by Bill Baldwin
Amherst's face turned scarlet. “I shall have both of you arrested and thrown into…”
“Not here you won't,” Ursis growled. “Now consider carefully choice Lieutenant Brim gives you — I would not be so generous.”
“I … I...”
“Your choice, Amherst. Quickly,” Ursis said. “We shall overtake the cruiser in the next few cycles. We cannot be busy immobilizing you during that time.”
“Well... I…” Amherst looked imploringly at Theada. “D-Don't you want to go home?” he asked.
“I’d love to, Puvis,” Theada said. “But first, we've got to at least try to pick up that spy.”
“Barbousse?”
“I've sent one of the men for some rope to tie him up, Lieutenant Brim,” Barbousse said, ignoring Amherst completely.
“Your choice, Lieutenant?” Brim asked.
Amherst looked around the room for support. There was none. He took a deep breath, choked back what sounded like a sob. “I-I shall remain in command, then,” he whimpered, his eyes overflowing.
“Good decision,” Brim said. “Go to your cabin and don't return to this deck until we tell you to. Understand? We'll get you home as soon as we accomplish our mission.”
“Heavy cruiser coming up to starboard, Wilf,” Theada said as the first warning sounded from the proximity alarm. The little astroplane was already tossing heavily in the big warship's gravity wake.
Brim nodded. “Barbousse, let's ready that salute — the recording they gave us on Red Rock 9.”
“Aye, aye, Lieutenant,” the big rating said, sliding to the COMM console.
“Bastard's making sure he gets good look at us,” Ursis commented. “He's been edging our way since he turned on our course.”
“I'll gladly give him the look he wants,” Brim chuckled darkly. “We're legal outside, even if he wouldn't particularly like what he'd see in here.” Ahead, the big ship continued its drift to port. It was clearly visible through the Hyperscreens now.
“Talk about your weird starships,” Theada said. “Look at that, would you.” The old cruiser was stubby and humpbacked, with a confusion of wart-like turrets protruding from its ungainly hull as if sown at random like wild seeds. Many of the larger protrusions were connected to others by great flying bridges and walkways. Four huge turrets ringed the hull a quarter of the way from the stern; each mounted two huge disruptors. The stubby weapons reminded Brim of the ugly disruptors in Hagbut's captured field pieces — from the size alone, they promised to be a thousand times more powerful at their lowest setting. A squat, complex deckhouse stumbled forward from the turret ring where it terminated in an awkward, thrust-browed bridge that gave the whole ship a look of primitive stupidity. Formidably armed, though, if taken altogether, Brim thought abstractedly as he flew E-407 carefully past. But the insubstantial Drive openings aft made it obvious she would be clumsy and difficult to manage in HyperSpace. He guessed the same would prove true under antigravity generators as well. He watched Barbousse's salute expanding out from the KA'PPA: “ALL HAIL NERGOL TRIANNIC — CONQUEROR OF THE STARS.” It was followed immediately by the cruiser's response: “AND RIGHTFUL RULER OF THE COSMOS — ALL HAIL!” Brim chuckled to himself for a moment. Margot would love that! Then, suddenly they were past, running in smooth space again, and the cruiser was receding aft, slipping back to starboard from where she had come.
“Score one for the Truculent team,” he cheered. “We've passed!”
“Glad to see that one go,” Theada swore.
“No more than this Bear,” Ursis agreed. “You saw size of disruptors?”
“I noticed,” Brim said, grimacing. “I'll definitely avoid that ancient rustbucket, anytime I can.”
* * * *
A quarter metacycle before their first possible rendezvous, E607 was rapidly bearing down on the pickup zone with Typro now a recognizable globe hiding the stars ahead. Brim patted the little BURST section on his COMM console. “Nothing more than a symbolic display panel and some controls,” he said to Ursis. “But we've got a lot riding on it.”
“Spy is having a lot more yet,” the Bear growled sardonically. “I would not trade places.”
“Lieutenant Brim,” Barbousse interrupted unsurely, “would you look at this?”
“What's up now?” the Carescrian asked.
“Reception committee orbiting Typro, from what I can see, sir,” the big rating said. “Switch one of your displays to the long-distance target scanner for the torpedo system.”
