Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4)

by Peter Grant

  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t take official note of it at all, Sir. Just let it happen. I’ve already discussed that issue with the Gunny.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said the kids’ lives were more important than his next promotion, Sir.”

  Emory couldn’t suppress a wry grin. “I can’t argue with that. All right, I’ll speak to the boss off the record and see what he says. No promises until he’s decided.”

  “Thanks, Sir.”

  “You know your chances of survival are pretty thin if anything goes wrong?”

  “Yes, Sir, but is there any alternative? Remember what you saw the other night. This Bairam character killed one of his own leaders because she wasn’t ruthless enough for him. Dare we risk leaving a man like that, or people he’ll hand-pick for the job, to guard hostages for two to three months in a makeshift orbiting prison? Their nerves are going to be on edge the whole time. What if they mistake something for a rescue attempt and blow up everyone? What if something catastrophic goes wrong with the shuttle? It’s not built for long-duration missions like that. We can modify it as best we can, but that doesn’t alter the fact that its systems simply aren’t built to take that sort of stress. There are too many imponderables, Sir. Any or all of them may be lethal to the hostages. We can’t take the risk of leaving them in orbit for up to three months. This has to end quickly.”

  “Wouldn’t it be safer to wait for the ship to return with a message that it’s delivered its passengers safely to their destination? He’s said he’ll release the hostages then.”

  “What guarantee do we have that he’ll do that, Sir? What if he, or the person he leaves in charge, decides to go out in what they see as a blaze of glory by blowing up the shuttle and everyone aboard? The Colonial Guard has reported several incidents where injured rebels pretended to surrender, only to blow themselves up along with those trying to help them.”

  The Major winced. “That doesn’t bear thinking about! You’re right. We have no way of knowing what will happen, so the only certain way is to make sure nothing has a chance to happen. All right. Why this plan specifically? Are there any alternatives?”

  “It goes back to their attack on us, Sir. Remember the buses they rigged with explosives to transport the hostages?”

  “Yes.”

  “We interrogated the rebel prisoners. That seems to be a standard tactic for them. They install explosives in a vehicle or building, then set a detonator to fail-deadly mode on a timer. At the end of a time interval – which can be fixed or variable – the detonator sends a demand signal to its console. The operator has sixty seconds to key in a response code and transmit it. If it’s correct, the detonator resets itself for the next time interval. If it’s the wrong code, or it doesn’t receive one, the detonator triggers the explosives and kills everyone.”

  Emory frowned. “That makes rescue really hard. Even if you kill the guards you have no way of knowing when the next time interval ends or what the code is. If you can’t get the hostages out before then, they’re going to die along with their rescuers. Can’t you jam the channel used by the detonator, so no signals can get through in either direction?”

  “Their system is set up to foil that, Sir. The detonator and console constantly synchronize with each other. If communication is lost a warning sounds on the console. The operator has three minutes to fix the problem – change batteries, get back into range of the detonator, whatever. If he doesn’t re-establish sync in three minutes, the charge blows.”

  “Damn them! They seem to have covered every angle. Where did they get this stuff?”

  “Some of the prisoners sent here were electronics techs, Sir. They built several consoles in a prison electronics service shop, and adapted commercial detonators to work with them. Since the rebels have used them so often before, I’m willing to bet they’ll use them aboard the shuttle as well. They don’t even need a lot of explosives: just enough to crack open its hull and vent its internal atmosphere to space. If those inside aren’t in spacesuits, they’ll die in a couple of minutes.”

  The Major nodded grimly. “A horrible death, at that. They’ve said they want to accommodate up to forty hostages. Let’s assume ten to fifteen guards and crew. Just one guard can control everyone aboard with a setup like that. If there’s any trouble he can detonate the explosives with a single keystroke.”

  “That’s right, Sir. In order to get at him we’ll either have to make our move during a change of guards, or wait until he has to use the heads, or find another way to gain access to the console. It’s going to be fiendishly difficult, and we can’t predict ahead of time what their setup will be. We’ll have to be on the spot to make decisions, and maybe act with little or no warning. Outside forces won’t be able to help.”

