by Grant, Peter
“Remember, Sir, we’re seeing something that happened some time ago,” O’Fallon reminded the Prime Minister. “Light speed delay’s a real bitch at times like these.”
“I understand.”
As the missiles’ gravitic drives shut down for the ballistic part of their trajectory, Target Alpha suddenly jinked to starboard. Almost immediately the missiles’ drives reactivated to send them in pursuit. Commander Foster nodded in grudging respect. “He may be a scumbag pirate, Sir, but he knows what he’s doing. Most of those missiles will burn up their fuel following his first evasion; then he’ll jink again as soon as they shut down once more.”
“You’re right, but Lieutenant-Commander Le Roux has thirty more missiles. While Alpha’s trying to dodge this salvo, he’s closing in to point-blank range with the others, then he’ll follow them in with his laser cannon. She’s still almost fifty million kilometers inside the system boundary. The bastards are trapped.” There was triumph in the Commodore’s voice.
They watched as the first salvo closed in. The patrol craft did not fire the next salvo, clearly waiting to close to a range where they couldn’t miss. As Alpha twisted and dodged, eight of the ten missiles lost lock or were too out of position to hit her; but two managed to zero in on her and exploded ten thousand kilometers away, sending their cones of laser beams slashing into her hull. Again the speckle of small radar targets around Alpha, relayed from the patrol crafts’ sensors, showed that she’d been damaged. Her course wobbled for a moment, clear oscillations in her trajectory.
“He’s hit her!” O’Fallon exclaimed with vindictive glee. “That must have got a piece of her directional control, for it to affect her like that.”
“But why didn’t Alpha fire at them with its laser cannon?” Commander Foster asked, puzzled. “They fired at the first two salvos of missiles, but as far as we can tell from the Plot, they didn’t try to defend themselves this time.”
“Perhaps one of those earlier missiles damaged their fire control system,” O’Fallon said eagerly. “If so, that’ll make her a sitting duck when our ships get closer!”
As if to echo his words, Patrol Division One fired a second pattern of ten missiles from only a million kilometers out. They scorched in at maximum acceleration now that the target was within their powered range.
“He’s done for,” Commander Foster predicted. “There’s no way he can evade missiles launched in such close proximity at – what the HELL?” His voice rose to a shout as he jumped to his feet, his tone blending astonishment with outrage as they watched the unmistakable signature of a hyper-jump appear in the Plot. “He can’t do that!” He was echoed by a chorus of astonished exclamations from the others on watch as they also stared in bewilderment at the place in the Plot where Alpha’s icon had been.
“What’s happened?” Defense Minister Holloway asked, puzzled by the uproar.
“It looks as if Constandt has hyper-jumped out of the system, Sir,” Colonel Houmayoun answered distractedly, attention riveted on the Plot.
“He what? But he’s not at the system boundary yet! That’s impossible!” The words came, not from the Minister, but from a journalist who’d also jumped to his feet, along with the others and Steve’s trainees. He moved forward as he spoke.
Commodore O’Fallon sighed, frustration in his voice. He didn’t order the journalist to be silent, but looked at him as he said, “It’s not impossible – just very dangerous. Constandt must have decided he was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. There’s no way he could have reached the system boundary without being nailed by more of our missiles. If, as we suspect, something was wrong with his laser cannon or fire control system, he’d be essentially defenseless against incoming fire. Even if he could dodge all the missiles or took only minor damage from them, he’d then have to fight laser-cannon-armed patrol craft that could direct their fire with surgical accuracy from very close range. They’d have carved him up like a trussed turkey. He must have decided that a desperation move was his only chance.”
“But why was it desperate?” Prime Minister Truman asked, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t a hyper-jump take him to safety?”
