“Now, Wright,” he muttered under his breath, “isn’t that taking too much credit?”
He did not answer his own question. Instead, he checked the readouts—less than sixty kays left before he reached the clearance call-in point. Less than sixty kays before the next confrontation. He shrugged his shoulders and tried to relax the tension.
He continued to scan the controls until he was certain that the carrier was functioning as designed. Then he set the autopilot, hoping that the cargo bird wouldn’t fly into the ground. He watched the radalt for another few minutes before he eased from behind the controls and stepped into the troop space and began the distasteful job of stripping the copilot’s flight suit. The pilot was too small, and since both uniforms were standard flight suits, no one would notice. But everyone would question it if a senior Marine tech landed the bird.
Kordel continued to stare straight down, with an occasional glance at the bulkhead before him, as if the rebel were still trying to gather himself together, or to escape from the nightmare in which he found himself.
Luren turned to watch, noting that Jimjoy did not change boots, and that his own matched both the pilot’s and the copilot’s.
“Yes, I’m a pilot, among other things.”
He doubted she heard his words, although she shook her head sadly, the helmet bobbing as she did, the curly hair floating out from underneath momentarily.
Once he was wearing the flight suit, he used his own I.D. patch, the one thing he had kept besides his knife through three uniform changes. He doubted that the entire New Kansaw Base had been told that one Major Wright was persona non grata. Besides, Majors were scrutinized less intently than Captains and Lieutenants.
He scrambled back into the cockpit, noting that the flitter was less than two hundred meters above the plain. He made the corrections even before strapping back into place.
Then he shrugged his shoulders, trying to release the tension.
XLIV
JIMJOY SHIFTED THE frequency from tactical control to field, listening for traffic at the Imperial Base before announcing his presence.
“…PriOps, Gauntlet four. Departing alpha seven. Fuel status is three plus. Time of return one plus five.”
“Four, cleared for departure.”
Listening, he waited, then keyed his own transmitter with the ease of habit.
“PriOps, this is Cutlass three. Cutlass three, returning TacOp. Request delta three.”
“Delta three clear. Interrogative threshold. Interrogative threshold.”
“Estimate threshold in one zero standard. One zero.”
“Cleared for delta three in one zero. Interrogative hunting status. Interrogative hunting status.”
“Status is mixed green.”
“Mixed green? What…? Three, please clarify. Please clarify.”
“Objective accomplished. Objective accomplished. Cultass one, two, and four are strikes.”
Jimjoy continued to scan the controls, mentally planning his approach to the Imperial Base and the shuttle it held. With a deep breath, he glanced sideways, then backward, to take in his two passengers—the one glancing speculatively at him, the other looking blankly at the gray metal decking.
“Interrogative assistance this time, three.”
“Strike force will require outlift. Will require outlift.”
“Interrogative intentions, three, Interrogative passengers.”
“Negative on passengers, PriOps. Negative on passengers. Inbound for commlink. Then will resupply and join outlift.”
“Understand resupply.”
“After commlink, PriOps.”
“Stet, three. Do you wish transfer to beta line after delta three?”
“That is affirmative.”
He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve before shaking down the deeply tinted visor that disguised the three-day growth of dark beard.
He had thought about asking if a shuttle were scheduled for departure, but deferred. He needed the standby shuttle—after taking a few steps.
A tap on his shoulder, just as he began to line up for his final approach, brought him back to his immediate problems.
“What do you want us to do?” asked Luren.
“Drag all the bodies out of sight.”
“Drag the bodies out of sight? Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Jimjoy paused, then added, “When we land, just follow me and keep quiet. We’ll all be heading for the main commcenter.”
“Just like that?” repeated Luren.
“That’s—”
“Cutlass three, interrogative time to threshold.”
Jimjoy checked the EDR, then answered. “PriOps, this is three. Estimate threshold in four standard. Four standard.”
“Three, please acknowledge Imperial I.D. I say again. Acknowledge Imperial I.D.”
The suspicious Imperial mind, reflected Jimjoy. Only one of four flitters returns, and they want some reassurance that it’s still theirs.
“Stet. Acknowledging.”
He reached under the control board and triggered the cargo flitter’s hidden transponder switch. The switch was in the first place he looked, although he knew all four potential locations.
“Stet, three. Signal green. Cleared to delta three.”
“Understand cleared to delta three. Will report threshold.”
“Stet, three.”
Jimjoy’s eyes flicked beyond the expanse of synde bean fields immediately before him and noted the gray of the Imperial Base structures and landing strips, and the black field tower. The fusion power plant was well beneath the base of the tower—standard Imperial design, and within a few meters of the standby shuttle, which was exactly where it should be.
“Why the commcenter?” asked Luren again, catching his attention by touching his shoulder.
“To get close enough to the standby shuttle. If you want to help, round up three or four stunners with full charges. Let me have two and keep two…and see if you can find an official holster for one of them.”
