Joseph swore antiphonally with Gus, Patsy, and Simeon. Channa snapped her fingers. “They must have been . . . what’s the phrase?”
“Casin‘ the joint,” Patsy said for she had a store of such archaic phrases.
“Spies!” Joseph said. Tears welled in his eyes, tears of pure rage.
“Always someone who can be bought,” Simeon said, giving his holo image a wise appearance. Or so info tapes say, but I’ve never had to use that tactic.
Joseph nodded jerkily. “I knew several who would sell their mothers and fathers . . . maybe their fathers . . . for the price of two bottles of arrack.”
“Back to the here and now, please,” Gus said, boulder-solid.
Amos shook his head, sending the long black curls flying. “We have . . . had, very little high technology, and of what there was . . . much was in Keriss.”
“So they’ll be hurting for equipment, possibly for skilled labor,” Simeon said. “They’ve got to be. Whaddya bet that most of those three hundred ships are transports, factory vessels, that sort of thing. They wouldn’t be self-sufficient even if they have a home base or star system.”
“There’ve always been folk who’d rather steal than work,” Gus said. He had no arguments on that score from anyone. “And they’ll want to steal from us.”
SSS-900-C was a maintenance and repair center. It was also heavy with rare materials intended for shipyard and general shipbuilding use. No one argued with that, either.
Simeon addressed the two refugee leaders. “First, we have to get them thinking along those lines. Otherwise they may simply sweep in and put a couple of high-yield missiles into us. My plan calls for a sacrifice on your part that I’m reluctant to ask of you.”
“Ask,” Amos said quietly. “A drowning man will grab even the point of a sword. I should like to prove worthy of Guiyon’s sacrifice. Ask!”
“I want to tempt them with booty too rich to resist and get their acquisitive jukes flowing. We’ll commandeer one of the company yachts that salesmen travel in when they show their samples to rich customers, and we’ll cram its holds full of things the bastards won’t be able to resist. With the promise of much more easily available—here!”
“Such as?” Channa asked suspiciously.
“Technological stuff, upgrades in software, in computers, the latest improvements in fuel efficiency. We’ll include luxury fabrics, perfumes, jewelry, exotic delicacies . . .”
“Bribery will only make them hungrier to sack the station,” Joseph all but shouted, half-rising from his chair.
“Peace, my brother,” Amos soothed him, “remember that sicatooths do not eat grass. One must put out a goat to bait the trap for them.”
“See, you don’t shoot the cow you’re milking,” Gus contributed.
“Hell no, you don’t eat a pig lahke that all at once,” Patsy said.
Simeon almost laughed aloud to see the puzzled expressions on the faces of Amos and Joseph. Good one, Patsy, remember that “my brother” fake they pulled on ya and don’t let ‘em think they can be more obscure than we can.
Chaundra explained the humor and only raised his brows slightly when Joseph asked, “What’s a pig?” Channa herself was puzzled. She would have expected the natives of an agricultural world to recognize the name of an important farm animal. Her own protein came out of vats, the way nature intended, as far as she was concerned. If not literally, then she didn’t want to think about it.
“Won’t they think it’s kinda odd, though, one guy sellin‘ so many different things?” Patsy asked.
“Not if he’s a middle-man type, importer-exporter, rather than a manufacturer’s rep,” Simeon said. “It’s not that hard to deceive people once, Patsy.”
“But we have none of these things you have mentioned,” Amos said, puzzled. “We have no cloth or jewels or software. What is this sacrifice you would ask of us?”
“We need someone to put in the yacht well be sending out, and I’m not about to send a living person. I’d like to send one of your people who died in transit from ship to station. Preferably someone who died as a result of the environment failure, since that’s why he’s going to be out there in this luxury ship, broadcasting an offer for a huge reward to anyone who’ll rescue him.”
Amos and Joseph looked shocked. They sat unmoving for a minute, then slowly turned to meet each other’s eyes.
“Impossible!” Joseph said, his lips tight with fury. “What you ask is base sacrilege!”