“It’s like this, Sir. The system boundary from any star is the radius within which its gravity is strong enough to disrupt the toroid field generated during a hyper-jump. If a ship jumps outside that boundary, she’s usually fine; but inside the boundary, the toroid will be pulled out of shape to at least some extent. The closer they are to the star, the more it’ll be distorted. The system boundary for our star is one-point-zero-two billion kilometers. Constandt hyper-jumped at…” – the Commodore glanced at the Plot display – “…nine hundred seventy-two million kilometers from our star. That would definitely have distorted his ship’s hyper-jump field. At the very least, he won’t have been able to predict exactly where he’d emerge from the jump.”
Another journalist interrupted. “But if all that would happen is that he didn’t know where he’d come out, he could simply use star-sights to establish his new position, then navigate as normal. That’s not a risk – just a minor delay.”
“That’s not the only risk,” the Commodore pointed out. “His ship was also probably damaged to at least some extent during the jump. The enormous gravitic forces unleashed during a hyper-jump will distort a ship’s structure if the toroid isn’t perfectly aligned. However, we can’t know how bad the damage was. If he’d been even a little closer to our star, the distortion would probably have been so great that his ship might have broken up under the stresses generated by the jump. As it is, we can only speculate whether he made it out safely on the other side.”
“So he’s escaped us?” The Prime Minister’s voice was redolent with anger and frustration.
“Not necessarily, Sir. We simply don’t know for sure. It’ll be up to the Commonwealth’s intelligence services to find out whether Constandt shows up again. If he does, we’ll know he escaped. Unfortunately, if he doesn’t, that won’t prove his hyper-jump killed him – he might just be hiding very well. We’ve disrupted his attack today, Sir, but now we’re back to square one.”
“And there’s no way we can disrupt his plans if he wants to attack us again?”
“Actually, Sir, I think there is,” Steve said carefully, trying to keep his own disappointment and frustration out of his voice. All heads turned towards him.
“What do you mean?”
“The last time I ran into Constandt and his father, the Fleet offered a twenty-five-million-credit reward for the arrest and conviction of both of them. There were no takers. We know now that they simply went out to the edge of the settled galaxy, changed their names, and hid where no-one was likely to look for them, even though the pickings were slim for them during those years.
“We can turn that around if we make Constandt worth so much that everyone will be actively looking for him, no matter where he tries to hide. Why not multiply that reward offer by ten, Sir? Offer two hundred and fifty million credits for Constandt de Bouff, dead or alive, delivered to the authorities on Rolla, and subject to DNA verification of his identity. We can do that because we have the DNA of his father and brother, of course. Most of the criminals in the settled galaxy will jump at the chance to earn a quarter of a billion credits, no questions asked. For that matter, given a reward that large, a lot of planetary defense or police forces are likely to join in the hunt. It would mean a lovely prize money payout, plus a budget windfall for the service concerned.”
There was a momentary silence as everyone absorbed Steve’s words, then smiles began to break out on every face. Colonel Houmayoun added, nodding, “The beauty of it is that Constandt will be stymied. He’ll have to run so hard and so fast to hide from everyone – even from his own crew – that he’ll never be able to settle down anywhere. For that much money, everyone’s hand will be against him. He’ll never be able to trust anyone again, or even get an uninterrupted night’s sleep – much less find the time to attack us again. I’d hate to be in his
shoes!”
“He couldn’t undergo epidermal DNA modification, then settle down somewhere under a new identity?” Holloway asked.
“He could try, Sir, but there aren’t many clinics offering that service,” Steve pointed out. “Most of them are very confidential – the ones run by governments for the benefit of their spies and agents – and they’re not open to outsiders. The few private ones usually cater to criminals trying to avoid capture, because honest people have no reason to need DNA modification. There’s not much honor among thieves, despite the old proverb. How could Constandt be sure the clinic would never leak information about his new DNA? A reward that large will attract a lot of attention. He’ll never know when someone’s greed might not overcome their fear of him. Even a trusted member of his family or inner circle, such as it is, might decide he’d rather retire very comfortably instead of spending the rest of his life on the run. You might want to add to your offer a full pardon for all past offences for anyone who turns him in, Sir, plus right of residence and a fresh start on Rolla.”