She wrinkled her nose in reaction to either the proximity to the unwashed Special Operative or his latest request. “Can’t you find a peaceful way to solve anything?”
“Wasn’t trained that way. Besides, you rebels weren’t exactly peaceful, either.”
“Not after—”
“Excuse me.” Jimjoy returned full attention to the controls. “PriOps. Cutlass three at threshold, descending to two five zero.”
“Three, cleared to two five zero. Do you have visual on flitter at your two thirty?”
Jimjoy looked. The flitter was on a low-level departure.
“Stet. Have visual. Low level.” The pilot added power as he completed the rotor deployment.
“PriOps, three descending to one zero zero. On final approach.”
“Three, you’re cleared to delta three. Interrogative crew service.”
“That’s negative until transfer to beta line. Request beta seven.”
“Negative on beta seven. Beta four, five, and eight are open.”
“Request beta eight.”
“Holding beta eight for you, Cutlass three. Interrogative time on ground before transfer.”
“Estimate one five standard.”
Easing the nose upward, Jimjoy began dropping airspeed and adding power, gauging his descent to come to a full stop well clear of the tower, planning a sedate air taxi into the commslot.
The EGT on the right-hand thruster edged into the amber as he added power to bring the heavy craft into a hover. Cross-bleeding power left both thrusters in the green, but barely, as he edged the flitter toward the touchdown spot.
“PriOps, three on the deck. Shutting down.”
“Stet, three.”
Completing the shutdown seemed to take forever, but the clock only showed three minutes by the time Jimjoy was unstrapping.
“Have those stunners? And a holster?”
Luren pressed both into his hands, a sad look in her brown eyes.
“I’m sorry I said anything. Thank you for trying.”
“Don’t thank me until I get you out of here safe. Let’s go. You’re witnesses to the nuclear arms the rebels had stored in their base.
“But—”
“I know. I know. But that’s one of the few things that will get me where I need to be if anyone raises the wrong questions. And there’s little enough left for anyone to dispute it by comm now.” He set the stunners on the flat section of the controls, unstrapped, and attached the holster to his equipment belt.
Luren shook her head again.
Each time she seemed ready to accept him, he said or did something that set the woman off again.
For what seemed the hundredth time over the last few hours, he wondered why he was dragging the two along. Did he need some salve for his conscience? Or was he subconsciously thinking of a bargaining tool with Accord? He brushed the thoughts aside as he holstered one stunner and concealed the other, slightly smaller one in a thigh pocket.
He wished he had some of his own gear left. He’d had little enough by the time he’d left Accord, and bit by bit the rest had been used up. But all he needed was speed, force, and the luck of hades.
“Come on.” He had triggered the ramp letdown already, and waited for the extension to stop.
“What do you—”
“Just follow me and look grim. Shouldn’t be that hard for you.”
He stepped down the ramp in smart steps, with a touch of haste, as if he were in a hurry but trying not to be too obvious about it.
“Major…”
The man who met him directly inside the portal to the flight tower was a tall Captain, taller than Jimjoy by half a head. The Marine Captain wore badges for combat proficiency and field command, and he was scrutinizing Jimjoy as if he had crawled from the nearest sewer.
Jimjoy did not shake his head. The Captain would be the next casualty.
“Captain. Urgent message uplink from Major Nedos.”
“I’ll be happy to take care of the details, Major. Since you are doubtless needed back in the…field.” His voice conveyed a touch of disdain as he continued to survey the three scroungy-looking figures from the security of his height and impeccably creased uniform.
“I think not, Captain. But I would appreciate it if you would lead the way and verify both entry and transmission.”
Their eyes met again, but the Captain, even from his superior height, looked away.
“This way.”
Jimjoy knew the way, but saw no need for an uproar yet. He followed the Marine, letting Luren and Kordel trail him. The three received curious glances but no challenges as they took the old-fashioned stairs up two levels toward the commcenter.
The inner workings of the center were closed to all except restricted personnel, but several rooms with transmission consoles, directly outside the center and separated from the operations area, were available. They were seldom used, since station personnel could use their own consoles for the same purposes.
As the Marine gestured through the open portal, Jimjoy hesitated, stepping aside to let Luren and Kordel pass him.
“Go ahead, Captain. I’ll need you as well.” As the Captain reluctantly entered the small room, scarcely larger than a clerical cubicle, Jimjoy’s hands brushed the portal controls. He turned.
Thrumm!
The Captain’s face did not even register surprise. Jimjoy dragged his figure out of view behind the console.
“Not again!”
“Quiet.”
Jimjoy pointed to the single console in the small room.
“Luren, sit here. Type out anything your heart desires on the screen. But type, and don’t touch any of these three studs. Stand next to her, Kordel, as if you’re reviewing it.”
“Why?” asked Luren.
“For the benefit of anyone who may use the scanner. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just stay put. Use the stunner on anyone besides me who comes through the portal.”
“Trust you?”
“Why not? Got anyone better?”
