The Jupiter War

by Gregory Benford

  A host of thoughts swirled through Perko’s mind. He thought about how tradition, and to some extent his training, called for a valiant effort in the face of overwhelming odds.

  He thought about the undeniable fact that Willie was right, that a valiant effort would mean certain death, and do nothing to help the men and women of Tito Two.

  And last but not least, he thought about the fact that he’d changed, and didn’t give a shit about guts and glory anymore.

  When Perko spoke his voice was cold as ice. “That’s enough, Naisbit. Your comments have crossed the line into insubordination and are teetering on the edge of mutiny. One more word and I’ll order you confined to quarters.”

  There was a long, hard silence, followed by a brittle “Yes sir!” from Naisbit, and click as he went off-com.

  Perko locked eyes with Willie. He gave a slight shake of his head as if to say, Ignore Naisbit, it doesn’t mean a thing.

  Willie sighed, nodded an acknowledgment, and gave Christoferson a new course. Then Willie got up, grabbed his helmet, and headed for his cabin.

  Once there he lay down and tried to sleep. But tired as he was sleep wouldn’t come. He tossed and turned, wondering if Naisbit had been right. Could they have saved Tito Two? Had he been too conservative? Too worried about his ship? Hours passed before sleep finally came.

  * * *

  The stars were a vast backdrop behind the tanker. The vessel was two miles long and consisted of a command module, four interconnected silver globes, and a set of drive units located at the stern. The side-thrusters mounted at regular intervals along the tubular side-rails were used for close-in maneuvers.

  High-capacity hoses snaked between the tanker and the Alice B. as the freighter took on fuel. She had already loaded ammo and food from a small supply ship that was already on its way somewhere else.

  Further out, dashing back and forth like a hunting dog searching for scent, a U.N. destroyer kept watch. The same destroyer that had brought Captain Forbush all the way from Big Red.

  At the moment Forbush was something less than comfortable, floating in zero G inside the Q-ship’s wardroom and trying to look as though he enjoyed it. Zero-G conditions were SOP for fueling, since any amount of spin would tangle the tanker’s hoses.

  Willie had been dealing with weightlessness for more than thirty years, but not so Forbush, who felt more than a little queasy. He tightened his grip on a handhold and used his other hand to wave off a bulb of coffee.

  “No thanks, Willie, I had some before I came over.” Forbush made a production of looking at his wrist comp. “Which reminds me, I’m due aboard the tin can in about fifteen minutes.”

  Willie managed to keep a straight face as he nodded. Christoferson was right, Forbush did look like “a flying whale.”

  Forbush cleared his throat and tried to ignore his nausea long enough to force a smile. “Well, that pretty much wraps it up. You should feel very good. The mission has been a tremendous success, the Q-ship program is up and running, and the Feds still don’t realize what we’re up to.”

  “Yeah,” Willie said dryly, “we’re a real success all right. Tell that to the survivors of Tito Two. If you can find any.”

  Forbush felt himself drift slightly, and wished he’d accepted Willie’s invitation to strap himself into a chair. The university might have been boring, but at least there was no danger of drifting around the faculty lounge.

  “You’ve got to stop that nonsense, Willie. You made the right decision, and it will say so in my report to the Admiralty. There was nothing you or your ship could’ve done to save Tito Two. Sad but true. Are you sure you want to keep Naisbit aboard? I could take him with me and assign him to the base garbage scow.”

  Willie shook his head. “No, Guns deserves one more chance. If he blows that I’ll strap his ass to a torpedo and send him in your direction.”

  Forbush laughed. “Well, have it your way. Help me find my way out of here and I’ll leave you to it.”

  Pausing to let Forbush find handholds and maneuver his way around obstacles, the two men pulled themselves to the lock. The destroyer’s gig waited on the other side.

  Careful to grab a handhold with his left hand, Forbush held out his right. “We couldn’t have a better Q-ship commander, Willie. Good luck, and good hunting.”

  Willie shook the other man’s hand and let go as the hatch started to cycle closed. He liked Forbush, and meant it when he said, “Thank you, sir, have a good trip, and save me some of that Scotch! By the time this is over I’ll need a drink!”

  The closing hatch cut off Forbush’s final words, but there was no mistaking the cheery wave or the fact that he forgot to hang, and hit the overhead with the top of his head.

  * * *

  The next eleven days seemed to drag by. Except for a couple of false alarms there was nothing to break the monotony of each watch. Just the never-ending humdrum of shipboard life.

  As time passed and the crew continued to live in their suits the air became fetid, the food tasted strange, and tempers grew short. Arguments started over inconsequential things, personal quirks began to wear, and conversation became little more than ritualized grunts.

  So when the alarms went off Willie heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, something to do besides smell his own sweat. Unfortunately, the feeling was short-lived.

  “We got trouble,” Sparks said calmly. “Big trouble.” She didn’t have to say more. The pictures flooding the command module’s screens were worth a thousand words. It was a ship, a big ship, six times the size of Alice and bristling with weapons. She was miles long and covered with a maze of weapons blisters, heat-exchangers, launch tubes, solar arrays, and more.