“Got you,” Brim said, switching the spare globe on his own console to the torpedo display. He squinted, then nearly gasped. “Universe!” he exclaimed. 'They really are ready for us,” he said. “Looks like they've got at least four ships orbiting there — waiting for somebody.”
At that moment, the BURST gear chimed twice. “The time window begins,” Ursis observed. “We have a prompt spy.”
Brim's display filled immediately: “TIME WINDOW ABORT,” it read. “DANGER TO PICKUP CRAFT.”
Brim nodded his head. “Guess we now know who those orbiters are,” he said as he altered course slightly. “We'll still have a look at things as we pass.” He shook his head bleakly. “BURST an 'aborted,' Barbousse,” he ordered. “Whomever that poor bastard is down there, he's got trouble up to his ears.”
As they passed Typro, the resulting confusion of challenges and authentications between E607 and the orbiting ships soon revealed there were five large patrol craft. “They're not making it easy,” Brim groused while the planet receded in the distance.
“True,” Ursis acknowledged with a frown. “'When rocks and crags tremble before great storm, Nemba cubs run for joy. ' “
“As they say on the Mother Planets, Nik?”
The Great Bear grinned, diamond-studded fangs reflecting the colored lights of his readouts. “You must be part Sodeskayan,” he declared. “Never have I met a human who understands so much.”
* * * *
They spent the subsequent watch concealed close by a deserted, mined-out asteroid. Then, as the second time window opened, they once again cautiously approached little Typro with Barbousse's eyes glued to the long-distance target scanner. “Ships are still there, Lieutenant Brim,” he reported after a time. “But now I see six of 'em.”
The BURST gear chimed again. Barbousse was at it immediately. “Same thing as last time,” he reported. “ 'Danger to the pickup craft.'“
Brim shook his head. “If he doesn't let us get into a little danger pretty soon, we'll never get him home.”
“Probably,” Ursis commented from his console, “the spy knows that as well as you. He's a brave one, all right. It must be difficult to send that signal — myself, I should want out as soon as possible, and damn the danger to the pickup crew.”
“Me, too,” Brim added, his mind working furiously. “Unfortunately, it is also getting xaxtdamned close to the limit of our authentication key, after which we don't move around so freely.” He shook his head as they moved past the little planet, their authenticator answering challenges from all six patrol craft. “BURST the spy that we’ll be back in the next window,” he said to Barbousse. “And tell him that we’re coming no matter what.”
“ACKNOWLEDGE” and “THANKS” soon appeared on Brim’s BURST display. He grimaced as he cruised past two of the patrol craft – big and powerfully armed. He listened to the authentication key working in the background and thought of the trapped spy hiding helplessly on the surface below. “I’m glad I don’t have that kind of work,” he said to no one in particular.
Ursis nodded from across the cabin. “I, too, Wilf Ansor,” he said soberly. “Whomever he is, he has paid his dues in this war.”
* * * *
Brim got the bad news when the last window was still a quarter of a metacycle in the future.
“I count five patrol craft this time, Lieutenant Brim,” Barbousse reported from the target scanner.
Brim nodded. He’d expected the patrol would still be in place – a
fter all, the Leaguers were in home territory. They could afford a waiting game. “Action stations!” he ordered. He was definitely going in to get the spy. He simply didn’t know how yet.
With turrets manned, the astroplane’s control cabin lapsed into silence except for the all-dominating rumble of the antigravity units in their outriggers. Brim drummed his fingers on the console and shrugged. At least they’d had no trouble with the astroplane. Like a lot of League equipment, she wasn’t particularly pretty or even sophisticated. But she was fast and reliable with a superb pair of antigravs. He nodded ironically to himself. She was c’lyents ahead of any similar starship the Admiralty had conjured up for the Imperial Fleet.
Ursis looked over sympathetically and smiled. “Could be worse, friend Wilf Ansor,” he said. At least E607’s giving no trouble.”
Brim grinned, pointing his thumb at this chest, “That’s the same thing I've been thinking,” he said. “And…” Abruptly, the Carescrian brought himself up short. “Sweet thraggling Universe, Nik,” he said. “That's it. What we need is a malfunction to get us in there.”