Jimjoy reversed himself and stepped back out into the corridor that led to the main commcenter. A young technician manned the access desk before the main portals.
“Major…were you looking for someone?”
“I was supposed to meet a Captain Tiarry here. Have you seen him?”
The technician glanced at her screen.
Thrum!
As he dragged the body out of sight, Jimjoy wished he had reset the stunner. He scanned the control board and shook his head. Totally tied with an interlocked security code. Any attempt to meddle would probably alert the entire base.
He turned his attention to the portal itself. It seemed relatively standard, despite the heavy casements.
He checked the stunner, refocused the weapon to the narrowest and most intense setting. Then he retrieved the second stunner from his thigh pouch. He stepped up to the portal, calculating the circuit placements.
Thrum!
Nothing happened. He moved the weapon slightly.
Thrumm!
The portal edges quivered.
Thrumm!
The doors spasmed, opening perhaps a quarter of the way before starting to close again.
Rippppyyyttt.
The Special Operative almost didn’t clear the portal edges as he slipped into the commcenter, dropping the used and fused stunner and switching the replacement into his left hand.
Three people, the duty officer and two technicians, looked up with mild surprise.
“So sorry…”
Thrumm! Thrum! Thrum!
He grabbed the duty officer’s stunner and jammed it into his holster, replacing the other weapon in his thigh pouch as he stepped up to the master console.
He entered the series of codes and instructions he was not supposed to know, the ones left over from the time of the Directorate, the ones used to ensure that no one captured an Imperial Base—and survived.
“Masada one, on line,” scripted the console.
“Romans at the walls,” he tapped in return.
“Time until sunrise?” inquired the ancient safeguard.
“Thirty-five standard minutes.” Jimjoy hoped the time was sufficient, but if they didn’t make it within the time limit, they wouldn’t make it at all. Not after his trail of carnage.
“After sunrise?” the console asked in the uncharacteristic antique script.
“Neither legions nor the chosen people.”
The console blanked, returning to its standard format. According to the program design, not even shutting the power off would stop the next steps. Only disabling the fusion power generator buried below the tower could do that.
The internal pressure on Jimjoy reminded him of another pressing need. He glanced around, trying to reorient himself to the more mundane necessities of life.
Trying to lift a shuttle on a high gee curve with a full bladder was likely to be uncomfortable, if not fatal. He sighed as he located the fresher and sprinted for it, shaking his head.
To be slowed by the merely physiological. He hoped that the minute or so spent relieving himself would not prove critical. His failure to account for nature would have amused Thelina and the Ecolitans, he suspected.
The fresher was plain, empty, and welcome. He also took several deep gulps of water from the tap, not caring if he dripped on the borrowed flight suit. Not that he would have cared even if it had been his.
Feeling less physically pressured, he left the fresher and moved back through the commcenter, with thirty-two minutes still remaining before the Masada trap triggered. Exiting through the portal was far easier, although he was ready to use the stunner, if necessary.
It was not. No one had discovered the missing tech, and he walked back to the transmission room where he had left Luren and Kordel.
“Finished? Good. Let’s go.”
“What have you been doing?”
“…why…”
“Let’s go,” he repeated, setti
ng the portal controls to lock behind them.
They were down the first flight of steps, fifteen meters from the access door Jimjoy wanted, when another officer confronted them, stunner in hand.
“You—where’s Captain Tiarry?”
“Captain who?” asked Jimjoy.
“You know who.”
“Tall Marine Captain who went with us to the commcenter? He’s still there. Very upset.”
“Now…”
“You would be, too, if you’d just found out that the rebels had wiped out most of Commander Moran’s strike force and had managed to come up with half a dozen tacheads before he closed down their base.”
“Tacheads?”
“Just class three,” amended Jimjoy, edging closer while turning toward Luren. “You have that shot there?”
As he turned back toward the Lieutenant, something white in his hand, both hands flashed.
Ugghhh.
Clank. The unused stunner clattered on the landing, a crack across the muzzle tube.
Jimjoy dragged yet another body out of the way through the portal leading to the access tube to the standby shuttle.
“Someone should have caught us by now.”
“They have, several times…but no one really believes they’ll be attacked in their own base.”
He locked the portal, hoping that any searchers wouldn’t think about two strange Marines and a pilot in conjunction with the emergency shuttle, at least for a few minutes.
And he needed those minutes, he realized as he reached the lock portal separating them from the shuttle. With a sigh, he pulled out the sole remnant of his equipment, the small tool kit.
“No more explosives?” asked Luren softly. “No more stunning miracles? No more defenseless individuals murdered?”
“Kindly—shut—up,” he mumbled, relieved that the panel controls and associated lock circuits were relatively straightforward.
Still, the perspiration was streaming down his forehead before the five minutes it took him to persuade the locked panel to open had passed.
Clank. His fingers were shaking so much from the strain that he dropped the probe as he tried to retract it. Jimjoy shrugged, eased himself off sore knees, and picked up the instrument.
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