  “What the hell is that?” Christoferson asked in amazement.

  “And how the hell did it get so close without us knowing?” Willie added.

  Perko looked up from a small screen. The ship’s tac comp had compared the video to known hulls and come up with a match. “Well, I can answer the first question. That is the liner Argentina, now known as Confederation Commerce Raider AB-78.”

  “And I can answer the second question,” Sparks added, “or I think I can. Their detectors are better than ours. Much better. They saw us before we saw them, positioned themselves along our projected course, and turned everything off. Drives, radios, everything.”

  “And not knowing they were around we walked straight into the trap,” Willie finished. “Smart. Real smart.”

  “They’re on the horn,” Sparks said. “It’s the usual ‘kill power and prepare to be boarded’ routine.”

  Willie’s mind raced. This was the very situation he’d always feared. Trapped by a powerful opponent and unable to run. Should they fight, hoping to get lucky? Or pretend innocence and try to bullshit their way through?

  Willie decided on the latter. He chinned the intercom. “Okay, now hear this. Secure the drives, seal the weapons sections, and prepare for company. We’ll use boarding routines ‘B’ for bravo, I repeat, ‘B’ for bravo.”

  Boarding routine ‘B’ involved trying to pass Alice off as a tramp freighter of Panamanian registry by using a whole set of carefully prepared phony documents, computer records, and personal identities. But no matter how carefully prepared the backup materials were, their story was still paper-thin. What were they doing in that section of space? Where were they headed? Why? Willie would need answers to those questions and more.

  It was a desperation-only option but Willie was desperate enough to use it, and didn’t like the thought of surrender. Especially when all of them could be shot as spies.

  All over the ship people raced to get out fake documents, activate phony logs, and dump incriminating evidence. Everywhere that is except the Fire Control Center, where Naisbit shook his head disapprovingly, released his harness, and headed for the weapons compartment number twelve. That’s where he kept his cl
ub, his secret weapon, his equalizer.

  Now was the time to get it out. It was too bad about Lawson, but the man was paralyzed by fear, and completely useless. Like the admiral who let Tony die. But that’s what professionals are for, to step in when the chips are down and make the right decisions. And even more important, to avenge Tony’s death.

  Perko turned to Willie. He smiled wryly. “The Big Bad Wolf’s at the door. Shall I let him in?”

  Willie nodded. The raider had wasted little time launching a shuttle, chock-full of troops no doubt, which was now alongside. He gathered his faculties, plastered what he hoped was a silly smile on his face, and headed for the main lock.

  The lock had already opened by the time Willie got there. A squad of heavily armed marines spilled out and threw him against the wall. They pushed him around a little, frisked him for weapons, and fanned out to search the rest of the ship.

  Willie was still turning around when a Confederation officer appeared. She’d waited just inside the lock until receiving an “all dear” from the marines.

  The officer was short, middle-aged, and hard as rock. Her eyes were like twin ferrets, darting here and there looking for prey. She wore armor and a com set. She spoke with a staccato bark, asking questions faster than he could possibly answer them.

  “What ship is this? Are you the commanding officer? Where are you headed?”

  Willie forced himself to stay calm. He smiled ingratiatingly. He answered her questions one at a time.

  The ship was the Maria, registered in Panama. Yes, he was the captain, and an underpaid one at that. As for a destination, well that was in the hands of God, and the commanding officer of Confederation Star Base 73. He’d been ordered to go there and pick up a cargo. Whatever it was, Willie hoped it wouldn’t be dangerous like the last time.

  When he was all done the officer looked him in the eye, lifted a well-plucked eyebrow, and said, “Captain, you are one lying sonovabitch. Let’s see the rest of your so-called freighter.”

  * * *

  Naisbit swore as the case caught on the edge of the hatch. Like all of the ship’s four maintenance locks it was too damn small. How the hell did the designers expect someone to get tools or large parts out onto the surface of the hull, anyway? Stupid, that’s what it was.

  Naisbit managed free the case and drag it clear. Alice and the shuttle snuggled up alongside of her were still spinning, so there was sufficient gravity to walk around.

  The naval officer checked to make sure the hatch had sealed behind him and took a look at his target.

  The Argentina was shaped like a huge cigar, long and cylindrical, sunlight sliding over her surface as she rotated. Naisbit grinned. What a target!

  It took him about three minutes to run a diagnostic routine on the power pack that was attached to his space suit, blast free of the light gravity surrounding Alice, and start the two-mile journey. In spite of its contents the case was light as a feather.

  * * *

  Perko gritted his teeth as the Confederation marines trashed his cabin. He sat next to his desk and watched as they ripped open his storage compartments, threw the contents on his bunk, and made jokes about whatever they found.

  A corporal with the name MENDEZ stenciled on his breastplate grunted something unintelligible, pointed to the drawers under Perko’s bunk, and said something in Spanish.

  A private pulled the first drawer out and emptied it onto the bunk.