Theada rolled his eyes. “Oh, WON-der-ful,” he quipped. “Whose side are you on, Wilf?”
Ursis chuckled. “Perhaps he has not yet defected at all,” he said as he turned to Brim. “You are solving problem by looking at it from different angle, I assume, Wilf Ansor.”
“That's right, Nik,” Brim asserted. “So far, we've planned everything around this tub working flawlessly — and I'll bet the Leaguers have set up their trap expecting pretty much the same from whatever kind of starship comes along to pick up the spy. But I'll bet nobody's looking for something that doesn't work very well.”
“Universe — of course,” Theada exclaimed. “Any pickup craft would abort its mission if it had trouble. Sure....”
“But how about the malfunction?” Ursis asked with a grin. “How are you going to do that?”
Brim held up a finger, grinned, then turned to Barbousse. “Think you can operate that equipment for launching space mines?” he asked.
The big rating rubbed his chin and frowned, studying a section of the control panel before him. “'Nadzur' is the word for 'mine' in Vertrucht, isn't it, Lieutenant Brim?” he asked.
“Sure is,” Brim said.
Barbousse nodded. “And I know 'imbal' means 'load.' I heard someone say that while we were tryin’ to start those field pieces back on A’zurn.” Passing his hand over part of the controls, he turned a whole sector to flashing green, then rubbed his chin. “Yes, sir,” he said presently, “I can work it. Looks like we've got ten mines on board. “
Brim grinned. “That's it, then,” he said. “Here's my plan. In the next couple of cycles, you're going to kick one of those out into our wake and immediately detonate it. From any distance at all, it'll look like we've had one great-grandsire of a malfunction. “
Theada grimaced. “A space mine,” he whispered with awe in his voice.
“The worse we can make it look, the better,” Brim continued. “Because right after that, we're going to broadcast on the intergalactic emergency channel that our steering's gone.”
“Oh, I get it,” Theada exclaimed. “Out of control.”
“Right,” Brim said with mock melodrama. “Heading for a crash landing on Typro.” He laughed grimly. “Bet you didn't expect anything like a crash landing, now, did you?”
“No,” Theada agreed. “I suppose I didn't expect anything like that. But the longer I work with you, Wilf, well, it gets easier all the time.”
* * * *
“All weapons systems are energized, and I've got a star mine in the first hoop,” Barbousse reported, glancing at the warty globe suspended in the forward-most repulsion ring. Twelve identical rings formed a flux tunnel extending over the stern and into the little starship's wake. At a gentle chiming, he nodded to the COMM cabinet. “Incoming BURST message, Lieutenant,” he announced.
Brim turned to his own BURST display. “MISSION ABORT,” it read. “TOO RISKY FOR YOU. MUCH OBLIGED ANYWAY. “
“I expected as much,” he said, biting his lip. He narrowed his eyes and turned to Barbousse. “Send, 'No options. On our way. Where do we meet?'“
All eyes were on the COMM now. The display flashed. “DAMN FOOLS,” it read, “AND THANK VOOT! CABLE ROUTE 981, ZONE 54G, OPEN LORRY W/YELLOW CANISTERS. NUMBER 8 ON CAB ROOF. GOOD LUCK.”
Brim checked his charts of Typro and nodded. “All right,” he said. “Everybody set?”
“Let's do it,” Ursis said. “Our spy is clearly ready to go, too. “
Brim turned in his console to face Barbousse. “Let the mine go,” he said tensely. “And blow it up as soon as it's safe!”
“Free…” Barbousse said as the deadly star mine accelerated aft through the repulsion rings and disappeared into the darkness. “Detonating.” Immediately, a terrific flash pulsed the Hyperscreens. This was followed by a glowing, burgeoning, mountain-sized cloud that rapidly enveloped them in a paroxysm of flame and concussion.
Eyes slitted against the glare, Brim wrestled desperately with the controls as the little ship tumbled in the fiery blast, generators surging wildly. “Get ready on the KA'PPA, Barbousse,” he shouted over the blazing confusion outside. “Standard code sent in the clear!”