  “And if anything goes wrong, you’ll die with the hostages because you won’t have room for spacesuits. Even if you did, you couldn’t live in them indefinitely waiting for your chance. If it arises without adequate warning, you won’t have time to get into them.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The Major sighed heavily. “All right. Keep us informed. You’d better get some sleep. You were up all night ferrying those cargo shuttles here, and you’ve got a hell of a lot of work ahead of you.”

  “As soon as I’ve seen you off, Sir, my bed’s calling my name for a couple of hours. I’ll have to be up by lunchtime to go over the engineers’ plans, then this afternoon I’ve got to send a work party of Qianjin spacers to start stripping the parts we need out of the freighters.”

  “I’ll ask Lieutenant-Colonel Battista to make sure the Governor’s OK’s that before they start work.”

  “Thanks, Sir.” Steve stretched wearily. “With a little luck and a lot of hard work, we’ll be ready in six or seven days.”

  July 8th 2850 GSC, morning

  “Good grief! What a monstrosity! Will it even fly?”

  Lieutenant-Colonel Battista’s tone was incredulous as he looked up at the hulking cargo shuttle towering over their heads. Huge black tanks and containers had been welded onto its sides in irregular rows like giant crepuscular excrescences, making the vehicle look as if it had contracted a weird case of metallic warts. Pipes and cable ducts ran between them and led to fittings set into the hull of the shuttle. Through the gaping cargo doors they could see more tanks in serried rows along the interior bulkheads, with bunk beds stacked three high welded to frames in front of them. Almost every cubic centimeter of available space had been used.

  “It’ll fly all right, Sir,” Steve assured him with a tired grin. “We won’t fill the tanks on the ground, of course. They’ll cause so much aerodynamic drag while in atmosphere that it’ll be hard enough to keep the shuttle stable in flight without having to worry about excess weight. Once she’s in space we’ll fill the tanks from orbital tenders, load the rest of the supplies, connect the bits and pieces, and get her ready for occupation.”

  “When is that rebel spacer coming to check her out?”

  “He’ll be here this afternoon, Sir. The Gunny and I will make ourselves scarce for that, in case he takes pictures. I don’t want Bairam to be able to recognize our faces. I’ll let the Qianjin engineers handle the briefing.”

  “I understand. Are your own preparations complete?”

  “As complete as we can make them, Sir. We still don’t know exactly what we’ll be facing. We’ll have to make last-minute decisions based on what we find up there.”

  “That makes sense.” He grinned. “The crews of those two freighters are screaming bloody murder about the number of parts and components you stole – I mean, ‘borrowed’ – from them to equip this shuttle.”

  “They can scream all they like, Sir. The Governor approved everything. You haven’t informed him about our plans?”

  “No, of course not. He’s all right, but his subordinates have no idea about security. The rebels would be sure to learn that we’re up to something.”

  “Thanks for keeping it from them, S
ir. We’re going to need every advantage we can get!”

  ~ ~ ~

  When he briefed Bairam that evening, Turgay was more complimentary.

  “I gotta say, Boss, this is some of the most interestin’ work I’ve ever seen on a spacecraft. Those Qianjin engineers know their stuff. They’ve come up with some really neat touches.”

  “That good, huh? Walk me through it.”

  Turgay projected several tri-dee holographic images above the table as he talked, pointing to specific features as he described them. “A normal cargo shuttle’s got space for its crew plus a few passengers – six to eight people max. Its life support systems can handle that many, but for no more than a week to ten days max. The Qianjin engineers have tripled their capacity, but that’s as far as they can go using the shuttle’s power supply. Even so, the electrical system will be badly overloaded. As one way to help compensate, they’ve replaced most of the lightin’ with low-energy diodes. It’ll be a lot dimmer inside than normal, but that can’t be helped.