Channa glanced at Simeon’s column as though appealing for help, then plunged in, knowing no diplomatic way of putting this. “Your funerary customs are . . . firmly set?”
“Yess!” Joseph hissed. “We honor our dead, we bury them and revere their resting place.”
“Well,” Simeon told him, “we have no place to bury our dead here on the station, and it’s prohibitively expensive to ship them back to their home planets. You can’t simply bury them in space because eventually they constitute a navigation hazard. Here we cremate our dead.”
“And the ashes?” Amos asked.
“Unless specifically requested, there are no ashes.”
Amos bowed his head. “For our dead, we request ashes, so that one day, hopefully, we might return our friends to Bethel. As to your . . . your appeal for the body of one of ours, I think, my brother,” and he turned to Joseph, “that we should consider that an honor to serve is being offered one of our dead rather than sacrilege. Surely, whoever we choose, would have been pleased to be of help to those who survived.”
“It is wrong!” Joseph said. “And I object!”
“My brother,” Amos said through gritted teeth, “if you angle with a straight hook, only those fish which are willing get on it. Be reasonable, or we may all be dead. It is only a hope, a possibility we are offered. If they destroy this decoy, they will then destroy the station and we will join our friends who are dead and we can all go unburied forever.” He stared at his companion until, after a long moment, Joseph lowered his eyes and nodded. To Simeon, Amos said, “Choose the person most suitable for this ruse from among our dead brothers.”
“Thank you,” Simeon said simply, and the others around the table murmured their thanks as well.
“Okay,” Channa said, bringing them back to more immediate concerns, “these pirates come upon this derelict space-yacht. They hear the message, ‘Help, help, my environment system is down, auggh, I’m dying, save me and I’ll reward you with umpity-zillion credits.’ ”
“Right.”
“They give him a buzz, no answer, so they bip on over to his craft and board it.”
“Right.”
“They find—whomever—several days dead due to environment failure.”
“Right.”
“Why don’t they just hold their noses and sail on?”
“Um, well, first, it’s the nature of pirates to be greedy. So we’ll pile the ship high with cases of samples, clearly marked samples, clearly marked as coming from SSS-900-C. Second, no one likes to go back to their senior officer and say, ‘It was a total waste of time, sir,’ because it makes them look bad in their captain’s eyes. So I think we can expect them to make at least a cursory search of the ship. Third, there’ll be a curiosity factor, since I plan to choose the most opulent yacht in the area. These guys probably haven’t seen anything like it hanging around the out-systems.
“So they’ll probably be crawling all over it saying, ‘I can’t believe it! Look at this! What luxury!’ One of these factors will attract their attention to the com screen, which will show a report our salesman was inputting when disaster struck. It will say something to the effect of O frabjious day, I’ve just made the biggest sale of my career to the SSS-900-C. I’ve promised them delivery in fourteen days or less. The home office has confirmed the delivery date. Order manifest follows. Hooray, hooray, bounce bounce!
“And there will be a listing that would make me drool and want to turn pirate.”
Gus nodded. “It sounds do-a
ble, though I hate to spare even one ship from the evacuation effort.”
“I can understand that, Gus, but balance the dozen or so who could be evacuated on the yacht against the fifteen thousand plus people at risk on the station, and I think the sacrifice is justified,” Simeon replied. Seeing that he had his audience listening very carefully, he went on. “Now, to prepare the rest of the station for pirate-fall, I want all irreplaceable equipment disconnected and hidden, or if it can’t be moved, I want it disguised or dismantled with no spare parts visible. All menus on all computer terminals will be changed. I intend to make them as confusing and difficult to understand as possible, in order to encourage any outsider using our equipment to make as many horrible and damaging mistakes as possible. We’ll need to have the emergency crews on alert at all times.”
Twenty glum faces surrounded the table.
“Just a minute,” Channa said slowly. “You’re suggesting we let these . . . these fiends occupy the station?”