The Prime Minister slapped his hand on the edge of the console. “Dammit, we’ll do it! I can’t make such an offer on my own authority, but we’ll put it to Parliament and ask them to approve it.”
“I’ll draw up a preliminary draft of a Bill to that effect,” Holloway assured him. “We can lay it before the representatives within a week.”
“Good. With any luck, it’ll be circulating on the interplanetary grapevine before Constandt de Bouff can make it to safe harbor – assuming he survived that hyper-jump, of course. If he did, he’s about to learn what it feels like to be in the cross-hairs of the entire settled galaxy!”
Rolla
June 2848 GSC
Brooks emerged from his bedroom holding a single white ankle-sock between finger and thumb, looking dubious. “This turned up in my laundry. Any takers?”
“Oh – that’s mine,” Abha said with a grin. “I’d been wondering why I had only five-and-a-half pairs of exercise socks. Now I have six!”
Brooks sniffed as he tossed the sock to her. “It’s a fine thing when a superior officer has to make sure than his junior officer can attire herself properly.” Abha stuck out her tongue at him, and they both laughed. He looked at Steve. “Not packing?”
“I’m already packed. Don’t forget, most of my gear was in my quarters on the depot ship. I packed it up there and arranged to ship it direct to the dispatch vessel. I only kept enough down here for my liberties with Abha. It’s in that suitcase over against the wall.”
“All right. I’d better get on with mine. Isn’t it amazing how stuff accumulates, even on a temporary detachment?” His voice was plaintive. “I swear I’m going to have to buy a couple of extra suitcases to ship it all home – that, or bury the excess in the back yard for future archaeologists to investigate.”
Steve adopted a superior, lecturing tone of voice. “And here, class, we have classic examples of the primitive body coverings of the genus Marine-us Officer-us. It was a proud – even, dare I say it, flamboyant – species of its era.”
“Oh, shut up!” Grinning, Brooks disappeared back into his bedroom.
“How much do you still have to pack?” Steve asked his wife. “Can I help?”
“I’m just about done now. Feel like a walk? I’d like to get out of the house for a bit. It’ll be our last chance to stretch our legs for the next ten days, until we land on Lancaster again.”
“Suits me. Let’s go.”
They walked slowly down the street, holding hands. The street lights blocked out most of the stars above, but Rolla’s second moon was full on the horizon.
“Did they find out any more about those asteroids?” Abha asked.
Steve grinned. “I’ll say! Commodore O’Fallon had his patrol craft capture them using tractor beams and tow them over to the mining ship, where they ran a series of tests on them. All tested positive for high concentrations of platinum-group metals. The refinery reckons it’ll make enough profit from those three asteroids alone to fund its next six months of operations. They’re trying to figure out where Constandt found them, so they can go and get some more!”
“So we should actually be thanking him?” Abha joined in his laughter. “Just think how pissed he’s going to be when he hears about that!”
“If he survived his hyper-jump, it’ll certainly be one more thing to make him a laughing-stock.”
“Yes.” Steve bared his teeth in a grin. “Speaking of public scorn, I was pleased to hear the news from Lancaster today.”
The latest dispatch vessel had brought a message from Lieutenant-Commander Bullard to Steve with the latest news of the Mark XVIIA scandal. “Admiral Napolitano resigned from the board of CDI yesterday,” his former boss had informed him, sounding positively gleeful. “What’s more, he’s agreed to waive most of the provisions of his ‘golden parachute’ – under a great deal of pressure, I’m sure. He’d never have done that unless he was leaving under a cloud. He’ll get only a pension. Nothing’s been said officially, but I understand investigators uncovered circumstantial evidence implying that the Admiral may have asked Commander Buchanan to uncover evidence about the explosion, using Napolitano’s granddaughter – his wife – as a go-between. They’d probably have used it to prepare a defense of Brisance and its new explosive. There isn’t enough evidence to bring charges – at least, not yet – but I daresay the circumstantial evidence might have leaked to the news media if CDI hadn’t proved co-operative. The publicity would have done them no good at all.