  Mendez plunged his hands into Perko’s underwear, felt around, and withdrew a holo cube. He looked at the cube, looked at Perko, and shook his head sadly as if the XO had disappointed him somehow. There was nothing wrong with his English.

  “Well, well. Since when do tramp freighters of Panamanian registry carry U.N. naval officers?”

  * * *

  Naisbit almost blew it. It takes practice to use a power pack effectively, and outside of the two mandatory drills a year he didn’t get much. As a result the weapons officer came close to overshooting his target and heading for the sun. Fortunately he managed to kill power and get his feet down where they were supposed to be just in time.

  Naisbit hit hard, absorbed most of the shock with bent knees, and looked for a place to hide. He didn’t think the Argentina’s sensors would pick him up, but there was no way to be sure, and they might send marines out to look for him.

  * * *

  Perko did the only thing he could. He reached under his desk, broke the .9-mm automatic free of its magnet, and fired twice in quick succession. The first shot was a clean kill, hitting Mendez right between the eyes, but the second hit the private’s shoulder, throwing him backward but failing to penetrate his armor.

  The private hit the bulkhead, bounced off, and yelled obscenities as he brought the machine pistol upward.

  * * *

  Willie saw the Confederation officer’s eyes widen as she heard something via her com set. Turning, she went for the handgun holstered under her left arm.

  Not knowing what she’d heard, but fairly certain it was bad, Willie threw his arms around her and hugged. It wasn’t very fancy but it did prevent the woman from pulling her gun.

  The officer lunged upward, trying to hit Willie’s chin with the top of her head. She was too short to make it work. Then the officer’s head jerked sideways as Sparks shot her through the left ear.

  Willie heard a buzzer go off as she slumped in his arms.

  * * *

  Naisbit swore softly as a pair of Confederation marines stalked by the entrance to his metal cave. The bastards had detected his arrival and sent some grunts to check it out. Oh well, if they were like most marines they’d assume the whole thing was a wild goose chase and call it off after ten or fifteen minutes.

  The weapons officer looked around. His hiding place had been formed where a section of armored duct curved up and over the edge of a solar panel. It was as good a place as any. He opened the case and started the arming procedure.

  * * *

  There were two marines standing outside Shimmura’s position when the “repel boarders” buzzer went off. He couldn’t reach the weapon hidden just beyond the marines, so the engineering officer did the next best thing and triggered the armored hatch that sealed him inside his control cocoon during combat.

  Fast though the hatch was, it wasn’t fast enough. A marine fired. Her armor-piercing bullet went through Shimmura’s space suit, through his shoulder, through a rack of electronics, and flattened itself against the hull metal beyond.

  The impact of the bullet threw the engineer back into his seat. It felt wet inside his suit. Shim saw the picture of Susie that he’d taped above his controls and wondered if he’d ever see her again.

  * * *

  Perko and the Confederation marine squeezed their triggers at the same moment. The private’s bullets hit the steel deck and ricocheted around the compartment like lead banshees. One creased the side of Perko’s face as he squeezed the trigger and kept squeezing. The marine’s face turned to red mush.

  * * *

  Willie straightened from laying the officer’s body on the deck. There were two more dead marines as well, one killed by Christoferson and the other by Sparks. Willie turned to Christoferson, who had returned to her controls. “Status?”

  “Perko had a close call but survived. He and some others are guarding the lock to prevent them from sending more marines through. Shimmura is wounded but managed to seal himself inside his control-escape module. There are two marines trapped in the drive room but the rest ate dead.”

  Willie nodded as he strapped himself into the command chair. “Good. It could be worse. Send those marines a message by pumping the air out of the drive room. They can surrender now or later when their tanks run dry, whichever they prefer. After that let the shuttle roll up between us and the Argentina, blow the lock, and get us the hell out of here.”

  C
hristoferson’s fingers were a blur of motion as they flew over the keys. Then she watched the screens, waited until the shuttle was in perfect position, and blew up the main lock.

  The charges had been placed there as a last-ditch defense against boarders, but did a bang-up job of separating Alice from the shuttle as well. The smaller ship was literally hurled at the Argentina, sheltering Alice for a few precious seconds and giving them a better chance.

  Willie scanned the screens as he activated the intercom. “Guns, give me full ECM, hot chaff, and anything else that might throw them off. Find something soft, everybody! Number Two, give me full military power. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  Willie was pushed down into his seat as Alice took off and Naisbit’s voice came over the radio. “Sorry I can’t be there to follow those orders, Lawson, but you’re good at running, so I’m sure you’ll find a way. You’d better hurry up, though, cause the marines are hunting me down and they’re getting damned close. I’ve got a backpack nuke here, and when this baby goes off, blammo! Everybody gets reamed. See you in hell, Lawson.” And with that Naisbit pushed a button.

  For a moment, seconds only, a brand-new sun graced the heavens, and the Argentina disappeared.

  * * *

  All the talking, all the reports were over, and there was nothing left to say. Willie looked at Forbush and hoisted a glass of the historian’s whiskey.