“We can’t stop them,” Simeon explained patiently. “We can’t stop a single real warship from sinking a missile into the station’s equator and blowing all fifteen thousand of us to MC-squared. I don’t like it either, Channa. But we have to keep them from doing too much damage until the Navy gets here—and we know the time frame on that. If we can confoozle them long enough so the Navy can catch ‘em, that’ll solve how to get rid of them.
“Once they make a few disastrous mistakes, they’ll prefer to use our people. Why should they break their brains trying to learn how to run a station they’ll only be occupying until they can loot it empty? I want our people, not theirs, in sensitive positions. No matter how it looks to them, I want real control of the station to remain in our hands. I’m willing to take a few risks to gain that advantage.”
“Oh,” Channa said carefully. “Sounds reasonable.”
“Doctor Chaundra, you’re really going to hate this one.”
“You want me to make people sick.”
“Got it in one. How’d you guess?”
“I assume that you know I didn’t become a physician because I enjoy watching people suffer,” he said calmly. “I will not kill. Otherwise, who do you want me to do it to and why do you want me to do it?”
“I want to be able to declare a class-two quarantine, make them reluctant to enter the living quarters. We can’t keep them out entirely unless we declare that a deadly disease is rampant on the station, in which case, we might as well blow the place ourselves and spare them the missile. I’d like to see the infirmary littered with volunteers groaning in misery, for authenticity’s sake. But, most important, I want every one of the pirates who enters the living area to walk out with whatever bug you’re using in his or her system doing what it does best. Fairly soon, they’ll get the idea they should confine their communications with stationers to holocasts.”
Chaundra wore a crooked smile. “Leper, unclean, unclean,” he said in a singsong voice. Patsy was the only one at the table who understood his reference, but Simeon did, too. Then Chaundra shook his head. “Too little time to fake that particular disease. So! Agreed, I will search for a suitable virus. We can synthesize readily—but we must hope the . . . Kolnari? have inadequate medics and no equivalent facilities.”
“Patsy?” Simeon began.
“Yo, lover.”
“As soon as we’ve got some data of a physical nature on these fiends, I would appreciate it if you could come up with some spore, or pollen or mixture of gases that would make our anticipated visitors real unhappy. If you can arrange to afflict their ships only, and not the station, I’ll like it even better.”
“Oh, Simeon, an opportunity! You do love me, doncha honey?”
“First and always, sweetpea.”
“Aw, blush.” She consulted her keyboard. “Allergies’d be a good bet. They’re pretty dam specific in groups with low genetic divers’ty. Once we get some tissue samples, yeeehah!”
“Seriously, we can evacuate people or critical supplies like mining explosives, but not both,” Channa said.
“I was just coming to that. We’ll have to leave some in the stores or it would look odd. After all, we are a supply center. But I want as much of that particular commodity relabeled, rerouted, or hidden wherever. We should leave, maybe, four percent below the lowest reserves we’ve ever recorded. Have the records show that we’re between shipments, the additional four percent shortage of explodables is because we used some of the stores to blow up the colony ship.” Simeon saw no point in giving the Kolnari free weapons. “I’d like to do the same with food and medical supplies as well. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” one of the supply officers spoke up, “where are we gonna put all this stuff, particularly the explosives?”
“You get it together,” Simeon said, “I’ll tell you where. Right now, let’s work out what supplies the evacuation ships will need and I want you to start pulling together those tasty goods we’re going to use to tempt the . . . sicatooth.”
“You got it,” the woman said.
“We, too, would like to serve,” Amos said earnestly, “in any way that we can. Ask and we will aid you to the best of our ability.”
A passle of farmboys, ranchers and students from a medium tech planet. I’m sure we’ll find lots for you to do, Simeon thought.
Amos continued. “It is to our great shame that we have brought this terror down upon you. Better that we had all died . . .”
“Shut up!” Channa snapped, the verbal equivalent of a slap to a hysteric. “How dare you say that? All lives are precious. Guiyon thought so. He recognized that he must save as many of you as he could and he did. Stop beating your chests. You’ll only get more bruises. For all we know, they might have come this way anyhow.”