“As for the Commander’s death, there’s been no trace of the driver of that truck. I suspect – as I’m sure you do – that the only person with tracks to cover – naming no names – probably arranged the crash, but we may never know for sure. That investigation will remain open. Meanwhile, Brisance’s certification of Composition 46-N as insensitive has been officially overturned. It’s been cited for inadequate testing and falsifying test results. The Ocelot warhead is now officially blamed for the disaster to the shuttle prototype, and Brisance is being held responsible. It’ll be liable for compensation to the crew and the costs of the accident investigation.”
The Commander had smiled with positively evil satisfaction from the screen as they watched. “I’m told schadenfreude is unbecoming, but just this once, I don’t care! Since Brisance is part of CDI, the sanctions against it will also affect its parent company. It seems the Mark XVIIA is likely to be approved as our next assault shuttle design. However, the rights to the design belong to the Fleet, of course, so the initial production contract will probably be given to Orion Industries. It’ll be an unofficial punishment for CDI’s meddling, one that’ll cost them billions.”
Steve and Abha were silent for a moment as they walked, thinking about the news. Abha shook her head. “I don’t understand how someone could even think of having his granddaughter’s husband killed to safeguard his own position!”
“Careful, darling,” Steve cautioned seriously. “We don’t know that for sure.”
“No, we don’t – but what other explanation fits the facts? It galls me to think that he may have gotten away with murder – literally!”
“I can’t argue with that. Just don’t say it aloud, OK? If there’s any natural justice in the universe, karma may catch up with him in due course.”
“It often does,” she agreed. “Does this mean you’ll no longer have to give evidence or make a statement in court when we get back?”
“I think it’s probably over now, as far as my involvement’s concerned. I’m sure Lieutenant-Commander Bullard would have given me a heads-up if it wasn’t. ” He hugged her. “Anyway, that’s enough about that. I’m looking forward to being able to settle down with you for a year of uninterrupted time together.”
She reached up her head and kissed him lingeringly. “That makes two of us, lover. I have plans for you.” Her tone was mischievous.
“Sounds ominous!”
“Not really.” She beca
me more serious. “I had a lot of time to think during the trip back here from the mining operation, after we dealt with those pirates. Both of us were at risk. Either one of us could have been killed. I… that unsettled me. I don’t want to think of life without you, or of you having to carry on without me, but let’s face it; we’re both in careers right now where that’s possible. You’re going to continue in yours, although I’m going to move into a more peaceful line of work. I’d like to start our family soon. If anything happens to you, I want at least a couple of kids to raise to be proud of their father. I don’t want to be left with nothing of you, if you know what I mean.”
Steve nodded slowly. “That’s a scary thought, being a father… but it’s also kind of exciting.”
“I feel the same about becoming a mother. Of course, with pod gestation, there’s nothing to stop us starting a family while we’re working. I’d only have to spend the first six weeks of pregnancy planetside before they transferred the embryo to a pod, then I could carry on going to other planets with you for the Recruiting Department while our baby grew in an artificial womb. If we time it right, I could be back planetside at the end of my Recruiting Department stint when the baby’s born, so I could give it the time and attention it’ll need. We could look at another baby a year or two after that, if all goes well. We’ll have to hire help to look after them, because I’ll be studying, but we were talking about that anyway.”
“Sure, and it’s not as if we can’t afford the best! We’ll have to find a nice place to live, so we have somewhere to raise them.”
She smiled. “Yes. I suspect Carol may have similar plans. Perhaps we could look at a big piece of land with two houses, or a large building we can divide. Our two families could live together, help each other out when needed, and share child-raising duties and expenses.”
“That’s a great idea! We’re all the best of friends, so I think that’d suit everyone. We’ll ask Brooks and Carol about it as soon as we get back to Lancaster.” He hesitated. “There’s only one more problem I can think of.”