When the worst was passed, Brim turned the controls over to Theada and fought his way back to the COMM cabinet. “BEWARE,” he KA'PPAed in Vertrucht. “NAVIGATIONAL MENACE. BLOWN STEERING ENGINES. KEEP AWAY. SHIP OUT OF CONTROL. BEWARE.” Then he regained his Helmsman's console and began to maneuver the little starship in awkward-looking, wobbling loops, each carefully calculated to bring the ship a little closer to Typro.
Momentarily, the authenticator began to chime with almost constant challenges. “That's got somebody's interest,” Brim grunted with satisfaction as he skidded into a wild turn to port nadir, the starframe creaking with strain. “They'll want to use short-range COMM in a moment, Barbousse. Switch it up here to my station — voice only — no video!” As a tiny area on his center console glowed green, he swerved again sharply to port. “Beware,” he broadcast in Vertrucht. “Internal explosion… Steering failure… Ship out of control… Beware…”
Suddenly, a blank COMM globe sprang to life. “E607, do you receive us?” a voice asked in Vertrucht.
“Audio only,” Brim said after a few moments. “Video must have gone in the explosion. Beware! I am out of control!” He pulled through a tight loop to get a better look outside.
“So we observe,” the voice said. “You are generally heading toward an area that is temporarily forbidden.”
Brim swerved sharply, spotted the ship high to port, then sent the astroplane into a series of flat, wavelike spirals that made the deck shudder between their feet. “What in the name of Triannic do you expect me to do about that, fool?” he exclaimed. “You must have seen the explosion back there. If I could steer, I'd be nowhere near you or your xaxtdamned forbidden area!”
“Well, you will have to do something,” the voice said then stopped in mid-sentence as Brim abruptly turned and headed for him on a collision course.
“Look out!” the Carescrian yelled at the top of his lungs. With his new heading, he was upon them in mere clicks… past in a fraction of another, both ships swerving desperately to avoid disaster. Then the Leaguers were lost again in the starscatter as Brim called up full power and thrashed corkscrewing once again toward Typro. “Beware!” he yelled into the short-range COMM. “Keep away!”
“Universe, yes, do keep away,” the other ship broadcast to the others. “They almost collided with us!”
The authentication key chimed again. Moments later, a woman's voice inquired sternly, “What is your intended heading, E607?”
“Presently vectoring toward possible emergency landing on Typro ahead,” Brim answered, sensing a far stronger personality here. “There's not much I can do about it.”
A long silence ensued, after which the woman's voice said, “Good fortune to you then, foo
l. None of my ships will approach in your struggles.” Brim smiled. He hoped he never had the chance to continue that short conversation.
Other voices questioned him for a considerable time and the authentication key chimed incessantly. But all gradually faded in the distance as Brim wobbled toward his target, which by now almost filled the Hyperscreens ahead. Soon, it was amply clear he'd brought his ragtag ship’s crew safely through Typro's blockade! He hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a one-way trip. Dark's authentication key had little time remaining!
CHAPTER 8
In less than a metacycle, features of the arid surface began to define themselves — ragged mountains, dry riverbeds, the dim flicker of occasional cities. As the astroplane staggered deeper into the thin atmosphere, wisps of glowing plasma began to lick at the corners of the Hyperscreens, then spread rapidly to the hundred and one protrusions on the hull until they trailed a long, glowing corkscrew of ions like the meteor they had become. Gradually, Brim reduced his course perturbations, flying more and more in a controlled manner until finally, no more than ten thousand irals from the surface, he leveled off and flew a straight and level heading. “Universe!” he laughed, wiping mock perspiration from his brow, “with all that' damage' to the steering gear, I didn't think I could bring her in at all.”
Aft, Amherst slumped in a recliner, head lolling from side to side. “He's only passed out, Lieutenant,” Barbousse reported.
“We're entering zone 5,” Theada said presently, pointing below through the Hyperscreens. “It's sort of delineated by the mountains and that scar somebody once called a river.”
“Very well,” Brim replied as he cranked the ship in a wide circle. “Do you suppose that's Cable Route 981 running along the edge of the scarp?”
“Only one I can see,” Ursis said. “Of course, who could tell in this desert?”