“You have been harbingers, and though such aren’t much appreciated, I’d like to say now that I, Simeon, SSS-900-C, am grateful to you, and particularly to . . . Guiyon. If you’d all died at Bethel, no one in this sector would have known of the Kolnari and how they operate.” Simeon paused. “I gather they operate on a scorched earth policy?” When the two Bethelites looked puzzled, he added gently, “They clear away all traces that they’ve been there? That anyone’s been on that planet? Hmm. Thought so. Can’t leave clues behind if they want to keep on cutting their swath of destruction.”
Simeon caught an odd sound coming from Joseph and did a quick enlargement of the man’s face. The Bethelite was actually grinding his teeth. Amos’ blue eyes dulled with the pain of his own thoughts on the subject of total annihilation.
By now that concept was dawning on three or four stationers and their expressions reflected their shock. Piracy and looting were bad enough, but these Kolnari had gotten away with implied multiple acts of genocide.
“Central and the Navy are receiving hourly update blips,” Simeon went on to provide what reassurance he could that SSS-900 was already ahead of the Kolnari on the dice roll. “Bethel will have retribution, if not blanket reparations when the accounting is rendered. You’ve saved not only yourselves, but us and what’s left of your world.”
“ ‘He who fights and . . . ’ ” Diplomatically Channa edited the old adage slightly “ ‘ . . . escapes away! Lives to fight another day.’ ” She even made it rhyme. She went on firmly. “Dying would just . . .” She waved her hands, racking her mind for the right words.
“Would be wasteful suicide,” Simeon concluded for her. “And allow the Kolnari to sweep the board.” He caught Channa’s little grimace over his constant use of war-gaming terminology.
“Exactly, and you can’t let those . . .” Again she fumbled for a dire enough epithet.
“Black-hearted sons of bitches?” Simeon offered. Nice combination of informality and traditional epithet, pleased with himself.
“Thank you . . . black-hearted sons of bitches go on killing and stealing. So, if you want to wish somebody dead, wish it on them,” Channa finished, thumping the table with a fist for emphasis.
Amos smiled in
chagrin. “You have burnt away my weakness with your fiery speech, beautiful lady. I shall direct my hatred towards our mutual enemy.”
“Fine! Glad that’s been settled. Now I’m going to adjourn this meeting,” Simeon said. “Channa and I have to address the ships’ captains in two hours and you all have plenty to do. I’d like progress reports every six hours from everyone, please. You may contact me at any time with any difficulties encountered. Amos, would you be good enough to accompany Doctor Chaundra to the morgue to choose our decoy. He’ll also assist you with proper funeral arrangements for the other victims.”
Amos nodded solemnly. Chaundra put his hand sympathetically on the younger man’s shoulder, powered up the floatchair, and they left the lounge together. Joseph’s float, activated by one of the guards, started back to the infirmary. The station officers bustled off, no one of a mind to chat or rehash the meeting. Only Channa remained, staring off, her eyes unfocused.
“I take it back.”
“What?”
“At the moment, I’m deeply and utterly grateful that you chose to study war instead of romance.”
Chapter Nine
“There goes another one,” Simeon said glumly.
A spot crawled through the plotting tank Simeon was screening on one wall of the lounge, trundling out of SSS-900-C’s vicinity and heading for the low-mass zone and its interstellar transit.
“How did they find out?” Channa said.
“That’s the Herod’s Dream. She’s an independent. One of those merchant-family ships that kick around the fringes, picking up stuff that’s not worth the big outfits’ while. They don’t have to be told about trouble. They can smell it.”
“I suppose it’s understandable. They’ve sunk their savings in their ships which produce their livelihood.” Channa sighed tolerantly. “What about the others?”
“They should be . . .” He broke off. “By Ghu!”
Channa also heard the tramp of boots in the hall and swiveled in her chair as a half-dozen variously dressed figures swung into the meeting room.
The City Who Fought Page 16