  “These tanks along the sides are for fresh water and reaction mass. They’re plumbed into the ship’s internal tanks, so as those get low the crew can top ’em off from the outside tanks. The fresh water will be rationed; twenty liters per person per day, no more.” He pointed to a series of tanks. “They’ll fill the tanks once she’s in orbit. The fresh water will be used for drinking, cooking and washing. No showers or baths – washcloths and basins only. The gray water from washing will go into tanks and be used for flushing the heads. The black water will drain into this tank, which’ll be flushed to space once a day.”

  “So we’ll be bombarding the planet with our poop? I like that.”

  Turgay grinned. “Figured you would, Boss. There are no laundry facilities and no space for ’em, so they’ve provided several containers of military coveralls. They’re treated with chemicals that kill odors and clean themselves for a few weeks. The idea is to give everybody a set when they need a change of clothes, then replace them every four weeks. They’ll do the same on the freighter, ’cept that they’ll make everyone change into the coveralls before they lift from the planet. That’ll save space and mass.”

  “Makes sense,” Bairam acknowledged slowly, thinking hard. “I see what you mean when you said these guys know their stuff. They’ve thought of things I hadn’t even considered.”

  “Yeah. Now, these tanks an’ storage lockers lining the inside of the cargo compartment are for more water and rations. The bunks – fifty of ’em – have been welded to the metal frames supporting them.”

  “Could someone hide in there to ambush our people?” Bairam interrupted.

  “Don’t see how, Boss. I checked the structure real careful. The tanks are all sealed. The only openings are pipes and valves that are way too small for someone to get through. I’ll check ’em again once the shuttle’s in orbit, of course, but I don’t think there’s any risk. We’ll spot anybody for sure when we inspect her.”

  “OK. Go on.”

  “All these tanks and bunks and supplies take up most of the cargo bay. They don’t leave much space for people, particularly when they’ve got to be in there for up to three months. The engineers were worried about some of them gettin’ clausty – ya know, bein’ locked into a tiny space like that. They also needed more environmental system capacity than they could install at a lashed-together maintenance shop like theirs. They could do better in a proper orbital dockyard, o’ course, but there ain’t one o’ them around here, so they had to do what they could with what they have.

  “They came up with a great idea. They’re gonna weld the cargo doors shut around an airlock made to fit a standard freighter lifeboat. Those things can keep a hundred people alive for up to a month, or fewer people for longer. They’ll dock one to the airlock once the shuttle’s in orbit. Its environmental systems will supplement the shuttle’s, keepin’ the air fresh an’ processing everyone’s waste; an’ people can move back an’ forth between ’em to have more space. That’s not the only reason to have it, though. Like I said, the shuttle’s systems will be way overloaded. They’ve upgraded ’em as best they can, but there might still be a problem. If there is, everyone can get into the lifeboat an’ seal it off while the crew puts on spacesuits and fixes the problem, includin’ ventin’ the atmosphere to space if need be. If things go badly wrong, you’ve still got a way to get clear of the shuttle an’ carry on holdin’ your hostages without havin’ to be rescued. Makes things more flexible all round.”

  Bairam frowned. “Maybe, but I don’t like the sound o’ that. Seems to me they expect things to go wrong.”

  “Not what you think, Boss. It’s just that anything man-made is gonna fail sooner or later. This shuttle is a kludge job. It was never designed for this sort of thing. They’ve done the best they can to make it usable, but with so many changes they’re expectin’ problems now and then. I am too. You can overstress systems real easy in space. They’re doin’ everything they can think of to make sure everyone aboard the shuttle will be safe if that happens. I gotta admire the way they thought about all this stuff. They’re real pros. I’d be glad to work for them anytime.”

  Despite himself, Bairam was impressed by Turgay’s lavish praise. “All right. If you say they’re that good, I’ll take your word for it. Now, where do we plant our explosives?”

  “Here, here and here, Boss.” The spacer pointed out three places on the holographic image. “Small charges in those spots will rip vital welds wide open an’ dump all the internal atmosphere to space in just a few seconds. They’re also hard to see by just walkin’ around. Unless someone knows the explosives are there, he won’t expect them to be in those spots.”

