plan to know how a professional bureaucrat like that got a hold of one of my carriers."

  He looked at Blair speculatively. "Technically, Chris, you are the enemy now… or you will be if the Senate has its way. That makes me your prisoner. What do you plan to do with me?"

  Blair raised his hands, palms outward, the pistol lying in his open hand. "I haven't a clue."

  "It would be best for you to let me go on my way," Tolwyn said. "Things are grim enough without word getting out that you've kidnapped Earth's senior commander. That'd spark a war for sure."

  He leaned forward towards Blair, his elbows resting on his knees. "You know, of course, that we're still on the same side. We both want an end to this, a resolution that avoids war," Tolwyn said, his voice coaxing. "I understand now why you went over the wall." He smiled. "I can't say I'd have done it any differently if I were you." He drew his brows together, thinking hard. "Come back with me, Chris, come back into the fold. You'll have to go before a review board, maybe a court-martial. I'm certain they'll exonerate you. Show them you want to heal wounds." He met Blairs eyes. "Bring the carrier with you. That could be the thing, the first tug that pulls us back from the brink we all face."

  "How's that?" Blair asked.

  "Look," Tolwyn said persuasively, "this gesture would show both sides that humanity's bonds are stronger than our political differences. It could keep the Senate from declaring war, and it would help restore confidence. Circumstances forced you to turn traitor—I'm sure the same is true for the other good people who are with you. Take the first step, Chris, bring your people in."