  “Do we need to put explosives in the big lifeboat as well? I only got three detonator circuits on a console, remember.”

  “No need, Boss. One of the charges is right below the airlock to the lifeboat. When it blows, it’ll take out the frame and blow holes in the panel separating the shuttle and the lifeboat. That’ll vent the atmosphere from both craft. Besides, the shockwave from the explosions will be transmitted through the shuttle’s hull to the lifeboat. It’s bound to rupture some of its hull seams and vent its atmosphere to space. Anyone in there will die along with those in the shuttle.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “No doubt about it at all, Boss. Lifeboats an’ cargo shuttles ain’t built to take explosions.”

  “OK. What next?”

  “They’re takin’ the shuttle up to orbit tonight. Tomorrow they’ll fill the tanks, load the supplies, and dock the lifeboat. While they’re doin’ that, me an’ our other spacers will inspect the freighter. Some o’ the Qianjin engineering techs will help us do a complete systems check an’ walk-through. It’ll take all day. When we finish I’ll do a quick check on the shuttle, then call you to let you know it’s OK. You’ll send up your hostages next mornin’. Once they’re aboard the shuttle an’ you’re ready, we can start loading the rest of our people an’ their families aboard the freighter.”

  “Good,” Bairam acknowledged. “We’ll release some of our other hostages down here every time a group of our people gets to the freighter. By the time all our folk are on the ship, all our hostages down here will be freed, leaving only those aboard the shuttle. They should be enough to keep us all safe while we wait to hear that you’ve arrived.”

  “Us? You stayin’ on the shuttle?”

  “Yeah. Luna was gonna do that. I figured her for tough, but even she got lily-livered in the end. That makes me wonder if I can trust any o’ the other leaders to stay the course. Besides, I reckon I owe it to the rest o’ ya t’ make sure you get away clean. I’ll take my chances on bein’ able to rejoin you later.”

  “OK, Boss.” He grinned. “You takin’ the Governor’s wife with you?”

  “O’ course! Whaddaya think I am, dumb? Can’t have the Governor thinkin’ the other hostages are less important than his lady an’ tryin’ something stupid, can we? I’m gonna hand-pick
the hostages that’ll go aboard the shuttle. All of ’em are gonna be important officials, or their wives or husbands, or their kids. If we hafta kill ’em, I wanna hurt the high mucky-mucks on this planet worse than they’ve ever been hurt before!”

  ~ ~ ~

  As the last layers of atmosphere dropped away beneath the lumbering, shuddering cargo shuttle, its awkward, jerky movements smoothed out into something more like the smooth, effortless flight to which Steve was accustomed. He could at last wipe nervous perspiration from his brow as he handed over more control to the flight software, which was no longer protesting with every meter of altitude that something was very wrong with the shuttle and it should really be landed at once, if not sooner. For a while he’d been afraid that the artificial intelligence system used on these Karabak shuttles might actually try to override him, disable the pilot console and land the shuttle under automated control. He suspected it was designed to deal with – and compensate for – ham-handed, fumble-fingered, poorly-trained colonial personnel rather than highly competent expert pilots.

  Beside him his assistant pilot, one of the Qianjin spacers who was slated to command the shuttle’s spacer crew, rotated his shoulders to ease the tension in them. “That was… interesting,” he admitted in a shaky voice. “I’ve never known a shuttle to be kicked around by aerodynamic forces quite as badly as that. All those protrusions and bulges along the sides… whew!”

  “It was worse than I’ve ever known it, Mr. Kwok,” Steve agreed. They exchanged looks of mutual sympathy.

  Steve turned and looked over his shoulder at the six crew chairs arrayed in two rows at the rear of the pilot compartment. They were filled with five more Qianjin spacers and Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear. “All right, things should be smooth enough now. You can unbuckle and carry on.”

  “Thanks, Sir,” Kinnear responded, his face an interesting shade of light gray-green. “I’ve never been airsick before, but that ride was the worst I’ve ever been through.” He hit the chest buckle of his harness and stood. “If that shaking and buffeting had gone on for five more minutes…”